Dream of a Vast Blue Cavern

Chapter 11: Marked By Fire: Stasia

 “There she is. The Queen of Iskalon, as you commanded.”

 Who was he talking to? Not her, certainly. Was there someone else in the room? No one else spoke. The Fire King's face changed, as if he saw her for the first time.

 “They didn't tell you, did they, Queen. The Fire Spirit himself speaks to me. I am his chosen one.”

 He paused, as if expecting something from her about this revelation. When she remained silent, the Fire King continued. “He is quite interested in you, Queen of Iskalon. Particularly your Dreams. I can’t imagine what in your Dreams would possibly interest him. Can you?”

 The Fire Spirit? Stasia dimly recalled that the Flames worshiped a being called by this name. She almost told him she had no idea, then thought better of it. Perhaps she could glean something by playing along. “My Dreams? But of course. He would want to know all about them. I will tell you of them, if you tell me what will become of my people. Do you intend to let them live?”

 Stasia prided herself on not flinching when he laughed. She kept her eyes, sore from the light, glued to his golden ones, letting all of her hatred seep through. She almost felt that she could reach into his mind. His expression did not change.

 “You are not in a position to bargain, Ice Fairy. You will tell me your Dreams. You will tell me in vivid detail.”

 Stasia considered. She saw no harm in his knowing of her Dreams. Lately, they were all about the burial chamber, and that he had already discovered and destroyed. But she did not think he would be satisfied with that. And she did not relish giving him what he wanted after what he had taken from her. She cleared her throat and spat through the bars of the cage.

 Stasia did not scream when the lava-hot whip of fire struck her back. In spite of the agony rolling through her skin and up her spine, she only let out a small gasp. The Fire King stood in front of her, hands at his sides, using T'Jas to create the painful sensation. The whip struck again, and then a third time. She clenched her teeth to keep the scream back on the fourth strike. On the fifth, she reached through the pain to the heat, trying to take draw T’Jas from it. After ten lashes, she abandoned her attempts and succumbed to the pain. She heard herself screaming, but could do nothing to stop her own mouth. She left her own mind, fleeing from the pain. She did not know how many times he had struck her when she begged him to stop. It was not her begging, but a husk of her that she could not control.

 “Tell me of your Dreams,” he shouted after the final lash. Stasia lay curled in a ball on the bottom of her cage, dignity and defiance abandoned. She had never truly felt pain before this. Tell him her Dreams? She could scarcely think, let alone try to put together a sentence. As the pain receded and she began to come back into herself, shame washed over her, sparking a different kind of pain. Just a few lashes, and she was defeated. What kind of Queen was she?

 “The cavern. Burial chamber.” Stasia kept her eyes squeezed shut. The torture had not been intended to wound her permanently, only to show her that he could inflict unbearable pain on her at any moment.

 “What of it?”

 “My Dream. I enter the ice in that Burial chamber. Where you—found us. I drift up, and then there is a yellow light, soft blue ceiling, warm breath.”

 “And then?”

 She forced her eyes open and saw him leaning against the bars, his face close to hers. He was so close, she could have reached out and gotten her hands around his throat. She would have, if she had not known that he would merely fill her with agonizing heat. “That is all. V’lturhst, my people call it. It is forbidden to speak of. But I Dream of it often.”