Memories Stirred - Book One of the Advent Rebellion

Chapter 3 - Madness

To his mind she had stopped turning up so often.

Few such occasions stretched into many. The dream had happened less and less. She Then, just a few months ago, they had stopped occurring at all.

She had abandoned him.

He stumbled. Unable to recover his balance he fell, the hard concrete floor soaring up to meet him.

Thrain took a gasping breath. He could feel his body shaking. His nerves, muscles and even skin, aflame with pain. He’d succumbed voice that was calling him.

He was awake.

The distant pain he’d felt in his dream was replaced with a growing agony that reinforced that message. A wracking cough followed. His lungs felt like they had been electrified and were now rebooting. Spluttering to life like some an archaic engine clearing out decades of dust and rust. Each breath exploded from deep inside him. Vile tasting bile erupted from his throat and dribbled down his chin.

Spitting, he forced himself to calm. Deep breaths through his nose brought the retching under control. Through the painful haze he realised his eyes were open. 

Eyes widening, a pale glow from overhead brought a stone wall into sharp focus. Only centimetres away, the contents of his stomach were spattered across the rough surface dripping to the floor.

He screwed his eyes shut and slowed his breathing again. Fighting for control.

After a few seconds he risked opening his eyes again. It was easier this time, but the pain was still there. 

He was on the floor, on his side. His left cheek rested in the foul liquid he had been throwing up. The stench from his dream was real after all. Clenching his jaw he tried to ignore the smell and looked up. The roughly hewn rock face in front of him stretched upwards and behind him.

Where the hell was he?

The obvious answer was that he was in a cave. Tied to a chair that was tipped on it’s side, as was he. A chair that quickly realised he was tied to. Fidgeting he discovered his wrists were bound with some kind of plastic strips. His clothes were torn. Bloody and bruised skin glistening in the dim light.

Screw where he was, what the hell was going on? From the attack on the ship to this. 

Not good.

His left shoulder, pushed into the stone floor, spasmed as he moved but the pain from each scrape and cut was ebbing. Gentle throbbing rather than the wracking pain from when he first woke.  Looking down he couldn’t see below his knees, but judging by the lack of movement it was likely they were bound too. 

The remnants of his dream still endured at the edge of his thoughts and a small part of him wanted to find a way to crawl back into it. He had been in pain before, even been in dangerous situations before. But they had been of his own making. He had chosen to put himself in positions of possible harm. Whether cliff diving in the Unclaimed Regions on Probation, exulting in the feel of the wind rushing past his face; or winning the seniors marathon on Probation, much to the dismay of the organisers whose carefully plotted results sheets were spoiled; or scaling fissures he had found when he had slipped away from his guardians when a child.

During all those times he had understood what he was getting into. Welcomed it in fact, no matter what the consequences. Even when climbing that sky reacher that he fell from. His choice, consequences paid.

Thinking of his expulsion brought his most recent memories flooding back. The shuttle. The chaos. The assets. The pain.

Nano.