The Rebel Chapter 1 - The Dungeon

In the dark corner of the dank dungeon, sniffled screams could be heard with the occasional swipes of the whip. A man’s voice could be heard cackling with glee and satisfaction. Chains jangled uncontrollably…

There I was. There I was sitting on my knees. Chains hanging from the wall; cold manacles linking my wrists to them. My face was flushed with tears, scarred and bruised. And tears were still falling like rivers and streams from the mountains. My clothes have been torn as if they were given to a cat to relieve its itch. Dried blood was everywhere around me, splattered from my mouth and my wounds. My eyes, my tearful eyes stared at the feet of my ruthless punisher. A big strong well fed man, he had been in this cell for so many times, I have lost count. I have been counting down the days and nights till I would soon be free; when I would make my escape. But it never came. Days went uncounted, nights went uncounted as my nemesis tried and tried to rid the words hope, freedom and justice from my tongue, my mind and my soul. My hunger was fed by nothing but abuse and torture.

For how long I have been sitting here? My body was shaking; my eyes half closed. Crack! The long leather weapon lashed onto my face, then my arms, my chest and my back. I tried to scream. I begged him to stop. But a piece of blood and tear soaked cloth was wrapped over my mouth. My voice couldn’t go far out, crying for help was useless. He was relentless. He would not stop. He continued with his abuse. My body writhed uncontrollably with the pain, as my screams echoed in the dungeon alone.

He threw his whip down. But I could not breathe a sigh of relief as yet. He wasn’t going to spare me so soon; I knew it. He grabbed my long dark brown hair from the back of my neck, pulling as harshly as he could. He brought his face close to my face. He shouted, “So b***h, do you still want to see the light?”

I could smell his wine infused breath from my small nose. I did not say a thing. I could not. I let my dark brown eyes do the talking.

He saw the determination in my eyes. “So you still don’t want to give up?”
I gave a slow firm nod as I stared at him angrily. He snorted, releasing his bad breathe at my face again. I closed my eyes to hide my tears. He raised his hand and slapped me hard on my face, as soon as he released my hair. I fell to my side, but was still hanging to the chains. My arms were tired, it was stinging me. He kicked me in my stomach. I let out a cry of pain.

“Come on Naikee,” he growled.

Naikee, yes that was my name… I have not heard anyone else say my name for a long time.

“Are you ready to admit defeat?” He slapped my face with his filthy heavy hand again.

“No!” I cried. It was muffled by the cloth. But he heard clearly what I said. He reached for his whip again. He channeled all of his fury into the whip and lashed all the injustice, the darkness and the discrimination at my exposed back. I screamed again.

“You can’t take this abuse for too long,” the man growled. "You will break! I’ll make sure of that. And then you’ll see the truth in this world, you’re still acting like a child. You will learn."

Tears broke free. I wept. It was too painful. Yes, it was painful. He was right; I couldn’t take the abuse for long. But I could not admit defeat. If I did, the deaths of my comrades, my abnegations would have gone to waste, for nothing.

The man grabbed my collar and drove me into the wall. He kept me pinned to the cold stone. He brought his lips to my ears and whispered, “This torment will continue to grow in magnitude until I hear you beg for forgiveness. Are you ready to say it?”

He tore off the dirty cloth and let it fall to the ground, allowing me to breathe easily. But I was only allowed few clean breaths until his hands reached for my throat. “Say it!”

“Never,” I whispered weakly as I closed my eyes again.

“Why?” he gave an anguished and desperate cry, his grip around my throat tightened. He shook my body hitting my back on the wall painfully.

“You… don’t know… what’s…. fair and just… You’ve taken… freedom away… from all Ninatans,” I struggled to say those words. “You’re… just… selfish.”

“Don’t give me that damn rant about fairness and justice. I am the justice around here I can do anything,” he said as he slapped me again.

“No, you took away justice… when you… took over and… and drove the king away,” I croaked.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.” He kicked me aside. My thin emaciated arms were killing me with the straining pain as my body swayed to the side, tugging at the chains.

“Kill me now, because I will not give up. But know this, hope and freedom shall not die with me,” I said. I coughed blood out of my mouth.

He pulled my hair from the back of my head. He whispered into my ears, “I will torment you until I hear you say those words, the words I want to hear. I will not kill you. Your death will bring me no bliss. I shall keep you alive, no matter what it takes.”

He kicked me one last time for the day, spat some curses at me and walked out.

I wept louder now that I was alone...

* * * * *

Emptiness was crawling into the dungeon cell where I now found my abode. Why? Why was I here? Ah, yes, now I remember. They wanted to take my hope and freedom away. I would not listen to them. I would not obey. I could not give up in what I believed in. My punisher had lashed me with all his fury. But I was a stubborn stone. My body was scarred, it was bruised and it bled, but for my country, this was what I was going to do.

When would I die? When would I be free? On a daily basis my nemesis tried to break me, but not kill me. When he left, I would weep like a child torn from what she wanted. I waited. Yes, I waited for my death, or even an escape; anything that would take me away from Ninata’s pain. Ninata, my beautiful Ninata, how I wished you hadn’t changed. How I long to see you come back to your original stature, in life or in spirit. My hope for your revival was immortal. Oh, how my love for you is everlasting.

My nemesis, the false king of Ninata, the usurper was Yata. He had hopes for Ninata, bad hopes. I had to stop him. I had to. I couldn’t let him destroy my beautiful Ninata, my home. And for that, I was here. Yes, for that I was in the dungeon, chained to the walls, trampled, tormented and tortured. I was punished for being a good patriotic citizen.

And now, I waited. I waited in the dungeon for a visitor, my saviour or my killer, the one who relieved me from the pain inside me. I welcomed anyone.

But no one came. The only one who visited me was my punisher. As if the abuse wasn’t enough, he had the nerve to tell me the pains of Ninata, the hunger of Ninata, the tears of Ninata. For that he will pay.

But for that time, I was sitting in the cell, in the cell where I found my abode. And I waited. Patience is a virtue people of Ninata had told me as a child, and now I believed in it.

Surprisingly, my prayers for a visitor were answered. But not the visitor I had expected.

The heavy dungeon door creaked open. It was singing tantalizingly in my ears. It spoke of freedom to me. It let the light flood into my home, blinding my tortured red eyes. I cursed at it with all my heart. I hated it for that time, but it let in a new guest, not the one who came to hurt me, destroy me and completely make me his, or so I thought.

It was my teacher.

“Teacher!” I gasped. The piece of cloth was no longer over my mouth. I could speak and breathe with ease. The only thing I believed at that time to be nice. It represented my bleak freedom in my home.

I was delighted to see him. He was clad in an intricately woven cloak, with gold threads. Despite the pain in my arms, I was delighted to see a familiar friendly face.

“Naikee,” my teacher began. He knelt down as he faced me.

I looked eye to eye at him. “Teacher, what are you doing here? Have we won the war?” I asked as excitement built up inside for seeing my teacher here. “Did Prince Caleb take the throne back?”

Slap! My face burnt. I could feel a handprint making its presence being felt. That was my reply. My eyes widened with surprise. For an old and frail man, Mathaius, my teacher, had a really strong hand.  My eyes felt wet, as tears blurred my vision. “Why?” the word crept onto my tongue.

“Give up Naikee,” Mathaius replied. “Forget your reprisal. The rebels are losing.”

I looked at him in disbelief. I wanted to strike him. I shook my arms with all the strength I had left.  I tugged at the chains as they jangled inharmoniously.  I screamed angrily. “No! I will not forget it. And it isn’t my reprisal, it is Ninata’s reprisal, the throne belongs to the family of Ninata, the ones marked with the Royal mark. How dare you let it slip from them?”

His hand pressed against my shoulder. “Give up to the darkness. It’s time to see what it can offer. Forget whatever I told you about Youthana’s Prophecy. Forget about its faith. Forget your faith in hope, justice and freedom. They haven’t aided you in your time of need. Darkness will.”

I felt weak. I felt like I was drowning into a void of profanity. My head nodded on its own, approving what my teacher had told me. But my heart pushed through. It called for me. It gave me words of hope:

‘No! I will not obey!

Not tomorrow, not today

 This is not right!

I only follow the Light!’

 

My heart shouted its little slogan, its little prayer, and its little reminder. Yes, yes. I only follow the light. It was what I was born to do as a righteous Ninatan; it will be what I do as I die.  “No! I will not obey! Not tomorrow, not today. This is not right! I only follow the light!” I slowly found myself cry.

“Naikeelia!” my teacher scolded. “Obey me today and you will be free.”

I shook my head in disbelief. The person who taught me the very words that I loved " hope, justice and freedom " was now telling me to forget them and stop putting my faith in them. No, I couldn’t allow it.

“Traitor! You betrayed all of us!” I shouted at him. I glared at him. How could he? How could he be a hypocrite, the one thing he despised the most?

He returned a piercing glare at me.  I felt my eyelids fighting to fall and show me the darkness of ignorance. My heart cried in anguish, louder than the last time now.

‘Proceed with torture

Proceed with pain

I will not give in

I know what I can attain!’

 

It provoked my eyes to open. My heart woke me up.

“So you will not give in,” Mathaius sighed with regret in his breathe.

“How could you? You were the one who had sewn the words into my mind. How can you tell me to forget them? Ninata is my home. I will not see it crumble…”

“And Yata will not see you disobey him,” Mathaius interrupted. “He will make a good king.” He paused for a while as if he spoke something wrong, and then he began, “No, not a good king; a great king. Darkness has more power than you think. I have opened my eyes now. Why can’t you?”

“I was never blinded. I can see in the light, not in the dark…”

“Why?”

“You know the answer. You taught me,” I looked away. My tears flowed. They had never been this sad before. “You’re his damned dog now,” I continued with regret.

“And you have been my biggest disappointment,” he sighed. “I believed in you. I thought you had the most potential of all the students I had. You could’ve been great. You have failed me.”

Those words pierced my screaming fighting heart. The pain they delivered was worse than what pain Yata had given me. Mathaius was not only my teacher; he was a father to me in my childhood. They have told me I lost my parents when I was born. I haven’t been told why. My parents were only simple agrarian folk who lived off what Ninata gave them, they told me. I forgave those who killed them, but I still searched for the reasons why. Mathaius had rescued me from the ambush, he said. But he was going to the wrong side. My beliefs were too strong to allow me to go to his side. I would not, and could not allow myself join darkness even if I had owed my life to the old man standing in front of me. He was my father.

My mind was numb for a while. I was weak, weak in physical strength; I needed it no matter how strong my heart, mind and soul were. Mathaius stared at me for a while in a disappointed way. I looked away. No matter how disappointed he may be, I would not join him. How could I? “I’m sorry teacher, but the dark side is not my side. I will stay where I am,” I whispered softly, with all the respect I could muster despite the anger and disbelief and hate that was burning inside me.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “If that is what you wish for. I could only do what I could. In the end it was your decision.”

He clicked his fingers and two guards came in. For a while my mind was tricked with believing this was all going to end, but my heart knew better, it could see through anything now. I closed my eyes, believing this was time for me to say good bye to Ninata. I whispered in my mind, ‘Good bye dear Ninata, I’ve tried.’

Click! To my surprise, the guards opened the clasp, freeing my thin wrists from the manacle’s bite. My arms fell freely to my sides. The sudden rush of blood to my fingers stung them. I looked, shocked, at my teacher. What was going on? My heart would not tell me anything except for this, “Punishment! More punishment!” My mind was numb.

I fell onto the cold concrete floor with a thud on my chest. My eyes were still open. I stared at my teacher with my addled eyes. He gawked back at me, his eyes mystified. What other torture was the false king asking him to perform on me now?

I was shivering more now. The thought of torture now scared me, but I didn’t know why. Whenever Yata was in the cell, I felt disrespectful, disobedient and disdainful. Maybe it was the presence of Mathaius. He was a powerful Mage, with the reputation that could melt bones when talked off in fear. He could be worse than Yata now he was on his side.  “What are you going to do to me?” these words slipped my tongue. It showed my trepidation. I never felt this way before.

“Nothing, I will do nothing,” Mathaius said in a painful voice. “Yata has ordered me to heal your wounds.”

“Why? Why would he ask you for such vial deeds to be performed?” Healed, yes, that’s what I wanted. But not on the false king’s orders. He would just come back and have me beaten up again and again and again. The castigation would continue this way, and I would be healed over and over again after the torture was over, until I admitted defeat and surrender myself to him. He clicked his fingers once again. From behind him came an array of servants with trays of potions, bread and water in their strong arms. I envied their strength right now. However I could not forget that they were not doing it on their accord. I felt repentance for them now that that thought entered my mind. Although I was incarcerated I was not being told to do what I didn’t want to do. I smiled from my insides. How long haven’t I smiled? It must have been months now that I recall. I don’t remember the days and nights spent in this horrendous home of mine. But I didn’t have a choice. If Yata wanted this for me, fine. He could do whatever he wanted, but he will never take away my beliefs, no matter what means he chooses.  I will stay stronger than he thinks I am…

“You’ve been here for only a week, you haven’t eaten a thing, your skin and body is weak. You will have to be healed.”

Only a week, that’s how long I have been here for? It felt like ages to me. I thought I must have been here for months. And then I smiled in my heart for being so naïve, I wouldn’t have lived in hunger for that long.

“No! I don’t want to be healed! Just let me die here with these wounds and weakness! There’s no need to show me fake compassions. You cannot bribe me; I’m not a child anymore!” Yes, I was not a child. I was eighteen years old then, a young lady. And I knew how to differentiate between right and wrong, light and dark, good and bad. “Just let me rot here like the way you intend!” I cried with defiance.

One of the guards stomped his foot on my back. I bellowed with pain. Mathaius raised his hand as the guard prepared for another assault. He stopped. Mathaius waved his hand in a gesture that said, “You can retain your post.” The guard bowed and took his position on the other side of the door. The other stayed.

“Don’t be so stubborn Naikeelia,” Mathaius said. “Yata would not kill his followers unless he feels like it. And you are one he doesn’t want to kill, well, not for now.”

“Damn him! He can go to the deepest and darkest hole in Hell for all I care!” I shouted with fury burning in me again.

My teachers hand pressed my shoulder again. This time it hurt. It was not intended to put me to a trance; it was intended to hurt me. My throat was sore now, dried up. Mathaius clicked his fingers and the guard brought him a goblet of water. He let go of my shoulder and let his hand run towards my collar. He grabbed it tightly and raised me from the ground. He lifted my head up with his free fingers from the hand that held the goblet. He put the goblet to my lips. “Drink,” he said.

I bit my lips to show my defiance.  My eyes were now glaring at his eyes. How could I ever have called you a father? I thought.

He looked at the guard who slipped his arms under my armpits and held me up. My knees could not hold on to my weight. I kept slipping. He pressed hard, I yelped. “Stop!”

Mathaius held my chin and forced my lips apart. He brought the goblet back to my mouth and poured in the water. I coughed up some. Most of it fell down my face. And so little went down to hurt my throat. When it was finished, teacher brought more water. He brought a loaf of dried bread and forced pieces of it down my throat while pausing to bring moisture to help soften the bread. I choked on most of the bread, but he wouldn’t stop. He continued. It felt like torture to me. It was torture in form of being taken care of. Tears fell profusely from my eyes as I saw myself being deprived of my rights. I was being treated like an animal. But wait, animals were treated much better. They could roam around wherever they liked, drink whenever they liked, eat whenever they liked, sleep whenever they liked and wake whenever they liked. They were not bound by the pains I had to suffer now, oh, how I envy them right now. How I wish I could be an animal right now.

The ordeal went for a long time, with shoving down a few pieces of bread, making me chew it down and then pouring water into my mouth. It went on continuously. My tears wouldn’t stop flowing. My reserve in my lake of tears was unlimited, unlimited for my Ninata, my freedom, my hope and my justice.

Slowly, I felt strength pouring into my veins. It was natural. The food we ate did that as their duty to give us strength when we consumed them. I could feel the courage to fight back. I tried to shake off the guard who still held me, but his grip was tighter than I thought.

Mathaius went back to the trays. He took one of the potions; I knew that potion very well, crafted from blood of the wounded and deprived it was the potion of health, Salubrium. But he never made that himself, he couldn’t in such a short time, unless he was making it secretly. He told me, it was a heinous crime; it was an insult to injury. Mages could prepare this potion using the blood of the wounded, oppressed and the dead to give health to those who were weak physically, like me. It would take a year to create, while it boiled in not only blood but also other sinful things…

I didn’t want it to touch my skin. I shook vigorously trying to break free. “I won’t have that!” I cried.

A victim only had to drink the vial drink to feel health pour into him; it would heal all his wounds, bruises and chase his scars away. It would give him strength for a long time. Of course it took lives of not only one Man to make it, it took a lot.

Mathaius wouldn’t listen to my anguished cries, he no longer took care of me like he used to when he had purpose for me. I felt used. He proceeded with menacing steps towards me. I cowered. “Chain her back to the wall,” he said.

I said nothing. I couldn’t fight. He was a Mage, I, only an Apprentice, could not match his wits, wisdom and power. The guard dragged me back to the wall and clamped the manacles around my wrists. I didn’t feel a thing. My arms would tire out again, and I would be in pain again like I already am, but a different one. 

He poured the vermilion coloured liquid into the goblet. He knew I would resist. So he did it carefully. He brought the goblet to my lips another time; he slowly poured the vermilion liquid into my mouth, slowly and surely. This time he didn’t let any drop of the potion to waste like he did to the water.  He took a step backwards.

The liquid was thick - not as thick as blood, thicker - the taste was horrible, despicable. He kept his hand over my mouth so I wouldn’t vomit the vial potion out. He forced my mouth shut tightly as I tried to shake him off. The liquid slowly dribbled down my throat and into my stomach, when he took another step backwards. I could feel the warmth of the potion as it traveled down my chest. My wounds started to sting. My scars stung. My bruises began to hurt. The dungeon wall shook as the cell echoed with my screams. The guard quickly picked the cloth on the ground and wrapped it around my mouth to stifle my voice. I shook wildly, trying to scratch myself wherever I felt the pain - my whole body. And then it stopped. My eyes closed and my head fell to its side. My body was in a state of lifelessness as I drifted away…

Author's Note

This one of the stories that I'm focusing on these days. Hope you like it.

Reviews

[JustReadingby]

Its awesome.I like the rebel thing.