Eranithia: The Healing River: Chapter 9

Chapter 9

He could feel his heart pounding in his head as he sat up. Looking around he saw he was in a barred carriage, shackled to the wood panels. After his talk with Serina on the mountain peak, Sol had visited him, assuring Mark he had a plan for him and to be patient and endure, he would send help at the right time.
Testing the chains and shackles, he knew he could break them and escape. Even the sixty or seventy men wouldn't be a problem escaping from. In fact, he found it easier to escape a large number rather than a smaller number. The less men there were, the more flexible they were. The larger the group, the slower and clumsier they turned out to be. Especially Arnath's men. Over the past year he'd learned that the Cathians were much more skilled warriors than Arnath's soldiers.
It was too dark to see where he was so he could inform Serina, but he knew he couldn't tell her  even if he knew where he was. Sol didn't want him to. Instead, he laid back down to sleep.

Mark ran as fast as he could. Checking over his shoulder to make sure they were still behind him. He and his men had been outnumbered and cornered. The only option he saw was to lead them down to the Great Marshes. In the center of the marshes is a large lake, Sol's Lake, fed by the many river systems throughout the marshes. All of the ponds, rivers and the lake had at least a six inch thick layer of ice on the surface.
Finding the trail to the bottom, he hurried down it. How many were behind him? He'd counted twenty. They'd have to continue on foot to follow him down the trail. That allowed him to put a little more distance between them and himself. 
The trail took him fifteen minutes to run down. He followed one of the frozen rivers towards the center of the marshes, where he knew Sol's Lake waited for him. An arrow struck his hand, right through the palm so half of the arrow protruded on either side of his hand. 
Grabbing one end of the arrow with his left hand, he snapped the arrow's head off then, ignoring the pain, he slid the arrow out of his hand. All without stopping or slowing. He looked back to see that it was just a lucky shot from their archer still up the cliff trail. He stopped and squinted at the archer, then watched as he fell fifty feet to the bottom.
When Mark reached the lake, he ran fifty yards out and stood waiting. Arnath's soldiers tested the ice before venturing out towards him. Some of them were still unsure about the ice as they followed the one soldier who'd decided to lead them after Mark had taken out their Captain. He could feel their shaking knees vibrating through the ice. 
Then something caught Mark's eye. At the shore of the lake stood Karis. She'd come to help him. At first he was angry she'd left, but seeing their numbers he was glad for it. Instead of being outnumbered almost twenty to one, they were only about ten to one. They could handle those odds.
She ran silently to the edge of the line of soldiers to where she could see him clearly. He looked at her, giving her a wink then raised his elbow above his head, pointing his fist at the ice. Then with as much momentum as he could muster, he fell towards the ice, punching through to the water below.
The ice began to split and break, heading for the soldiers attempting to surround him. The soldiers watched as cracks in the ice spread, passing between their legs. 
“Retreat!” their leader shouted, but as they began to run half of them fell through the ice. 
Mark fell through the ice with his enemy. Completely submerged, ice cold water biting at every inch of his body. He tried to swim towards the shore, to where he could punch through and stand up again. But the shallower the water got, the thicker the ice was. He swam back to the hole in the ice he'd made only to find it frozen over once again.
He started to panic as his breath ran out, pounding everywhere he could. His muscles ached from fatigue and from the cold. He was ready to give up. To let the cold overtake him and carry him into his final resting place. Then he saw Karis's face through the ice. His determination to live returned to him.
With every ounce of strength left in him he pulled back his fist and punched at the ice. It cracked slightly, so he pulled back again and punched even harder. Thicker cracks. Reaching back with one last attempt, he punched through the ice. He felt Karis's warm hands take his. Then she let go! Looking back up he saw she was going to make the hole bigger. She stomped through the ice a few times, expanding the hole. Then she pulled him out, unconscious from the cold and from lack of oxygen.
He woke up later next to a campfire. Karis's arms were wrapped tightly around him. As he turned towards her, he realized he was wearing next to nothing, as was Karis.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Thanks to you,” he whispered.
They stared at each other for what seemed an eternity. Then Mark did something he'd never done before. He kissed her. She returned the kiss but stopped a second later.
“I'm sorry,” he said.
“Don't be,” she said. “It's just that, now is not a good time for something like this between us. We have a war to fight. We can't allow ourselves to get too attached, or it will be used against us.”
He knew she was right, but he'd never felt this way about a girl before. Sure, he'd had a crush on Serina, but when he found out they technically had the same parents, that stopped real fast.
“Where are my clothes?” he asked.
Karis laughed then said, “Hanging to dry. You would have died if you would have stayed in them.”
“Where are yours?”
“I have enough on,” she protested.
He smiled saying, “True, you are wearing more than I am, but it's much less than normal.”
“Well, you passed out in the water. I used my body heat to warm you.”

His dream disappeared and the real world came rushing back to him. He was dripping wet with ice cold water. Sitting up quickly, he searched for the one who'd thrown the water on him.
“Wake up, sunshine,” a Cathian soldier said, laughing.
Mark glared at him, noticing the bucket in his hands. He continued to glare at the solider. As he did the Cathian began to choke, as if Mark had his hand around the Cathian's throat. Then just as quickly as he'd been woken up, his world went black once again, with a piercing pain to the back of his head.

Mark felt the steel shackles around his wrists and ankles. Lying on his back on a hard, wooden surface, the first thing that came to his mind was the table Serina had slept on for ten years, in an enchanted sleep. His eyes began to blink open. It was dark, too dark to see. He smelled the blood on the floor.
Tugging at the shackles, he knew he could rip them free and use the chains as weapons to escape. But Sol had told him to endure. He had a plan for Mark in the castle.
To his left, he heard the clanking sound of metal against metal. The door opened, revealing soft torchlight. Two of Arnath's guards flanked Arnath himself, each with a torch in their hand and a sword in the other. Mark assumed they knew he could break the chains at any moment. He grinned at their fear.
“Mark, we meet again. You have caused quite a bit of trouble for me and my men over the last year or so,” Arnath said, stepping up to the table.
“You're welcome,” Mark said.
Arnath chuckled then said, “Think you're funny do you? We'll see how long your laughter lasts. Light the torches,” he instructed his men.
The two guards walked around the table Mark laid on, lighting the torches around the room, one by one. Each torch revealed a different torture machine. One had leather straps for the wrists and ankles, a crank on either side to stretch the prisoner. Another was a wooden chair, also with wrist and ankle restraints. Next to it was a tray with knives and blades of different shapes and sizes. Each machine was worse than the last.
The guards returned to the table, removed the shackles from Mark's wrists and ankles then walked him to a single rope hanging in the middle of the room. Raising his hands above his head, they tightened the slipknot around his wrists. Then the guards went in opposite directions. One went to a large wheel crank, the other Mark couldn't see. The guard at the crank began turning the wheel, the rope tightened then lifted Mark to where only his toes could touch the floor.
“Here you are,  your majesty,” the other said.
Mark turned his head to see a small whip in Arnath's hands. Arnath held the handle, letting the rest of the whip unwind. Mark saw many strands of leather at the end. The torchlight glistened off of what looked like shards of metal and glass.
Mark knew how these whips were made. Metal, glass, rock and bone were commonly tied into the ends of the whip. They were meant to rip flesh from the body.
“First, Mark, I'm going to make you want to die. But I won't grant that wish until I desire. Each prisoner has been different. Some have been more fun for me than others, so I kept them around much longer.”
Mark felt Arnath's chin on his shoulder as he spoke in a whisper.
“I think you will be my most entertaining prisoner yet.”
Arnath backed away. Mark anticipated the first strike, but Arnath seemed to be waiting purposely. Just to make Mark's anticipation worse. Then he felt the pain across his back. Cold at first, then quickly turning hot. He felt blood trickling down his back. Then another strike, followed quickly by another. The fourth one grabbed his right shoulder, tearing the flesh away as Arnath ripped it away. Three quick lashes followed.
“How are you feeling, Mark?” Arnath asked, his voice crazed with blood lust for the pain he caused Mark.
“Is that all you got?” Mark asked, hiding his pain. He couldn't remember feeling more pain, but he knew he could withstand it. Sol would strengthen him.
Arnath gave him three more lashes, one right after the other. Mark didn't feel the pain anymore, but he knew he would later. The guards let him down from the rope hanging in the center of the room. He fell to the hard, cool, stone floor in a heap. The cold floor brought comfort to him as he laid there, unable to move. The guards took the slipknot off of his wrists, then carried him to the table again. They laid him, back down, on the table, retraining him once again. He knew the next time he was moved off of the table would be as painful as the whipping. His back would heal itself, drying the blood to the table. When they picked him up again, it would reopen the wounds in his back.
“Goodnight, Mark,” Arnath said once the guards put out the torches.
The door slammed shut with a heavy thud. Mark couldn't see his hand in front of his face, even if he could move it. That night, he cried out to Sol until sleep finally came to him.

Seilnai sat straight up in bed. She'd felt something scratch her back. A candle next to her bed lit up as she grabbed it. Crossing the room to a full length, oval mirror, she set the candle on a small table. Dropping her nightgown off of her shoulders, she turned around to look at her back in the mirror. There were numerous scratches on her back, as if she'd just healed from whip wounds.
She couldn't think of ever being attacked by anyone with a whip, let alone the assailant actually getting close enough to her to make contact. Then spinning around, she searched the room, thinking she heard a voice. She pulled her nightgown back up, grabbed a blanket and the candle, then left the room. Making her way down the stairs, she made a B-line for the door.
The night air was cold. Ignoring the snow on the ground, she stepped out of the house, searching for any sign of life.
“Jennifer!” came the faint voice again.
She spun in circles looking for the voice. Something about it sounded familiar, but why? And why were they calling for Jennifer?