She Who Remembers

She crouched, her thighs just above the grime, sweat, and urine that coated the prison floor. She worked furiously, scratching and scribbling on the stone. The walls, ceiling, and floor were covered in a strange script chipped out of the softened rock.

Her lips moved as she scraped, sounds almost like groans slipping out. The moans were echoed by the cries and screams of her fellow occupants. They all had lost their sanity long ago, their mouths turned into instruments that projected the horrors of their minds at deafened stone. But she… she held on to the scraps of her humanity by remembering.

She remembered everything.

It had been long—too long—since she had last seen the sun, or even a face unmarred by the grime of the prison. Her muscles were severely atrophied, and she knew that she was nothing like the warrior she had once been. Her body had become a cracked, broken vessel, letting the oppressive prison slowly leech away her mind and soul.

But today, she sensed, was different. Even hours before the footsteps echoed on the chiseled stairs, she knew. She always did.

Two figures walked along the prison cells, pausing periodically to look in on a murderer or warlock. The heat was particularly heavy, lending an intense stillness to the air. Her sweat pooled around her as she worked, listening as they slowly made their way towards her. When they stopped by the cell adjacent to hers, she stopped scratching and melted into the shadows.

“Are they all insane? I need someone capable of actual thought, someone who remembers.” The owner of the voice sounded fairly young, like one just out of his twenties. He clenched the bar of the cell, frustration cracking his tone.

“Anyone who’s maintained their sanity is dangerous, sir,” replied the jailer, a man bent with age, his voice sounding like a rusted chain.

“I need dangerous.”

The jailer hobbled to her door, resting a hand on the frame. “This here is one of our oldest occupants. She’s been here longer than I have. Don’t even remember her name.”

“She? That is illegal.” The surprise in the young man’s voice brought a sardonic smile to her face.

“Aye. But she was put in here long before that order was made.”

Silence. Then, “But then she would be ancient.”

“More than ancient,” her jailer muttered, shifting uncomfortably. He disliked her, without knowing why. She did. He was too young to remember who she was, but old enough to sense the darkness she carried.

“Is she sane?”

The jailer laughed. “Either the sanest of the lot or far more insane than imaginable. Possibly both.”

She shifted her weight on her feet. She could taste the boy’s uncertainty in the air. She could taste his weakness. But, through him, she could sense her freedom.

“Hey. You. Who are you?”

She felt his gaze probing the shadows, searching for her. But his eyes were too weak, too human. She remained carefully silent, her smile spreading as the stillness stretched.

“I want to go in.”

“That’s fool’s business,” the jailer responded, a note of no-nonsense hardening like steel in his tone. “She might kill you.”

“Her?”

Some of her smile faded at the incredulity of his voice, and her nails dug into the palms of her hands.

“I tried sticking others in the cell with her, as the prison is running out of space. She killed them all with her bare hands.”

A shrill scream cut off the conversation. It faded away into a moan like that of a dying cat. Stalactites dripped slimy liquid from above. For a moment her fate wavered on a knife’s edge. If the boy turned away now, she’d have to wait another millennia before she had the chance to see the sun again.

“Let me in.”

A key rattled in the lock, followed by a series of clanks and clicks as several bolts and locks scraped away from the stone wall. Sigils flared a warning as they flickered off and then brightened again. The door swung open with a roar of protesting metal.

The boy-man stepped into the room warily. She watched for a moment, taking in the tailored outfit and tousled hair and the silk handkerchief pressed to his nose and mouth.

“Few step into these cells with the option to leave,” she spoke, the words rough in her throat from disuse. “Especially not one so young.”

He spun around, blue eyes piercing the shadows until they found hers. She could see her reflection in them: matted hair framing a gaunt face with eyes as black as a bottomless pit. Unlike the others, her eyes were not lost to madness. No, something held back the insanity, though she hung precariously over the edge.

She stood, suddenly tall and imposing, disillusioning any idea of her being like the others. “What do you want with the inmates of Cardensdorr?”

In the dim light, she knew she looked far younger than the jailer said. Men in the past had sworn that she didn’t look a day over thirty. Though those words had been laced with flattery, that nugget had held truth. Nothing about her had aged over the last ten centuries.

“I…” He inhaled sharply. “I need help.”

“Help from murderers, cutthroats, and warlocks?” She laughed, letting the grating sound echo in the chamber. “Perhaps the sunlit lands hold insanity as well.”

“I need someone willing to murder, to steal, and commit everything to my cause. Someone who can go into a war and come out standing.”

She turned her back to him, crouching again on the floor. “Then go pick someone else. Everyone here could do that.”

“Someone,” he continued, “who can walk a knife’s edge and not fall, who can step into nothingness without looking back. Someone who has nothing to lose and everything to gain.”

She didn’t answer, just started scratching on the floor. She waited, waited for that phrase that meant he needed her. That phrase that would break any hold he would have over her.

“Someone,” he whispered, “who knows the Old Magic.”

She paused, stifling the vicious triumph that flashed across her face, and then looked over her shoulder. “Now that only three here could help you with.”

“Are you one of the three?”

Her lips twisted into a cruel smirk. “We are all three.”

The confusion that flitted across his face vanished in seconds as he dismissed the statement. “I want you to help me save the world.”

She chuckled, lifting a thumb to wipe a smear of grime off her cheek. “So you’re a hero. Are you going on a quest to save your world from falling apart?” She mocked, enjoying the stoney expression that settled over him.

“If the world dies, so do you. The old magic is breaking —or changing— in a devastating way. It’s ripping through the world like a thunderclap. I want to fix it.” The boy inhaled slowly, pausing before reluctantly continuing. “And the prisoners of Cardensdorr are the only way I come out standing.”

She looked him up and down. “What’s in it for us?”

He hesitated. “What do you want?”

Her smile turned dark as he stepped into her net. “We want your life. We want you to swear on the old magic that once we have done what you want of us, we can do with you as we please.” So we can take over all you hold dear.

He closed his eyes.

She paused, noticing the strain. He couldn’t know what this meant for him. Not really. Unless he was smarter than she gave him credit for. But he was a king, she saw that. And he was desperate. That made him an excellent pawn, a chance she couldn’t give up.

“We want you to swear that you will be… Ours.”

They stepped out of the cave mouth and into the sunlight. She closed her eyes, inhaling through her nose, seeming to grow taller and stronger. He watched as the breath she expelled clouded the air, despite it being the middle of summer.

She no longer radiated fragility. She looked… powerful.

He glanced to the sky to see dark clouds gathering, their bellies turning dark purple. The ozone that charged the air caused hair to rise on the back of his neck.

“Come,” he said, eyeing the looming abomination above them. “We must get moving. This storm is not one I want to be caught in.” 

She didn’t move. “We needn’t. This is my storm.” Her eyes opened. And they were no longer black pits but orbs of purple shot with yellow, like lightning. “We will ride it.

“And it will all be ours once again. Finally. We. Are… Free.”