Heretic's Game: Nightmares

SEISHAK

 

 

It's cold, damp, and I'm laying naked on a stone floor with my hands bound together and my hair left loose. I don't really know how I got here again, but I start to shake. I know that Kashida is on his way. I don't need any subtle signs to tell me that, not after he's kept me here for over a month now.

I can hear that awful laugh of his – a demeaning, amused dry chuckle. There aren't any lights, which isn't like him, but I can feel his presence all the same, his weight settling on top of me and pushing me down. Hands move along my entire body, and it doesn't matter how much I try to crawl away from them, they still keep holding on to me.

I scream, desperate to get away from the horrid contact, and I can hear my own scream echoing against the damp stone walls. The hands keep tightening around me, seeming to stretch and warp. For a brief second, I wonder if it's Kashida's shadow that's doing this to me, before more hands than he could possibly muster start grabbing at me, trying to keep me still.

It's too strange, even for him. I struggle for a little longer before I finally manage to open my eyes. I'm surrounded by far too many people – simple monks of Solcan's order that were keeping an eye on me. Their hands are holding me down, trapping me. Some of those hands try reaching into my hair, and that contact is far too intimate, too reminiscent of Kashida's filthy touch.

I manage to force out another scream, and I can feel the liquid fire of my magic lashing out at the offending individuals, forcing them back with as much energy as possible. Once they're all safely away, nursing the small burn wounds on the palms of their hands, I manage to regain the hold on my own magic. It's been years since I've lost control like that.

I don't care how vain or panicked I look, once my magic is fully under my control again, I pull my loose hair over my shoulder and start running my fingers through it. The contact goes far deeper than the physical, and immediately starts working to help calm me down. I can look around the room, assess the damage that I've done, and carefully work my legs out of the tangled blankets.

The monks stay away for now, finally respecting my desire for at least a little bit of privacy. I take the time to loosely brush my hair out using my fingers. If I can get it smooth enough without a brush, I'll attempt a braid, but for now I'm fine with leaving it loose.

Some of the monks start to leave, although a few stay inside when a priest walks into the room. I don't pay much attention to him at first, but my nightmare and paranoia force me to keep an eye on him. I look up when he starts moving closer, and only relax the tiniest amount when I see a familiar, sun-darkened face.

I haven't seen Lyshev in a couple of years, but this is the second time he's taken care of me since becoming an acolyte. Since he left me. I'm still bitter about it, but I'd also never intended to get so close to him. Not that anyone would have been able to tell anyways. Nothing could ever have worked out, so there was simply no point in telling him how I felt.

That bitterness is still there when he comes up to my bed. His hair is longer than I remember, pulled back into a loose ponytail. For a moment, I want to reach out and touch a few stray bits of blond, but I quickly push the urge down. It won't accomplish anything, and I can't push him away.

"I think I know what happened. Is it anything like when I saw you with Morrith?" The words are enough to make me wince. I don't want to say anything, although my shaking is probably clear enough to him. Shortly after he'd become my apprentice, he saw my own cousin molesting me. Neither of us had ever said anything about it. It was never mentioned until now. Nine years, and it took Kashida to shatter that silence.

"Worse. A hundred times worse..." My voice is a hoarse whisper, and it sounds horrid even to me. But that's all I'm going to say on the matter. Possibly all that I'm capable of saying.

Lyshev doesn't say anything, although he tries to reach out. I slap his hand away before it gets too close. He knows I don't like being touched, and now is no different. I don't want sympathy. I don't want compassion. I want Kashida dead, plain and simple.