Legacy of the Remembered

29. Damage

Eske awoke confused and with an itch in his throat. He coughed, the heaving of his chest sending him off balance from where he was perched against a wall. When he made to catch himself, he found his hands tied behind him, his ankles in a similar situation, and his gaze facing a wall a foot in front of him. He heard voices from the other side of the room—or were they outside?—whispering among each other. How many people?

Where was he? And where was everyone else? Ollyah? Yras?

He took a moment to catch his breath, to try to focus on just that and not the crushing weight of his present bearing down on him. Focus. Focus. He didn't know where he was; he couldn't see anything useful; he didn't know how long he'd been unconscious for. He didn't know where Ollyah was.

But he did know how to get some of that information. If he could just focus.

It was useless to suppress the shaking, the memory of waking in that basement room and awaiting an unknown fate that changed his life. He could feel the concrete from then, too similar to what he felt now beneath his knees, his arms, his body as he lay on his side.

There was one difference. He felt the Tear of Jule still around his neck. Had his kidnappers not noticed it, or just not cared? He may have fallen further into the pit of his memories without it; as it was, it centered him. He never wore it in the past. It wasn't until after he accidentally killed a few people on the way to Panjuun that he considered the idea of limiting his magic a necessary one. The comfort it brought him to wear it was a start to pull himself out of his headspace, and it was just enough of a foothold to work.

As he tried to calm himself, he listened to the voices somewhere else in the room. And it did seem to be a room with the way the sound reverberated. The people spoke a harsh, but elegant language he didn't know. If he had to guess, it was Zrusar. Eske had not thought Sarbil to be of much interest to Ehvera when prioritizing his languages.

As much as he couldn't predict a situation like this would happen, it did disadvantage him in this moment. The voices were hushed, low and angry. He did not recognize them, not just the language, but the people. What folly did he have with Sarbil? None that he could recall.

Maybe that's the problem, he thought. Maybe I need to spend more time in politics.

He did his duty, but opening himself up to more targets asked for too many problems. He had enough on his plate. His heritage, status, abilities, and of course his current situation.

All of that was a distraction for him to try and not focus on where he was. Looking over his shoulder, he could not see much; the room was shaded. There was light, but not directly shining into the room. No windows. Underground? In a secluded space?

In a cage?

No, don't think of that. He could not think of the bars and the cushions and the hands—

Stop.

His breathing escalated with his thoughts, and though he tried to stifle them, it was too obvious. The voices he heard quieted, but not naturally. They were listening to him.

"You awake over there?"

The voice was low, but feminine. For a brief moment, Eske thought to pretend to have been unconscious, but he doubted he would be able to fool these people when they had already noticed him stirring.

He struggled to sit up, but he did manage to maneuver himself so that he was facing the voices. Across from him, in an open doorway, stood a woman. She had deep dark skin and nearly buzzed hair. Her clothes were dark and hard to discern the details of from the poor lighting. But he could guess she was indeed Sarbel.