Broken Blade, Gossamer Gag...

*it's been months since I sat down and wrote. I have a ton of stuff to do, and a ton more in my head that needs to be written. It's easter for 1 more minute of 2008, and several moments today struck me as fodder for fiction--midnight! let's see what comes out*

Looking down, eyes still watering from the after shocks, I barely heard the clang and click of the cell door. I wondered, hopefully not for the last time, when they'd stop asking me the same questions. One of my uncles would have said, "Take stock, know where you are and what you can use to stay alive". For him, I looked around my cell. By all appearances, it was about six feet on each side. Made of mortar and brick on the sides to the left and right, with iron bars, almost six inches apart making up the wall I faced. My chains were bolted to rings in the floor. I couldn't turn to survey the wall, but leaning against it made me think it was rock, although possibly not manmade. It was possible I was underground far enough that it could be bedrock. The floor had been laid with uneven cobblestones. They were uneven, and the upturned edges were both sharp, and covered with refuse--I didn't look close enough to ascertain what sort. Sorry uncle. They hadn't stripped me of my things. Another might think that a misstep on their part. I figured they just didn't care, given the items I was carrying. On my right hip, there was almost half a short sword. At this point, no longer than a hunting knife, the blade was jagged, and since I'd been chained to the floor, was presently digging into a very tender part of my backside. I shifted, trying in vain to find comfort. I still had my lockpicks, strapped to my left forearm, which would have been useful, had the door had a lock to be picked. From what I could see through hazy eyes, the door locked in some sort of intricate tongue and groove mechanism, with a lever in the hallway beyond for release.

My let hand twitched, and I looked down to find a spider, tiny and nervous, making its way across the back of my hand. It left a trail of silken, sticky thread, as it climbed what must have seemed like mountains up my left arm, over the folds of my jerkin. I tried in vain to stay still, not knowing if my movements would frighten or provoke it. It was tiny, yes, but I had a pretty good idea that anything in this place would turn out for the worst. I shrugged my shoulders against my will, as it stepped tentatively off my collar onto my neck. As I'd recently cut my hair short, for obvious reasons, there was nothing in its way. I could feel the webbing tracing across my neck, under my chin, as it spun, back and forth, busily creating a gag of pure silk. As I said, nothing had gone right in this place... yet. That "yet" must have come from my other uncle. He would have grinned, then said, "keep your chin up". And so I would. I looked up, finding the ceiling of my cell covered with spiderwebs. And among the webs, appearing to be rousing just now, spiders. Far larger than the one quickly gagging me. Perhaps this really was a better way to go.

I looked back down, trying in vain to find some way this could work for me. Under my mud and blood splattered jerkin, there was a light blue shirt, tucked into pants of the same color. The twin belts about my waist were currently crumpled under me, with my legs bent backwards, the backs of my thighs pressing against my calves, and my ankles, although safe from the chafing of the chains because of my heavy boots, were fighting off the spiky tingles from lack of blood flow. They really knew how to tie a girl down. Now there was a conundrum. I could probably get free if I made it clear that I was a woman. Of course, that would end in the way that girls in underground prisons usually ended up, and I had none of those desires.

The spider stopped directly under my chin. This would be my only chance, as far as I could see, to either kill it, or be smothered by whatever it was doing. My mother and sister might have had some sort of love for these critters, but as my chin trapped the little beast against my the top of breastbone, crushing it into mush, I was glad I hadn't caught the druid genes. Now, there needed to be a way to get free.

The pins and needles were almost unbearable. At once feeling both utterly numb, and on fire. I flexed them, on purpose, and got both a rush of new tears, filling the cuts in my cheeks with salty rivulets, as well as an unwanted cry of pain. GoDs, this would go poorly if they chose to come back now. Skittering feet above brought with it more unwanted issues. I could only figure that the scent of the little mound of goo under my chin had brought attention from the web-makers above me. I bit hard on my lip, flexing my calves in rapid succession, trying to get the blood moving. Forcing myself up against the chains around my ankles, there seemed to be just enough play to, maybe, slip out of my boots. A spider the size of a dinner plate landed directly between my breasts, peering up at me with what appeared to be a score of eyes. I wrenched both of my legs up hard, feeling the ankles catch, then slip past the boots and out onto the cobblestones. Tears falling against my will, I fought to an almost upright position, shaking the spider to the floor. It skittered to the left, and I kicked weakly in it's direction, clipping it, but more likely scaring it into a retreat. For a while at least. No footsteps from the hall. I tugged weakly at the chains binding me to the wall, and tried to reach my lockpicks with my teeth. No dice. Pulling my arm out of socket seemed an awful price to pay, if I couldn't get out anyway.

My broken blade hung at my side, but it couldn't do anything but shatter further on these chains, although I could actually reach it, if I doubled over just right. The next bastard who tried to torture me would have a much tougher time, that's for sure. Tough talk for a girl chained to a wall, eh? I hadn't been coherent enough to notice if they carried keys. Nor, apparently, had I been clearheaded enough to note that these chains held no locks. Brilliant. Fine, the left hand it would be. It was my off hand, and I could get it healed later, I suppose.

I leaned over, tugging the chain on my left wrist towards the floor until there was no slack left. Taught now, I slipped my left foot over to pin the links to the floor, and slowly, GoDs awful slowly, tugged my hand upward. Easy at first, the manacle stuck around halfway up my palm. Tight, very tight. Blood was trickling out, pooling in my folded palm, lubricating the whole process. I counted, slowly, to three, then jerked hard, my arm coming free, blood spraying an arc into the air in front of me, and biting through my bottom lip in the process. The only sounds I noticed were the chain crumpling atop my foot (a lucky break) and the spiders skittering down to investigate the blood. The newcomers were bigger than the other one. They seemed only interested in the liquid at the moment, instead of the fountain itself.

One limb to go, but I had one very useless hand to show for almost free from bondage. My left hand was still spasming, and I shoved it into the folds of my shirt to keep more blood from pooling at my feet. And then I realized my vision was spinning again. The walls of the cell were pulsating, rippling back and forth. I was well on my way to passing out. The only (vaguely) sensible explanation was the spider's blood or webbing on my neck, and, taking stock of my physical well being (thanks again, uncle) I could feel a serious burn happening under my chin. The corpse of the spider there was sizzling its way through the band of webbing... toxic little bastard. I bent over quickly, not wanting to waste a single bit of him. Shoving the chain links closest to my wrist under my chin, I felt what was left of the arachnid begin to cauterize the metal. This story, even my uncles wouldn't believe, if I ever got the chance to tell them.

As the links fell to the floor, more loudly this time, I heard the gutteral voices of my captors. The spiders too, found other places to be, quickly climbing walls and webs to hide in the labrynth of the ceiling. I knelt, arranging my body and the now useless chains as they had been before. I heard the sizzling of the rods they had been using to burn me, smelled the brimstone, mixed with my old blood. There were two this time. As I slipped my right hand over the familiar pommel of what had once been my best blade, I couldn't believe I'd ever carried anything longer. A good dagger, well, it was more useful than any long sword could have been.

The door unlatched, and swung open. Two sets of heavily booted feet were all I could see from my nearly prone position. One voice, and one I knew well from prior visits, growled, "ready to talk, boy?" He gave no time for answer, as the slim spike of metal moved up towards my face, shining almost white, ready to sear flesh from bone. It wavered, just for a moment, as his partner moved to grab my face. We had been here before, in these very positions, several times now. My scars were caked with old blood, and laced with new. This would be their last session, I hoped.

I twitched my head towards the bending figure, away from the poker. He grabbed my face, as he'd done before, and, between us, I reversed my hold on the sword-cum-dagger, and drove it up into his belly, aiming for lung and heart if I could reach it. He wheezed, looking towards his partner for help. I pulled back, feeling a rib break as I tugged the blade out, and hoping it pierced the other lung. Blood poured out on to my hand as I reversed the blade again, knocking the poker aside, and slicing across my would-be torturer's chest, cutting open the leather and animal skin mixture he was wearing, and drawing a decidedly not deep enough line of blood. He fell back, swinging the poker wildly, and retreating for the door. the flat of the poker caught my side, mostly below the heat line, but in my condition, any pain was too much. I cringed, trying to steady myself, and loosed my blade in a last ditch attempt to take him down. Falling atop his wheezing comrade, my vision swirled away, hearing what I thought was the door...

I awakened in the same position, except with a dead man under me. Easing up to a seated position, I saw my the hilt of my blade, extending from the back of the other body's neck. The door had swung shut, but his body blocked it from latching. I crawled into the hallway, shoving his body into the dark cell, figuring that the spiders would do the rest. Wiping the blade off on his collar, I tore the webbing from my throat and mouth, and slipped into the shadows. Nothing but my boots and blood lay in the cell behind me.