The Unfortunate, стр. 78

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All he could see was darkness, but he knew he was not alone. Awiergan could hear screams and moans. The metallic stench of blood lingered heavy in the air, and he could sense direness all around him. He was in the dungeons at Caberton Keep. He was sure of it. It had been four years since he had been confined in the castle’s bowels, but the feeling of the environment was still recognizable. The horrors were and had forever been ingrained in his mind, but there still existed a slight uncertainty, and he soon inquired of another’s presence but received no answer. Several more moments elapsed before his eyes adjusted, and he was finally able to distinguish his surroundings. To his surprise he was not in the dungeons or any place familiar. The second thought that occurred was he was still in the forest, but that, too, proved unlikely. There was no indication of trees or underbrush or any vegetation of any kind. He had been transported to the dreariest of locations. All around him rocks jutted outward to form countless nooks and crevices. The ceiling was arched, and far above him hundreds of rock spirals hung like chandeliers. They were anything but elegant. They instead resembled the fangs of a creature readying itself for attack.

“Hello?” Awiergan called again as he continued to survey his surroundings. He eventually saw an opening from which a slight glow was being emitted, and he slowly paced across the chamber, and with each step the glow became brighter, the wails became more amplified, and the stench became more rank. He finally passed through the opening, and it was then he saw them, scores of nude men and women, and their bodies were covered with scars, welts, and pus-filled boils. Although he was horrified, he continued to watch. No, it cannot be!

Before he had time to consider any further, however, his thoughts were interrupted by approaching footsteps and eventually a familiar tone.

“Awiergan.”

The voice had come from behind him.

“Awiergan.”

He was hesitant, but eventually he turned and saw Atelic. His friend’s skin was also raw, pus oozed from countless boils, and blood trickled from an arrow wound on his left breast.

“Atelic.” He spoke in a near whisper. “What is this place?”

“The Life After for those whose crimes Fate cannot forgive.”

“Who are they?” Awiergan pointed to the scores of people.

“All sinners are punished according to their mortal crimes. Murderers, rapists, thieves, fornicators, men and woman alike.”

He hesitated before inquiring for an answer he dreaded to know. “Why am I here?”

His friend chuckled with a profound rasp. “Because you are an unfortunate, and I am sorry.”

“Am I one of you?” Another question for which he feared the answer.

“Do you feel you are?”

Awiergan’s memories slowly returned, and he was able to recall the numerous lashings and how he had become weaker. There was no reason he should not be dead. His pain had not yet subsided, and he looked to his arms. His skin was not raw, and there were no signs of boils or warts. But if I am not dead, why am I here? With such mounting questions, he answered, “I do not know.”

Atelic placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder and smiled. “You have been weakened, but you are still among the living, and that is where you will stay. You have been chosen for a greater destiny.”

“What? Tell me! What is my destiny?”

Atelic said nothing and did nothing more than smile before eventually falling back into the shadows.

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Awiergan’s eyes quickly opened, and he grunted as waves of pain surged through his back. At first his vision was blurred, but it eventually cleared, and he looked from one side to the other. He was in a windowless chamber, and it was too large and too well lit, not to mention furnished, to be a cell or any room associated with a dungeon. He then noticed the smell. It was not an overpowering mustiness or the pungent stench of bodily fluids and waste that had accompanied his past horrors. Instead it was something different, something odd yet familiar. Something intense but also comforting. It had required a moment, but at last he recognized the smoky and aromatic scent of incense.

Already having forgotten about his back, Awiergan adjusted his posture only to be reminded of his condition by the intense, burning pain.

“Do not move,” a voice ordered. “You are recovering well, but you still need to rest.”

He turned and saw an elderly man walking toward him. “Where am I?”

“Caberton Keep. I am a physician, and you are in my care.”

He nodded and recalled what he could, but he struggled to differentiate between what had actually taken place and what had only been imagined. Banan had been killed. Fallfield. It had been in Fallfield, along the coast of the Southern Inlet, and Atelic and I had had to escape into the forest. We had run deep into the wooded area. No, that is not what had occurred. We had run just far enough to be concealed. Then the guards had forced us out with the arrows and the fire. That had been real. That had been the cause, and Atelic had been killed, and I had been taken prisoner. Then I had been chained and forced into a wagon bound for Caberton Keep. And once there I had been taken to the castle’s dungeons, and I had been punished. Fifty lashings had been ordered, and it had been a guard who had whipped me. But he could recall only one individual. Only one face lingered in his mind, only one name.

“King Beadurof.” The final thought was also spoken. “I need to speak with him.”

“Your father is currently in the great hall. He needed time to be alone and to think.” The elderly man paused before continuing, but his voice was nothing more than distant mumbling.

Awiergan had not concentrated on anything except the first two words. He could not believe it and