Chapter 11: Beldren What we Deserve, Part 3

Beldren was first aware of the pounding in his head, as if someone smashed a hammer to his skull in time to his heartbeat. He blinked swollen eyes against the darkness. His vision adjusted and he blinked at planks; some kind of wooden building with a dirt floor and scattered hay. Slats of late sunlight splayed across one corner. From their color he could tell the sun would soon be gone. Had he slept all night and the next day?

With the question came self-awareness. He wasn't horizontal as a sleeping man should be, rather vertical. Small agonies began to filter through the pain of his head. His shoulders. His arms. His legs. His wrists. His neck. He fought them and forced his mind to concentrate. His wrists were shackled above him, and he hung from heavy chains suspended from the ceiling so that the bottoms of his feet just rested on the floor. His shirt, coat, and vest had been removed, and the stain of dark rivulets ran down his naked chest, though he couldn't see the wound.

Memories slammed into him. Each made his heart race. Fear rose like bile and he choked back a scream. The sisters. Was it them or their slaves who'd stripped him and hung him in a shed? Where were his friends?

A low moan seemed an answer. He squinted through the semi-gloom to see Patrick and Duncan. Both hung as he did. Duncan looked all right, but the side of Patrick's face was a swollen mass of dark incisions. Beldren turned to his left to see Matthias. He hung in his chains, his legs bent and his feet limp. A gaping wound in his belly looked like a bullet, and Beldren turned away quickly.

"Are-are you alive?" His voice sounded weak and dry to his own ears.

Duncan coughed and Patrick moaned again. Matthias stayed conspicuously silent.

Deathly silent.

"How did we get to be here?" Beldren asked.

"Those women" Duncan wheezed. "Are not women at all, but demons from hell. Theywheezeshot Matthias with your musket. The blood seemed to drive them wild and they set upon him, claws and fangswheezelike banshees. When his screams strangled off, one of them ate on Patrick." The chain rattled as if he was motioning to his brother. "One of them took me, and another you. She ripped into your throat like a wolf with prey. I tried to fight, but the demon was too strong. Not humanwheezenot human."

He continued to mutter and Beldren turned his foggy mind to escape. His legs were unbound. Perhaps when someone came to check on them he could lash out and knock them down and thenNo. Perhaps he could kick them into Duncan and Patrick. They could wrap their legs around the captor, holding him in place, and he could get the keys to the cuffsassuming there were keys, and assuming that their visitor possessed them, and assuming they could then magic them up into the air and unlock the cuffs

The plan made his head ache. He tried to recall the layout of the buildings; tried to picture Matthias' inked map. There were several sheds they might be inside of, and an untold number of slaves likely to be beyond the plank walls. Even if he could get the cuffs off of his wrists, could he fight them in his current state? It was futile. Everything was futile.

Duncan's rambles died down. Patrick mumbled something sloppy and wet that Beldren couldn't understand. The sunlight faded and disappeared. Beldren took turns lifting one foot then the other in an effort to ease his aching legs. Eventually a door scraped open behind him. No footsteps followed, only the sound of his heart and his companions ragged breathing. He tried to twist around, but his restraints prevented him from turning far enough.

A woman stepped in front of him. Moonlight slanted through gaps in the walls. It traced lines over her marble face and touched highlights on her hair and dress. He flinched back as he recognized the blonde sister from the previous night. She flicked a cold stare over him, then moved to Matthias. She prodded him with a long nailed finger, and he swung on his chains.

With a grunt of displeasure she abandoned him and moved to Duncan. He cried out in Gaelic as she leaned close and inhaled. With indifference, she turned away and stopped before Patrick. He whimpered and mumbled; words made incoherent by his slit, bleeding mouth. She smiled at the efforts, or maybe at his scent, and caught his chin in her hand. He struggled, but she tightened her hold and leaned close, as though to kiss him. At the last moments her lips pulled away from her long shining fangs. With a snarl she sunk them into his face, below his mangled bottom lip.

Patrick's screams filled the barn, and Beldren looked away. He could see her in his imagination; the dark silhouettes merged into a single unnatural shape, one half pulling and struggling, the other feasting. Duncan was right. She was a demon.

As though she sensed the thought, her head snapped up from her prey. Her face was in shadow, but Beldren could feel the cold, penetrating gaze. His heart hammered as he imagined her coming to him next, ripping through his face and-

A musical voice sounded from outside. "Ismene! Where are you?"

The blonde held the warning look for a moment more, then stepped back and wiped her face. "I'm here."

The footsteps were light, and their owner gave a tiny cry as she skidded to a stop. "Oh Ismene! You've eaten without us."

It was the red haired sister from the night before.

"Take your fill," Ismene said brusquely. "But do not free them, no matter what pretty lies they give. The same goes for you, Thomasin."

The brunette was suddenly visible. She tossed her head and asked disdainfully, "Why would I?"

"I wonder." Ismene started for the door, then called back, "The one on the end is dead. I'll send a slave to take him down."

Thomasin gave another disdainful sniff and moved to the sobbing Patrick. "Do be a man and cease your blubbering. It is most unbecoming."

"Leave him be, demon!" Duncan screamed.

Beldren didn't watch what happened next because Mabel appeared in front of him. In the dim light he could see her bat her eyes. "Good evening, sir."

A pause followed and he realized she was waiting for a reply. His mind raced to overcome the terror coursing through him, to force his ears to ignore the slurping sounds coming from Duncan. He tried to find shreds of his uncle's lessons the secret to pretense was to picture the lie until it was as real for you as for those you wished to believe it. The lie was calm, and the pretense was nearly impossible.

Though he tried, his voice shook when he replied, "And to you, mistress."

She frowned. "You sound rough, sir. Perhaps you are thirsty?" She called to the slaves and soon Beldren heard the heavy step of someone at the door behind him. "Bring water for the humans."

The footsteps left and she wiped a stray hair from her face. "I must apologize for your ill treatment. The slaves fear to venture into the larder even to care for the provender for fear that they will be next in the chains. You see, they are used when there is no other."

Her words twisted a sick pit in his stomach. Provender. They were food food for the demon sisters. How long would they last before they were completely devoured? Would they be eaten a limb at a time, or would it be all at once? Even now was Duncan being finished off while he fought to hold a straight face?

Mabel seemed to be waiting for a response, so Beldren forced out, "Quite understandable."

"Yes, I suppose it is, though it seems rather weak of them. Surely they must know their only purpose is to serve those of us who are of higher privilege? I speak not of the color of their skin, mind, but of their mortality. Light or dark you are all the same to us and should be practical enough to accept your fate. I am much relieved to see that you have come to such easy terms with it. I can only think that you alone have figured out the truth of this situation."

Patrick's sobbing grew to a higher pitch and he called for his brother. Duncan didn't answer, though Thomasin stepped away from him, wiping her face with a handkerchief. "I've finished."

"Yes, I can see." Mabel nodded to her. "I will join you at the house shortly."

As Thomasin disappeared, a small flame of hope blossomed in Beldren's chest. Perhaps he could convince Mabel to free him. Though she was insane, she seemed reasonable. He opened his mouth to begin when she cut him short.

"The time for pleasantries has come to an end, sir. I must take my meal, then my leave." She stepped closer and inhaled deeply. She opened her mouth, as if to speak, but instead she bit into his shoulder. He cried out in surprise, and she laid her finger to his lips.

"A gentleman does not cry out," she murmured, her lips moist with his blood. "Hush, now."

She bit again and he held back the cry. The pain faded, leaving a black vacuum where nothing existed, not even the pounding in his head. Then it was over and she stood back, wiping her lips and smiling pleasantly. "Good evening, sir."

She was gone before he could focus on a reply.

The world slipped in and out. He was dimply aware of water forced between his lips as he swallowed again and again. Then it stopped. He focused his eyes to see that Matthias was gone but, before he could decide whether Patrick and Duncan still lived, he dropped back into oblivion.