Day Twelve of Captivity
Day Twelve of Captivity:
Sweat beaded on her brow as she kept her face buried in the bucket. The trembling started, and soon the wave of nausea rose up, and she emptied the sip of water back into the bucket. Each exposure to the Mist had been excrutiating before it coursed through her veins and made her feel a sensation she had never felt before:
Powerful.
Her stomach finally finished its rebellion, letting her fall bonelessly against the cot, mouth tasting full of acid and bile, body shaking uncontrollably, and her mind racing. Thoughts raced through her head, everything from history lessons to the feeling of battle lust that burned through her.
Aunt Driha's stories of the Folly raced through her head, telling her of what happened to other Elvaan who had been exposed to the Mist, and the ensuing slaughter that happened as Elves and Elvaan destroyed each other in the sacred groves. Trees ran red, their leaves stained as their pristine white bark became pink as the ground was soaked. Driha looked fearful as she told the story: her mother had been one of those slain at the time of the Folly.
Her body continued to shake, leaving her feel absolutely wretched. The armor suit had given her newfound power and strength, allowing her to stand her own against the Galkan berserker. Her body craved that power again as she felt her weakest, head resting in the cold cot, hair plastered against her head from sweat, and her hands shaking uncontrollably.
Deep down, her heart ached to be home again. Her father's face floated in her mind, giving her a reminder of what she had to survive to live for. Her friends had been few when she lived in the townhouse in Archades. Once her father agreed to let her move to Emberstrand, she had gained many friends, and her schooling had accelerated. Her internship had been close to completion. Next month she was planning on opening her own alchemy shop and practice.
You are going to fight for them until you die. It was a dark thought that surfaced again and again. A caressing whisper that came to her every time she was forced into the suit, forced to breathe in the Mist as it was cycled in with air from the outside. It mixed together in her lungs and raced out through her blood, empowering her, demanding more of her each time she was put into the suit. She examined her hand again, watching the shakes settle. Her veins showed the poison under her skin: purple stained herr veins, making them stand out against her pale skin. 'Mist poisoning,' she remembered coming into her mind.
Typically only seen in older Vieran populations that were still lingering on from the Folly, Masha remembered seeing the lists of various races who had recorded Mist poisoning cases when she had been doing her internship, and it had been impressive.
I may as add one more name to the list, she thought bitterly. The shaking had finally broke, letting her body finally rest. Energy drained, Masha continued to think. It was the only thing that didn't require moving.
Her captivity had shown her things about the other part of her family that she realized her father sheltered her from. Her 'Uncle' had made it a point of having her forced into the suit and fight against Lady Corana's Forsaken in trial after trial for the last week. Five days she had been left alone, but after her incident of hitting Ffam ...
Major Bunansa, her mind forcibly broke in. Do not familiarize yourself with your enemy. Calling him anything else makes you endeared to him.
She remembered when she hit him with the mess tray, catching a skilled soldier unaware in her escape attempt. It had been both a mistake and a blessing. Many of Major Bunansa's soldiers gave her a look of respect, having gotten the drop on their commander, but it had also shown to her head captor that she had a fighting spirit that had to be harnessed.
The first day in the suit had been nightmarish. The Mist had been noxious, burning her nose and throat, her eyes watered, and she vomited in the suit before being forced to fight against one of Lady Corana's lesser Forsaken. She had been panicked and had been knocked to the ground, ending the fight. The repercussions had been horrible afterwards.
Her captor ordered her whipped for failure, and it left her shaking. The Mist nightmares afterwards left her sleepless and unprepared for the second trial the next day. She held her own the second day to a draw, and had been allowed to eat after the Mist Sickness settled out of her system.
No metal trays this time, but she had been allowed to dine in her cell with Major Bunansa, the man attempting gallantry in an otherwise terrible situation. The large Galka guard stood outside, arms crossed and waiting for her to react. It had been an otherwise quiet meal, her time spent listening to Ffam ... Major Bunansa talk of inane subjects to make the time pass.
Tonight would be the fifth time she had been in the suit, and she knew it would be the fifth time to dine with him again. In another life, it would have been courtship. In this life, it was a means to stave off the Mist Sickness.
Her brow creased as she thought back to her friends in Emberstrand. Friend is an overstatement, she corrected herself. More like acquaintances. Celeste, the mouse who wielded a spear and verbally sparred with her father all the time. Priestess Silmeria who knitted and spoke kindly. The summoner Marduke, who always had a flirtatious glint in his eye when he looked upon her. People who were nice to her, people who she would want to be friends.
You will have to fight them if you do not want your father killed, came that annoying voice again. Forced to fight in order to save her father. Her uncle proved that he would hurt her father just for his own amusement. And 'Uncle Daschel' made it clear he would send another squadron after her father if she didn't cooperate.
She would cooperate, for now.
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