Sorceress (Part 1)

“How long you gonna sleep here, you useless sack of bones?! This ain’t no inn!”

The man covered in blood lying on the floor sat up abruptly and looked around, confused. The last thing he remembered was collapsing on the battlefield, with a hungry sword in his hand. Now he was again in a place he did not recognize.

The stone walls were rough and damp. There were no windows in the wall, and the air was stale and suffocating. The only source of light came from the braziers mounted on the walls in the corridor. The ground was cold and hard. Even the dirty straw scattered around did not help to soften it. His whole body was sore. He tried to move and stand up, but something heavy pulled him back. He noticed the chains fastened around his ankles, connecting him to heavy iron weights.

A guard was standing in front of the iron bars, banging on them. It was a middle-aged man dressed in armor, holding a spear. Probably part of a castle troop, doubling as a prison guard now. The majority of the soldiers died during their unsuccessful siege, after all.

“His Reverence, the High Priest, came to see you. I’ll leave you to him… even though you don’t deserve it, you cowardly deserter!” spat the guard.

The prisoner did not let those curses get to him. “Did you see my sword?” he asked instead.

“What kinda nonsense you spoutin’? Think any sword’s worth you?“ yelled the guard at him. “Move that worthless arse here.”

The prison guard hit the iron bars the last time to let out his anger and then left, fuming and stomping.

The man locked up in the dungeon got up and began to move closer to the front. The iron weights around his ankles were heavy. He could feel the rusty shackles scraping his skin, but he was able to get there slowly.

Another figure appeared in front of the bars. It was an old man this time. He was dressed in red, flowy robes with a high collar, decorated with golden embroidery. A golden circlet was sitting on his head, symbolizing his connection to the royal crown. He was holding a golden scepter, previously a sign of his status, now using it more as a walking stick due to his hunched back. His face was full of wrinkles, but his blue eyes were still crystal clear.

“Dear hero,” he said, his voice soft, “our siege has failed miserably, and many of our great warriors now rest in peace. Though you have failed once more, His Majesty is willing to give you a last chance. You must go to the Kingdom of Lunaria and bring back the Moon Princess, the holy saintess.”

He had had enough of this. Since he was summoned to this world months ago, he had always been told how he had been called here to serve his kingdom, to heed the will of Silgorod. But the thing is, this has never been his world, nor his kingdom. He had no one to serve and nothing to protect.

“And what if I refuse to?” asked the hero.

He looked directly into the high priest’s eyes, challenging him. A heavy stillness settled between them.

The silence was broken by the sound of urinating. A prisoner from the next cell had to relieve himself, and he did it into a bucket for waste standing in the corner of his cell. The stench of urine wafted through the air.

The priest grimaced, his nose wrinkling in disgust.

“I am afraid you no longer have any choice,” he told the hero. “You will either infiltrate the Lunaria kingdom and bring His Majesty the Moon Princess, or you shall be executed today with that blasphemous sorceress. You have until sunset to decide your fate. Then you will be in God's hands.”

The priest strode off in haste. The air here was musty, and the stench too thick to breathe. It was certainly no place for such a dignified person. The summoned hero leaned on the bars, sticking his face through them, looking after the running priest.

A person in the next cell threw themselves into the doors, the iron clacking loudly in protest. The hero flinched. He poked his nose out of the bars, trying to see the neighbour.

There was a small woman’s face sticking out. He could see she was blindfolded, with her ears and mouth stuffed shut. She was struggling, the muffled sounds not able to escape. He had only bound feet, and yet she was completely restrained.

He reached out through the bars, trying to reach her. As if she was feeling his intent, she leaned closer, stretching her neck, forcing her face through the iron bars.

He pulled a dirty cloth out of her mouth. She gasped for air with her mouth like a fish out of water. Her saliva slid down her face. Once her breathing stabilized, she turned her head to him.

“Do you want me to also help you pull out those wax wads from your ears?” he guessed.

She did not hear him nor respond. So he reached again and tried to free her hearing sense, too. Once the pieces of wax ended up on the floor, she finally spoke to him.

“I thank you,” she said. “It was suffocating.”

Her voice was hoarse, but had a nice husky tone.

“It was nothing,” he replied.

He saw that her ears were burned. The skin was red and was flaking off in some parts. Were they lighting candles and dripping the hot wax directly into her ears? That must have been painful.

The high priest mentioned she was a sorceress. Were they torturing her? This dungeon was not only for keeping prisoners enclosed, but also to have a place where they could punish them. And he still remembered history lessons from high school about witch hunts. Although he was not sure if this world was the same as the one from history, it was true that the kingdom of Silgorod banned all witchcraft and magic, claiming they were harmful to both body and mind.

“Why are you in prison?” asked the sorceress. “All prisoners were sent to the war, to help with the siege and to seize the Moon Princess.”

“The siege has already ended. Unsuccessfully. I saw many dead.”

“I see,” she replied.

She fell to her knees on the floor, her shoulders shaking.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

He thought the news about the crushing defeat would overwhelm her.

But he was mistaken.

A short cackle escaped her thin lips. “Serves them right!” she shrieked.

A loud laughter filled the heavy air in the dungeon. She was sitting on the ground, howling so loud, she even banged her head against the iron bars. Drops of blood trickled down from her forehead, but she did not mind them at all.

He was looking at her, shocked. Was she insane? Did she not have a single person she held dear in this world?

He did not even like the people of this kingdom, and yet, when he saw dead bodies littering the field, he felt pity for them. They all died because of him. Because he was leading the siege according to the prophecy in which he did not believe in. And which turned out to be completely wrong.