A Season of Rendings by Adam J. Nicolai

Author:Adam J. Nicolai [Nicolai, Adam J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lone Road Publishing, LLC
Published: 2018-01-22T22:00:00+00:00

iii. Angbar

"Up."

He swam awake through a haze of red wheezing. He had no idea the time or even the day; the hours since he had arrived in this place had passed in a hellish blur of sleep and torment. When they left him to himself, broken and sobbing, he had taken to praying—to Kirith A'jhul, to Akir, to the old Bahiri spirits or anyone else who might be listening.

At first, when the cleric had returned and healed all his wounds, Angbar had actually thought the man was making restitution. That he'd realized Angbar knew nothing, and was planning to turn him loose.

Instead the cleric's Preservers broke each of his fingers, one by one, until his wounds from the day before were fully replicated. The cleric asked his questions from behind his glaring veil of light. Where were you this winter? Why did you come to Tal'aden? What was your purpose in Red Quarter? Where is your friend Syntal Smith? Where is your friend Lyseira Rulano?

Helix Smith?

Ignatius Ardenfell?

Cosani Ildaen?

He had spun up a fiction, the quickest fiction he'd ever crafted. We camped in Veiling Green. Helix and Ignatius refused to accompany us north. Lyseira came seeking the Fatherlord's pardon for Helix. I have no idea where she or anyone else is now. I haven't seen Cosani since yesterday. It was very nearly the truth, so close that he'd hoped the cleric would accept it.

They broke his elbows, then his knees. As he screamed his contrition, the cleric healed him. Then they did it all again, before shattering his ribs.

Joints, mainly, the cleric had said as Angbar hung from the stocks by his shattered elbows. But tomorrow, if you lie to me again, we will add hard bone breaks: the fibula, the radius. Even the femur, if I feel so inclined. Impossible to break that bone without significant damage to the surrounding flesh. Difficult work, but my Preservers have managed it before. Can you imagine your leg breaking at the thigh? We'll be able to bend it upward until your toe fits in your mouth.

"Up!"

Angbar was a pile of shattered bones, lying where they'd left him last. An hour ago? A day ago? He could no sooner climb to his feet than he could fly to the moon. He tried to beg, to give an explanation, but it caught on the torn bones in his chest. His every breath was a groaning wheeze.

A new voice said, "His knees are broken, he can't stand."

Angbar tilted his head upward, his ribs scraping at the slight shift. There were two Preservers and two clerics in the room, but he recognized none of them.

"Gal'sa faen tar'r," the new voice droned. "Gal'et sa haal'l sen Akir." Brilliant pain flashed in his knees, the sensation of having them broken anew—but it vanished as quickly as it came, and then his legs were whole. "Gal'sa faen tar'r. Gal'et sa haal'l sen Akir." The same in his ribs. He sucked air like a sobbing newborn.

His elbows, his fingers; a miracle for each.

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