So it went for weeks. Eating what little she was given and strengthening what little resolve she had to live. Binding it tight. She had not thought of anything but murder and malice in so long that she woke with it. When she slept, it was there with her. A blanket that did not keep her warm, but reminded her of why she must live.
It was a night where the cold had seeped into the deep stone of the windowless cell that there was the glimmer of another color. She was recounting the faces that she would see twisted in pain just before they died when Scaa’s appeared in her mind. A cool, blue light flushed through the red somewhere behind her eyes and it nearly destroyed her. She cried again for the first time in what felt like an age. Scaa had never lied, she remembered. Scaa had never betrayed or hurt. Óraithe wasn’t sure what to do with the thought. She tried to cast it away but her mind wouldn’t allow it. The boyish face, so stupid. She wanted to hate the image for being so vivid in her mind, for not leaving her to her hatred. It did not go, stubborn as the girl herself. Every thought of hate that boiled within her was tempered. Weeks again moved by in her lightless world, though now she knew that she must live, if only to see those who had taken precious things from her put to death.
The past few weeks, it had become her custom to sit when the food came, teeth gritted and body ready to do what it could. She had always been thin, but the watery stew that was served had taken her down to near nothing. Surprise, she thought, would aid in her attack, if only so much.
Today, however, the food was late in coming. It was never late and Óraithe’s mind began to race almost immediately with what it could mean. There had been no meal left for her, so it could not be that she’d overslept. She never did anymore, anyway. Slept too little? It was possible, but she had become intensely aware of her own body in the dark. The sounds and the feel of the air around her and of how she felt when she woke after certain periods of time.
Another hour passed. This was not right. The more the minutes passed, the more Óraithe became convinced that she was not wrong about the time. She stood, staring at the place she knew the door to be. Sensitive as she had grown, her eyes still could not find anything in the perfect dark of the cell. She took a cautious step toward it, half expecting to be bitten by some unseen creature. A world she had known for more than a season now seemed entirely foreign to her. It was fear that was welling up. Would this be how they made an end of her? Starving her in a black room in the desert? She took another step. The door was not far away now, just out of arm’s reach, she knew. Another step with bare feet in the dark. She placed her hand on the door. The steel was cool to the touch.
Óraithe let her hand lay on the steel for a brief moment before pushing closer, pressing her long-since ruined clothes against the door. She was hesitant, staring at the black, trying to coax herself into placing an ear against the thick door. What if they came? What if they didn’t? She took a breath and put her ear against the metal. There was no sound. It was to be expected, she knew. Hearing through the thick steel was hard enough, but she could occasionally make out booted footsteps. She left her ear there, waiting for any sound. Minutes passed. Nothing.
She pulled her ear from the door and looked at it, wanting for something. Wanting, perhaps, to pound on the steel. Was that what they wanted? Did they want an excuse to beat her? Or proof that she had broken? The noise in her head was growing. She closed her eyes, trying to think, trying to stop the noise.
A metallic screech pierced the cell and the noise in her mind was split and silenced. It hit her all at once. The screech was not the meal slot. Óraithe stumbled back away from the door and lost her footing. Her bony frame landed hard against the stone, but she didn’t register the pain. Her eyes were locked on the rectangle she knew was there. The screech was followed by a low groan and her eyes burned. She instinctively looked away, shutting her eyes against the hard color. Her mind caught a half-heartbeat later and she forced her attention back to the light. A split arrow of orange ran up the room and over her body. It was open. They were opening the door.
Óraithe forced herself onto unsteady feet and made ready for whatever opportunity showed itself. There were three, she could see from the shadows. The door swung wide, but they did not enter. Two of the three stood with swords drawn in front of the other.
“Óraithe of Fásachbaile.”
She was taken aback by the address. There had been not a word said in the season she had been locked in darkness. Her mind turned possibilities, but the swords were real enough. Why name her before killing her?
“Who… I…”
The sounds barely made it out of her. Her lungs were weak, her throat was weak.
“You are to come with us quietly and of your own volition. If you attempt anything, you will be killed. There is no escape from this place.”
The words landed in her brain but she struggled to make sense of them. She managed only a word.
“Why?”
“From this
