Prophecy of Tears: CH1: Laram
Laram
Pain. A red maze of terrible, endless agony.
"What is your name, spy?"
"Who is your contact?"
"What were you doing on Charybdis?"
The man who called himself Markhel Domeran still had his eyes - they hadn't touched his face yet, thank the Great Wolf - but clamps held his head toward a glaring light on the ceiling. The air was thick with the smell of blood and worse. He must not break. He must not betray - no! Don't even think her name! She must have time to escape with the data! He might mumble his thoughts aloud. Concentrate: I am Markhel Domeran, freelance witness for ZoneVox….
The cycle began again. "What is your name, spy?" the unseen questioner droned.
"M-Markhel D-Domeran…!" They hadn't broken him yet, but they'd succeed shortly. The butchers were too good at their craft. He couldn't hold out much longer. They mustn't know who his parents were, either, he knew. It would be much worse if they knew that.
The pain vanished suddenly, and the unseen questioner sighed tiredly. "You're a stubborn subject, Starwolf."
The abrupt absence of pain after so many nightmare hours was almost enough to bring Domeran to tears.
A shadowy face blotted out the glare. The spy blinked repeatedly, but his eyes failed to focus.
"Are you human?" the dry voice held a new intensity that stirred the ashes of the spy's curiosity.
"Wha-what?" the spy husked. His throat felt shredded from screaming.
"Are you human?"
He tapped the last reserves of his anger. "Damn you." The tears streamed down his face. "More human than you, butcher."
A gentle finger wiped a tear from his eye. "You will break very soon, you know."
Domeran clenched his jaw and shook his head as much as the clamps allowed. What time was it? Had Lydrea gotten offplanet yet? A moan escaped his lips.
"When the pain returns, it will be worse. Much worse. Why not tell the truth and spare yourself?"
I am telling the truth, Domeran wanted to say, but hope and fear betrayed him, and all he produced was a sob.
The shadow withdrew, and the merciless glare blazed down again. The spy braced himself, but his resistance hung by a thread now. The respite and its brief kindness had unmanned him, doubtless as the Blood Eagle intended.
To his surprise, the pain did not return. Instead, the glare dimmed, and the shadow leaned over him again. Domeran saw chiseled features, a barbed tattoo on one cheek, a shaved scalp.
"We are finished," the Blood Eagle said. "I judge you to be human. Thus, I salute your courage. You have won a quick and honorable death."
Domeran was stunned. No more pain?
"Give us your name so that we may speed your body to your kin."
A trick…! "Markhel Domeran," Domeran managed. "…ZoneVox witness…."
The Blood Eagle frowned. "Very well. A pack name among the Starwolf, then. I would not probe further, but a warrior's death should be known by his family."
My family…! Domeran's mind whirled. He couldn't detect anything but sincerity in the Blood Eagle's words. The pain waited offstage, a great beast poised to rip asunder what little dignity he still retained. Was the butcher telling the truth? Would he grant death instead of shame?
The Blood Eagle seemed to read his thoughts. "I swear by my bloodline that I tell you true… 'Markhel Domeran.' A pack name only, and then you will have peace."
Domeran licked his lips, drew a ragged breath. The Eagles were known to abide by their word, but he couldn't tell them who his mother was. They'd use him against her. The thought of more pain tore at him. If he were to die, he could not betray anyone. Slowly, he whispered a name. The wrong name, but one that would eventually lead him home.
The Blood Eagle nodded. "That will suffice," he said. "Farewell with honor, Wolf. Your family will know you died well."
The last thing the spy ever felt was something cold and sharp sliding across his throat.[1]
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