Prison of Dreams

Chapter One

The man was riding towards her, out of shadows cast by a midnight moon.

His horse was a burning red, like liquid flame.

She was afraid that he would trample her beneath the flashing steel hooves of his steed. But at the last moment he reached out and lifted her into the saddle in front of him.

His face was hidden by darkness, yet somehow she recognized him immediately.

"Philip!" she cried, wrapping her arms around his neck and laying her head upon his shoulder.

"You’ve come for me!"

"You knew I would, the man whispered, holding her close. I love you."

Emily’s heart could have wept at those words, for although she cared for the man that now held her, she did not share his emotion.

There was a dull roar behind them, and Emily turned to see what was coming.

A cloud of darkness was billowing out of the earth and skulking across the sand towards them.

Philip spurred his horse into a run, his left arm holding tight around her waist.

They galloped to where a silver stallion was pawing the earth, and he lowered her down beside it.

"Ride away from here. I will shield your retreat."

She shook her head fearfully.

"I won’t leave you!"

"Go, now!"

She climbed into the pale stallion’s saddle, but could not find the strength to turn her back on the man before her.

The darkness was beginning to take form. A hideous creature that towered high above them, forks of black smoke rising up to form an eerie replica of the crown upon its brow.

"Emily."

Philip’s voice was soft, but firm, as she turned to him.

Looking into his eyes, she could see a promise there. An oath to return to her.

"Fly, Apollo!" she called to her horse, feeling powerful muscles bunch beneath her legs.

But the darkness had expected her move, and it swelled up to surround her.

The silver horse reared up, screaming in fear.

She felt herself falling as the darkness rushed in to swallow her.

Emily’s eyes opened and she jolted awake.

It was so dark, so utterly dark!

She jerked backwards, her body slamming up against an unforgiving wall of hard stone. She could feel her fingernails scraping against the cold surface, yet there was nothing but the soul blinding darkness that had swallowed her.

Reality was slow to reach out and draw her back.

She could smell the mold in the hay that made up her bed, and the acidic fumes that emanated from her own – and many other – overfull chamber pots.

Somewhere in the darkness a man was crying.

It was the sound of a lost soul, trapped forever in a Hell worse than could ever have been imagined.

Another prisoner was coughing. Over, and over again. A thick wet cough, which she knew would bring blood to the lips of its victim. And soon, she thought…death.

More than a dozen prisoners, with nothing more to look forward to than death. And with Stephen being in such a sour mood lately, more prisoners were coming in every day.

Like the one that now occupied the cell next to hers.

He had just arrived a week ago, and she could hear him pacing the floor behind his cell door.

That would end soon.

All of them had done so at first. Hoping to see a familiar face through the bars. Thinking that if they could just catch a glimpse of someone from the outside, they could explain, reason, or bribe their way to freedom.

After a month, or rarely a year, they learned that nobody cared.

No matter how notorious, or infamous, their reign had been outside the castle walls, once they were on the inside they were forgotten.

Someone else always came along that the people could blame for their troubles. And that someone would be hated, tormented and hunted until he also ended up in prison. Or if he was lucky, dead.

There was a whisper of movement over in the corner. The intense black of the cell concealed its form, but she knew that it would be a rat, seeking any crumbs that might have remained from her last meal.

She heard the muffled sounds of the man in the next cell, as he gave up on his pacing, and lowered himself to the miserable bed of hay they were all allotted.

Perhaps he was tired. Did he still dream of freedom when he slept? Or had the prison so warped his mind he was no longer able to dream?

Could he have become like that rat? Slinking around in his dark hole, searching for crumbs.

Perhaps.

Though not crumbs to fill his belly, she thought, but crumbs of memory.

Bits and pieces of the life he had known, before he was thrown into this man made, eternal damnation.

No. He’d only been here a week, she reminded herself. The insanity that threatened them all would not start haunting him for another month or so.

What had been his crime? She wondered.

Had he perhaps been caught with a cat in his barn?

Witch!

She heard the screams echoing in her mind.

Or had his town run across bad luck, just after he had moved in?

Burn the witch!

How ignorant people could be. To kill an innocent man, for nothing more than a dry spell during what they believed should be wet weather. And then to never give that man, or his widowed family, a second thought. That is…if they spared his family.

She knew that the fearful, hateful mobs, were just as likely to blame the children as their parents.

Children of witches…witches to be!

Emily felt her breath catch in her throat, as a tiny glow of light started to show through a small fissure in her wall.

It would be morning soon. The blessed light would be back.

She had survived to see another day.

Rolling to place her face as close as she could to the light, she caught herself listening to know if the other prisoners were awakening. She chided herself for the error. The others would have no knowledge of the approaching dawn.

It was no wonder that she had outlived so many of them, when she alone had this tiny fracture of light to warm her soul.

Her stomach ached and she let her hand drop to rest on the hollow area that hurt her so often now.

The keepers of the prison block were often forgetful of their prisoners’ needs. They were starved for days at a time, and then the guards would bring in baskets full of rotten fruit or vegetables.

Those prisoners that didn’t starve to death, were often killed by the numerous illnesses brought on by such a poor diet.

She sighed.

Lately they had also suffered for water.

Encircling the entire castle was an extensive moat, and the water usually ran even with the prison level, seeping through the rocks to lie in puddles on the floor.

After very heavy rainstorms, the prison would be flooded.

Those were dark days. As their beds were nothing more than straw on the floor, the prisoners would be sleeping in several inches of water, and many of them would die of pneumonia.

The weather had not been so violent lately. Instead, it had been a sullen dry, which sucked the moisture from the moat and left the prisoners without even their fetid puddles to drink from.

Angling her face she caught a glimpse of the shining water in the moat.

It looked closer than it had in days.

Could it have rained during the night?

She pulled a long straw out of her bed pile and carefully guided it through the crack, down towards the water.

When she saw ripples in the surface, she pulled her straw back, and studied it carefully.

It took only a quarter of an inch to reach the water from her cell.

She slipped the straw back through the crack, attempting to suckle some of the liquid through its crushed body. But it was a useless attempt.

Her tongue clave thickly to the roof of her mouth, warning of severe dehydration and the real possibility of death, should the guards not return soon.

It was such poor care that left so few surviving prisoners beneath the castle. No more than a dozen or so on this block, a level which might have held hundreds.

Her body was little more than a skeletal shadow of her former self, and her bones ached from lying on the cold stone floor.

She stood up and stretched as best she could with such a low ceiling.

The light could barely penetrate the room, but it was enough for her to find the overflowing chamber pot in the corner - another area that the guards rarely concerned themselves with.

Thankfully, after almost a year of imprisonment, her nose had become so deadened by the acidic fumes she hardly noticed the smell anymore.

The man in the cell next to hers started muttering softly.

Was he so close to losing his mind?

Other than in children, giving up within the first week was a rare occurrence, but she had witnessed it in the past.

Hello? she called softly.

Hello? Who’s out there? Where are you?

It was a demand more than a question.

I’m in the cell to your left.

A girl? In here?

You sound surprised.

But it was she who was surprised…by his naiveté.

I didn’t think they would put a girl into such a place.

She felt resentment against him, but couldn’t have told why.

I’ve spoken to children of barely ten or eleven years within these walls, although they seldom last more than a few weeks.

What could possibly be their crime?

Hunger, she scowled. They stole food and got caught.

And they leave them here to die?

We are all here to die.

She was growing tired of his ignorance.

Is that true? You think you’re going to die here?

Of course. I have been here for so long I don’t remember what the rain feels like on my skin, or the wind blowing through my hair.

She sighed softly.

I remember that I enjoyed them, but I don’t remember how they felt.

He was silent, and she was glad.

You won’t die here, he finally whispered.

She shook her head sadly.

You’re a fool for thinking so.

It’s true, I swear it. I will see you freed.

There was confidence in his words. They hardly seemed like the wild ramblings of a crazy man.

Why do you torment me? Do you think to give me courage? she cried, I have heard the promise a thousand times, from a thousand men like yourself. Yet here I stand. And where are my noble knights now? They are dead!

There was no response from the cell next to hers.

She was enraged by his silence, until she realized it was not him that angered her, but her desire to believe him.

Trying to convince herself that he didn’t know anything only made her feel angrier.

He was still deluded enough to think he might escape – or be released. Yet who was more foolish? The fool, or the one that put her faith in him?

She crawled to the crack in her wall. Torturing herself with the tiny fragment of light that it allowed into her cell.

She touched the crack, studying the way that the light seemed to turn the edges of her finger red.

Rolling onto her back, she stared up at the flickering light reflected off the water and onto her ceiling. It was just the tiniest sliver of shimmering, dancing light. Yet in the darkness of the dungeon, it was enough.

She covered the crack and the light disappeared.

Her heart beat just a bit faster at its loss.

Then she dropped her hand and the light reappeared. Comforting, almost spiritual, in its presence.

For a moment she thought of what it must be like for a ship tossed by a stormy sea. Who, when all else seems lost, sees the lighthouse on the shore.

This delicate reflection was her lighthouse. Something she looked forward to every morning, and mourned the loss of at night.

What must it be like for the other prisoners?

To not have even this tiny fraction of heaven available to them?

A loud splash startled her, and she realized the prison was coming alive with sound.

Something was happening!

Quickly, she filled the crack with a small handful of straw, then jumped to her feet and hurried to the door.

Chapter Two

A faint yellow glow was battling to be seen in the darkness.

A lantern.

That meant today was a feed day!

She could hear prisoners begging for food or water, others pleading to be released.

Emily heard shouts of joy coming from near the entrance to her level. She could hear the sound of water pouring into buckets and the rattle of the guard’s keys.

Eagerly she waited for her turn.

The guards reached her neighbor’s cell.

You still alive in there?

One of them banged a bucket against the bars of his cell door.

What? No wise words for us today? Have the rats eaten out your tongue?

As the talk continued she began to feel a knot of fear growing in her belly. A fear taught by months of experience at the hand of careless guardians. That they might grow weary of the dark and the stench before stopping to feed her or the remaining prisoners on the block.

Please! she called out, bring me food, I beg you!

She received nothing but a curse in reply.

What’s the matter then? they continued to harass the silent man. You wanted to be king, and we have made you one…king of the rats!

Boisterous laughter erupted from the guards.

She heard the cell door being opened and the prisoner being dragged to his feet.

There were muffled noises. Soft, wet thumps combined with grunts of exertion. At the same time the guards continued to ridicule, and laugh at their silent prisoner.

Yet, finally they seemed to lose interest in their game, and she heard them closing the cell door.

The bolt echoed ominously through the dark.

Then they were opening her cell door.

One of them threw an armful of fresh straw into the room. He grabbed her chamber pot and dumped it into the sewer drain that ran down the center of the main alley, then tossed it carelessly back into her cell with a grimace of disgust.

A second guard poured water into her trough, and dumped a bag of old wrinkled potatoes and squash out onto the floor.

As the lantern’s glow reflected moodily through the tiny stone cell, she caught the dark stains of blood splattered over both men, and cowered as she realized what they had done.

That poor man!

Who was he?

Why should they hate him so?

She stayed in her corner until they slammed the door shut once more and locked it securely.

Her heart ached for the man that had been beaten, but after months of imprisonment herself, she knew she’d have chosen his quick and violent death over the endless agony that the prison had to offer.

With a heavy heart, she slid over to the mound of rotted vegetables and began to sort the potatoes and squash into separate piles.

She knew the potatoes would last longer in the cold dungeon than the squash, so she would save them for last.

Finding a couple of withered carrots in the pile, she carried them back to her bed to be eaten right away.

The last of the light from the lantern vanished as the guards closed the heavy doors of the dungeon behind them.

Yet, almost the moment they were gone, she heard a low moan from the cell next door.

You’re alive? she gasped, feeling a terrible confusion over the revelation. It would have been better if he’d died, but now he must suffer a slow and painful death in the dark.

There was only a soft grunt in reply.

Are you hurt badly?

Bad enough.

The guards had said something about him wanting to be king.

There was little chance of him being a prince, not so near to the heart of this realm. Their queen had died barren, and their king was killed soon after.

If anything, he was more likely a lord.

All of the noblemen were now fighting over their right to rule the country, and having a young lord about could be damaging in the eyes of the tax worn people.

Stephen would eagerly have him in prison, rather than battling for his right to the throne.

But his voice had sounded so young.

Liddell was the youngest of the lords, and he was over forty.

So, perhaps he was not a lord himself, but rather the son of a lord. It would still be enough to anger Lord Stephen, and draw the wrath of the prison guards down upon him.

They don’t like you much.

He snorted.

Apparently not.

At least they fed us.

He didn’t respond.

When you’ve been here as long as I have, you’ll be grateful for that slop.

Still silence.

She wondered if he’d fallen unconscious.

Taking off her skirt, she tied up the ends to make a sack, and started filling it with the potatoes.

They didn’t leave me anything.

His reply took her by surprise, although she should have expected it, considering her captors and the obvious dislike they’d shown for him.

Are you sure?

It was a stupid question. She wished she could take it back.

Of course he was sure! After not being fed in almost a week, he would have searched every corner of his cell by now.

She started to tie her make shift bag to the bars on the window of her door, and then paused.

A small squash was touching one of her toes. It was small enough to fit between the bars. But she really couldn’t spare even the smallest portion. To give away even one of them, would mean another day of starvation. And next time…that might mean death.

I’m sure.

He sounded as if he had expected as much, but his voice also sounded weak and full of pain.

Did they give you water?

There was a brief pause.

No.

She knew she was going to share with him, even though she shouldn’t.

Returning her skirt-bag to the floor, she lifted the small squash and shoved her finger through its soft skin. When she pulled it out there was a small hole piercing through to the hollow interior.

She filled the squash with water from her trough and reached up to push the small handful against the bars of the door.

It was a tight fit, but the vegetable was over ripe and she was able to slide it through.

I have something for you, see if you can reach me, she instructed, But take care not to spill it. This may be all you get.

She heard his body press against the door of his cell, and could hear the desperate strain of his breath.

Her arm was stretched as far as it could reach, but she could not feel his hand.

Then something struck her wrist, nearly causing her to drop the precious handful.

Be careful!

His huge hand closed around the squash and lifted it off her palm.

Thank you, he whispered.

You’re welcome.

As she listened to the sounds of him feeding, she turned back to her previous chore, quickly lifting the skirt-bag off the floor and tying it to the barred window. She must keep it high enough to discourage the rats from getting into it.

The squash would go bad within days, so it must be gorged upon quickly, but she took the time to stack those neatly by the door as well. Hoping to encourage the rats to eat them, rather than climb up to her precious potato stash.

Considering her work complete, she crawled over to her bed and munched on the few carrots she’d left there.

The sound of prisoners eating could be heard echoing from every cell, and she wondered how many of them would survive the following week, until food day came again.

Her battered neighbor was surely not going to be one of them.

She didn’t have enough food to share with him. And with the guards’ obvious hatred towards him, he would probably be beaten to death if he did manage to survive until the next time they entered the prison.

The carrots, and her dark thoughts, were upsetting her shrunken stomach, but she ate anyway.

She could hear her neighbor groaning in pain as he rolled over towards the stone wall that separated them.

She wished that she could comfort the injured man in some way, yet at the same time, she realized that she feared him.

Even with all the good sense that her mother had sworn she had, Emily still believed that his entrance into the dungeon was a foretelling of something about to happen.

The return of her nightmares only made her more certain.

Her carrots were gone.

She crawled to the stone trough that held her water.

Two small gulps and her stomach was full.

What a marvelous feeling it was to have a full belly again. Something that she had once taken for granted.

A loud scraping noise shattered the darkness in the next cell.

What on earth was he doing in there? And what could he possibly be using as a tool?

As suddenly as it had started, the scraping stopped.

She heard her neighbor shuffling around in the darkness, muttering softly beneath his breath.

Then the sound returned, but from further away.

She listened for a moment, guessing that he was now scraping against the outside wall.

The harsh rasping echoed through the black depths of the dungeon, and roused several prisoners from their beds. One of them began pounding against his cell door, and a weak man’s voice cried out.

Please, get me out of here!

The wails for pity continued for several hours after, but they became weaker, and less frequent. Until the man finally fell mute.

For the whole of the day, all that could be heard in the prison was the steady sound of metal scrapping against