Bound in Spirals Ch. 09

Dettella frowned, glancing back at where Sam had disappeared once again. "I know a little elvish, but only basic speech. I can't do much beyond asking directions to an inn." She said.

"In that case, I will do a little scouting in the meantime. I'd like to find out the fate of the other high guards." And with that, Darrel stalked off toward their remaining winnem and rode out of the clearing.

'Well, so much for deciding what to do with them...' She thought, looking down at the despondent group. She recognized one woman in particular as being the one Sam had fought, removing her hand and leaving her unconscious. The other three had been dispatched by Darrel. She had mended their wounds upon realizing they were still alive after the battle. Yalene had protested that, claiming that they deserved to die but Dettella had already started ignoring her ridiculous opinions. Yalene had yet to learn of her short remaining time as her handmaiden.

Dettella had decided to wait to inform her until they had reached the capital of Leddin, Geylin, where she could find a new maid. Preferably one less opinionated and more competent. She glanced over to the carriage, where Yalene knelt over a bucket of water, cleaning clothes. 'I need something to do...'

She walked away from the elves and looked around the blood soaked clearing. She wrinkled her nose at the coppery smell mixed with decay and feces. Battle, like many things in the real world, was not so glamorous as in the books. Something she'd been expecting yet somehow was still surprised about. Fenella, the apparent medicine woman, was examining the gaunt, unconscious friend of Sam's.

His face was covered by an unkempt beard of reddish blonde, hiding a visage that would have been handsome if not for the sunken cheeks and unhealthy pallor. Fenella was currently pouring an herbal mixture, of a particularly nasty green color into his mouth. Dettella's gaze left her, and turned to the massive, sleeping form of the argwolf. Even now, she could hardly believe that the actual Letta from the legends was there before her. She'd been eager to converse with her, but was unable to do so without Sam as a go between.

She tried to remember the prophecy that Lady Everen had tried to fulfill, but could only remember snippets. 'Something about her titles being Queenkiller and The Hanged Woman. And I think a white and black queen were mentioned.' She paused. 'Well, she'd certainly killed a queen... and been hanged.'

Dettella had never been particularly interested in the prophecies, of which that was only one of many. She was more interested in the tale of the journey up to Everen's death. Which, fortunately for her, had been taken directly from the woman herself before her rather anticlimactic demise.

Eventually, Dettella realized that there wasn't very much she could do at that moment. Well, there were corpses she could dispose of, but that wasn't really her thing. So, she went to the carriage and read her books.

———

When Sam finally stopped walking, it was already evening. It was hard to tell through the thick foliage, but it was certainly darker out. The tears had long since dried away. Even with no moisture left in his eyes he'd continued to weep dry sobs, but now they ceased. He scrubbed away the crusted mucus that ran over his lips with the back of his hand. He glanced around, wondering where he was.

The trees surrounding him seemed even larger than those he'd seen in the forest so far, if that was even possible. Absently, he wondered how long it would take just to cut through the thick, lichen covered bark of one, let alone the whole tree. Then, he noticed that he wasn't alone. Curled up below one of the trees in the fetal position, was a blue haired elf girl.

It looked as if she'd cried herself to sleep he deduced based on the dried residue that streaked down her cheeks. For a moment, he didn't recognize Feima. Not because she was sleeping peacefully, because she wasn't. But because she had a grimace, not of anger, of grief and terror. Sam remembered the moment Belleby's life fire had been snuffed out. It was brutal and gory, not something a young girl would get over seeing easily. Especially since he was her beloved friend.

He considered waking her, but decided against it, choosing instead to sit against a tree a short distance from hers. Sighing softly, he did the exercises for calming a panic attack. He wasn't having one at that moment, but it helped to relax him anyway. After a while, he began to think. He thought about Theodore, his friend, and getting him the help he needed. He thought about Letta, who in barely a week was acting almost like an older sister to him, with a hint of motherly protectiveness. He thought about Dettella, the strikingly beautiful princess with her curious eyes of bright emerald.

Eventually, he thought about his stepmother and half sister. He came to the sudden realization then, that he hated them. He'd never really thought he hated anyone before. Sure, he'd disliked people, even been angry with them, but hate? It was such an intense feeling. He might have felt like he hated them at times, but this was different. Sam couldn't remember ever feeling so strongly about it before, so vehemently despising them. In fact, he couldn't remember ever feeling so strongly about anything.

Ever since his father's death and their torments began, he'd been numb to most emotions. He would feel them, but they were dull, seemingly far away. This hatred he felt now, though. It was powerful and immense, like the years of suffering at their hands had culminated into that one ball of absolute, blazing hatred. And in that moment, he decided that if he ever made it back to his world, he would make them suffer as he had, and still did.

He hated them for making him weak, for making him fear. It was awful, that feeling of powerlessness. He thought back to what his father had told him so long ago, when he was barely 8, after a fight with Madeline. The reason he never fought back.

His father squatted down before him, meeting him eye to eye. "You can't hit girls unless they're trying to kill you, Sammy. Even if they hit you, you can't hit back. Men are naturally bigger and stronger, so you must bear it." He said. "Do you understand? You've seen how Britney gets when we fight? I don't throw anything back at her, because I love her and it's wrong for a man to hurt the woman he loves like that."

"O-Okay... B-But," Sam started, rubbing away his tears and swallowing his sobs, "if she throws things at you and hits you and stuff, doesn't that mean she doesn't love you?"

"I... No, Sammy you don't quite understand. Britney is just passionate. You'll understand eventually." His father explained. He paused, then continued, "You trust me, right Sammy?"

"Yes daddy." He replied, sniffling.

"Then please just listen to me on this. Once you're a bit older it will make more sense, alright?" He ruffled Sam's hair, giving him a warm smile. "I love ya pal, you know that right?"

"Yeah." Sam said with a giggle. "I love you too daddy."

"Alright, now go apologize to Maddie for fighting."

"Okay, I will."

Sam wondered now if his father had really been right. He had questioned it before, but those words always made him hesitant. 'You trust me, right Sammy?' He felt that he had to trust his father. He was the only person who loved him, who cared for him. If he couldn't trust his father, who else in the world could he trust? But now, he seriously questioned if his father's words had been right. Passion sounded more and more like an excuse for Britney's behavior the longer he thought about it.

He held his head in his hands, feeling his hate replaced by dread. He had held onto those words for so long, through so much it had almost become subconscious. Was he seriously doubting his father? Or did he perhaps still just not understand his father's words?

'Dad wouldn't have wanted me to get hurt, but... but what if he was in the same position as I was? Did he believe his own words? Can someone really claim to love someone they actively try to harm?' He feared the answers to his questions. 'I have clung to those words through so much, but what if I could have stopped it the whole time if only I had defended myself?'

Sam didn't like the thoughts flooding into his mind. 'No! Dad has to be right! I-I can't...' He rocked back and forth, his breath coming out raggedly. 'I-I can't lose my trust in him... Not after... Not after his words helped me survive all this time.' He was hyperventilating now. Each breath feeling painful as he forcefully held back his tears.

Deep down, somewhere in the area of his mind that was still sane, Sam knew he was just hiding from the truth of it all. That his father's words had led him to more pain. Had made him try to live through the abuse and manipulation. He couldn't handle the fact that his father had betrayed him, regardless of whether he'd meant to. Sam hid behind a wall of denial. Refusing to accept.

Suddenly, he giggled. It grew from a giggle to a chuckle, then to a laugh. He sat there below the tree, laughing hysterically as he rocked himself back and forth. He cackled madly, unsure why he did. Everything just seemed funny for some reason. Eventually, an indeterminate time later, his laughter died down as he was forced to succumb to the mental and physical fatigue, falling into a fitful sleep filled with nonsensical nightmares of his father. In them, his father stabbed his heart. Over and over. Smiling in his usual heartwarming way all the while...

———

Feima woke from her nightmare-ridden sleep. For a moment, she forgot what had caused those nightmares but unfortunately, it only lasted that moment. The images came pouring back with excruciating clarity. Belleby. He was gone, dead. By her own mother's hand. She remembered the pained yelp he gave off just before he died. Then she'd felt his every emotion and thought as he passed into the void beyond life.

She felt more warm tears falling from her eyes as she sat, back against the crusty bark of the elddin tree. 'Feima, please save me!' The words haunted her. The pain and sorrow in Belleby's words was overwhelming. He'd just wanted to be able to communicate with her, to be close to her. His innocent, dog-like loyalty and caring for her had pierced her heart like an arrow right at the end. And her mother had taken all of that and crushed it like an inconsequential bug.

She wanted to run, to escape the grief that threatened to overwhelm her. She had tried last night, tried to run away. The grief had followed, inescapable. 'I cannot go back... I cannot...' She rubbed furiously at her eyes. 'I warned you, mother. I told you that I would go to the land of the humans.'

Pulling her hooked knife from her belt, she stood. Turning, she shaved away some of the bark from the tree and began carving. When she finished, it read: "I go to the land of the humans. Do not search for me mother. When we meet again I will kill you." Feima grunted, satisfied. Her grief was overshadowed by the anger and determination that rose up inside her. 'I will make you regret ever even thinking of killing Belleby.'

Feima turned away from the tree, ready to begin walking south immediately. When she saw the man there, she froze. For a second, her anger at her mother was redirected, but quickly dissipated and grief threatened to rise up again. Belleby had been grateful to this man, who had given him the ability to talk to her, who had connected them through his magic. She couldn't hate him, as much as she wanted to. A thought came up unbidden, 'My mother is more a savage than this human.'

The realization shook the foundation of her very being. The thought that everything she'd been taught, even things from before she could talk might be a lie, was disturbing to say the least. She shook her head, not wanting to contemplate the magnitude of that realization. She took a closer look at the man named Samson, frowning in puzzlement.

His face was caked with coagulated blood, except for a few streaks where tears had obviously fallen. He was clearly asleep, leaning back against the tree, his arms wrapped tightly about his legs. Soft, high-pitched giggles escaped his lips every few seconds and his closed eyes flickered and shifted. As she watched, he relaxed slightly, settling into a barely audible snore. Then, he began to giggle again and his body tensed.

'What happened to him?' She wondered, surprised to find she was a little worried. She vaguely recalled the sounds of fighting behind her as she'd ran into the forest. 'Did he run from the battle?'

A crackle of dry leaves broke her from her thoughts, and she whirled. Down the direction she'd come she could see a flash of color. Feima ran, her silent feet automatically taking her toward her home. When she realized where she was going, she reluctantly turned to the south. Toward the land of the humans.

———

Tenall looked down on her younger brother, anger boiling inside her. Her eye twitched uncontrollably and her scowl deepened. Someone had tried to kill her brother. Someone had the gall to try to deprive her of her prey. That wouldn't do. Dettella had already slipped through her fingers, almost completely out of reach. She wouldn't allow another to escape their fate so easily. No, Hennel would get his in time, but she would save him for second to last.

Her mother had been a glorified whore, her cunt big enough to fit a dozen men at once. As such, in the meantime she had plenty of other half siblings to fill the wait for his recovery. 213 to be exact. In fact, she had her youngest sister waiting in her quarters right that minute. Children's screams, she was finding, were some of the most pleasing to her ears. It was unfortunate that most of them broke so quickly.

One brother, who had been barely 11, had lost his mind after she only pried off his toenails. That was quite a disappointing evening, she wasn't even able to get herself off afterward. The best were the ones that tried to resist, much more satisfying. She realized that her mind was wandering and decided that she'd been there long enough.

She made her way through the room, skirting the clutter of sharp instruments and the portable shelves of poultices and other odd mixtures. She grimaced in disgust. Healing, such a filthy procedure. Trying to calm herself, she thought happy thoughts.

'At least he'll live the rest of his short life with the pain of that wound. Heehee...' That blighted little elf had informed her of the excruciating pain Hennel must be in. So, some good came out of it at least. Regardless, she would have to find who had done this. Such an insult would not go unpunished.

She stepped out into the hall, where her guards were waiting. Along with the elf and Hennel's idiot friend. "You." She said, looking at the elf. "How long until he wakes?"

"Y-Your majesty, I cannot be certain." He said, voice quavering as he bowed low. "I b-believe he should wake within the week. I-I cannot b-be certain."

Her cheek twitched, wanting to sneer at the nasty creature. "Be sure to give him the highest priority." She said, then turned to the foul friend. "You. Find out who did this. I will have their head at my feet."

His expression showed a hint of a frown, but he quickly recovered. "Of course, my queen." He replied, tousled black hair draping over his face as he bowed.

Tenall's face twitched again at the abysmal bow. 'I will take you in time. Perhaps when I take Hennel.' She strode down the hall her guards close behind, toward the queen's quarters. 'Perhaps I will have you fuck him in the ass while I watch.' A grin broke out, looking warped on her face which was accustomed to the more negative expressions. 'In time...'

———

Dettella followed behind with Darrel on winnem as Letta followed Sam's trail. He hadn't spoken much since returning alone from his scouting earlier. Not that he usually spoke a lot, but he'd barely even said a couple words. He'd just spoken to the argwolf, then asked Dettella to follow along. She'd been hesitant to ask what he'd found of the other high guard. Based on his silence and the two riderless winnem he'd returned with she assumed it wasn't positive news.

She frowned, looking down at her riding dress. It's rough, blue fabric chafed at her legs uncomfortably, and her bottom was sore from the saddle. She realized that riding winnem long distance wasn't something she would like to do again anytime soon. Short distance was fine though, she was used to that at least. 'Well, I did choose to come. I cannot complain.'

Suddenly, the argwolf's ears perked up and her sniffing became more intense. She glanced back at them her eyes seeming to flash, then she darted forward. 'Finally,' Dettella thought, 'it's almost night!'

The winnem protested slightly as she and Darrel kicked them forward, but they eventually sped up. Letta was almost out of sight now, her dark gray fur hard to see in the fading light. She vanished from view, but came back in a few minutes later. The huge beast had stopped, her massive form wrapped around a tree. Her head rested on her paws, looking at a shape at the roots of the enormous tree with eyes filled with worry.

As they approached, Dettella recognized the hunched shape as Sam. He appeared to be asleep, except for the occasional giggle and soft murmuring. She frowned, 'What...? What happened?' They dismounted, watching as Letta nuzzled the rocking form with her snout. His eyes snapped open.

"...F-Father... Fa... Father save me..." Sam said, barely more than a whisper. "I-I... Stop, stop the pain... please..."

Dettella glanced at Darrel. He stood still next to his winnem, his face as utterly emotionless as she'd ever seen. His eyes were shadowed below his brow as he watched the delirious young man. She turned her gaze back on Sam, her brow drawn in worry.

"I-I can't do... I can't go on like this..." He murmured. Letta nudged him again, more urgently this time.

"This..." Darrel started. "This goes beyond battle hysteria. I urge you to be cautious, princess. He looks to be unhinged." Then in softer tones he continued, "Worst I've seen..."

The argwolf looked at them with desperation in her eyes when Sam continued to give no response. Dettella stepped forward, she couldn't help herself. She knelt down before the man, who stared sightlessly at his knees as he rocked. The cold blue eyes looked feral, untamed.

"Lord Samson?" She said softly, comfortingly. "Are you alright?"

It was clear that he wasn't alright, but she didn't know what else to say. He didn't respond, just kept rocking and muttering unintelligibly. She tentatively placed her gloved hand over his, which was clutched to his knee with a white knuckled grip. He still didn't reply. She hesitated, unsure what to do. Looking at Darrel, then to Letta she realized they didn't know what to do either. She looked back at her hand, and an idea came.

Hesitantly she removed her glove, and replaced it over Sam's. As soon as her bare hand touched his her mind was overwhelmed by the sheer amount of his magic. Despite having glimpsed it before, the magnitude of it was staggering. She almost felt dizzy as she stared into the depths of the beautiful gold and silver ringleted forms. Suddenly, she felt a painful grip on her arm and her eyes refocused.

Sam was staring at her, his eyes wide. She yelped at the strength of the grip and heard Darrel start forward. She held up her hand to stop him, and stared back into Sam's gaze. He looked at her with uncomprehending eyes, frozen in that position. His eyes seemed to shake in their sockets. The madness she'd seen in them earlier had magnified to the point that even an untrained eye could have noticed it.