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He had always been very careful.
For years on end, he had masked his traces, scouted for the opportune moments, doing reconnaissance work as fast as he could before one of the witches would return, never as much as merely approaching the Black Tower. Always vigilant, always cautious, keeping up the ruse of an unassuming gardener confined to the basement of the castle with the garden monsters, all while his life depended on keeping one delicate black rose alive.
But it hadn’t been enough.
One day, one fateful day, Nomenziona had needed something from one of Her witches at a moment’s notice, appearing where he was spying out of nowhere. He had tried to talk himself out of the situation, come up with convincing lies and excuses as fast as he could, but it wouldn’t matter. There was no real reason for him to be there, and the witches hated humans. It was a mercy that they had let him exist in their castle for that long.
Nomenziona had choked him, blue fire flaring up all around her. He thought that that would be his end. A lone death removed from his homeland, without ever having completed his mission, or getting a chance to see him again. He quietly wished that his letters would be of some help to them at least, and that She might make it quick in a rare act of mercy.
But his end was not here yet.
She had started to drag him, drag him using his arm as rope all the way down to the lowest levels of Obscure. He knew exactly where She was taking him. There was nothing he could do, he barely got enough air. There was no fighting off the Witch of Witches, trying would spell your doom, and below the castle was many metres of air before ever reaching the ground. All he could do was cease resisting.
The air was thick and oppressive, dark corridors warping into a harrowing maze that ate away at your mindstate. His already shallow breathing only worsened, and he coughed, trying to get in a bit of air. Nomenziona only dragged him faster, nearly dislocating his shoulder.
She yanked open a wooden cell door and pushed him inside. His knees buckled instantly with the force, and he was thrown against the floor. He tasted blood.
She left immediately, throwing the door shut as he tried to turn around, desperate, extending one hand. The Witch of Witches walked away without saying anything, leaving him to simmer in anguish, confusion and doom.
He sat back against the wall, fearful and in pain. She hadn’t killed him. She wanted something from him, or was she trying to drag out his suffering? No, he wasn’t even worth the effort to her. She would either let him rot here forever, or beat answers out of him.
In the silence and blackness, his reality started to sink in.
No one would come to rescue him.
William may know where he was, but he could never tell him what had befallen him, and no one even knew how to get here. He did not want anyone to try. It would be futile, and they would die trying, or be thrown in here as well.
He might be here for a long while yet, alone, until his body gave out under him.
That prospect was enough to make everything dark. He shivered.
Or he would die sooner, from starvation. He had no idea if Nomenziona was planning to give him water and food scraps.
Either way, his fate was a slow death. Hope of rescue was nihil, he was of no use or worth to her anymore, and if She had wanted to make it quick, She would have done so already. He knew that very well.
He had failed his mission. The realization was heavy, making his situation even more bleak.
No one would be there to guide the kingdoms through the witch attacks. The results could be devastating. All because of his failure, because he was caught. His family was in danger, out there far away from here.
He should have stayed by his side. He had left his grieving love alone to sort it all out himself, with barely anyone to lean on for guidance or for comfort, all while he embarked on a mission he would fail. Tears flowed down his silver beard.
And Juno….
He shed tears alone, in the cold and heavy darkness.
(...)
Time passed. He didn’t know how much. He had not yet been given food or water. He summoned all his mental fortitude to keep the despair and fear at bay. He had to stay strong.
The chances that he would ever make it out of here alive were close to zero, but he could not lay down and die. He had endured a lot already. He was still breathing. He would not give in, he had to hold on yet.
More time passed. Sometimes he slept, drifting in and out of consciousness, though he never woke up feeling rested or any better. There was a constant, dull ache from the somewhat poor physical state he was in, exhausted from the cold, hard stone. The ache kept him tethered to reality somewhat, keeping the whispers and the fragmenting of reality at bay, even if just a little bit.
To give him strength, he thought of his love’s face. It brought him comfort, though sadness as well, but it was enough to make him hold on. He thought of Juno as well, of her predicament, thinking of ways to get her out of here. Those were ideas that he might never have the chance to try, but it gave him something to do, kept him sharp. Kept her in his heart.
He tried to remember the little princesses’ faces, one by one. It had been so long since he’d seen them last. So long since he’d seen any of his chosen family. There was not a moment that he did not miss them.
He wondered how all of the princesses had been. How they had grown up while he was away, if they were well. If they had managed to cope with the loss of their mother.
When thinking of them all proved too heavy for the moment, he thought of plants. Of his favorite plants, of the garden around the Great Tree, of the little castle garden at Arcadia, of Okerburcht’s garden, with its peach trees. Yes, even of the luxurious garden surrounding the old Fortress of Kings. The flowers there were beautiful, innocent of anything that happened inside the fortress’ walls. They couldn’t help it, and he did miss them sometimes.
And sometimes, after a period of having been inside a daze, food and water sat inside his cell when he slipped out of it.
The first time that happened, a bit of hope bloomed inside his chest. He had been given a little extra time. His time had not yet come. Nomenziona wanted something of him after all. Which wasn’t a comfort to anyone who knew the Witch of Witches and what She was like, and he knew her well enough, but it beat the alternative.
The water tasted wrong, and the food was little and gray, but he took what he could get. He’d need it if he ever wanted to see the light of day again.
…
Footsteps.
Sounds, from the outside.
Slow, making your hair stand on end.
Nomenziona. She was here for him.
He sat a little more upright against the cold stone wall, bracing himself.
The cell door creaked open, and two glowing eyes stared at him, high above him.
‘Ah, old gardener, or should I say lowlife rat. It seems you haven’t withered away yet,’ She said with cold disinterest.
He stayed silent, meeting her stare with weary eyes, the light in them dim.
‘I have a few questions for you, and I hope you won’t waste my time with futile resistance. Answer me, or rot and die. Your choice.’
Meeting no resistance or reply thus far, She continued.
‘In whose name were you spying? Was it that little prince? Or perhaps… the fraudulent and weak little royal family?’
Helgi stayed silent, head down. He couldn’t give away in whose name he was here. He couldn’t let his failure spell even more doom for his family back home. He had to think of something. She would not be satisfied with no answer, and there was nothing he could do to defend himself against anything She could do to him. He had to play his cards as well as he could.
An idea formed.
The best lies were formed on a core layer of truth. He hoped it would be enough to buy him time.
He waited just a little longer. Reliable answers didn’t just fall out. She knew that.
‘No? Not going to answer me? Alright then. Seal your fate.’ She started to turn, to leave him to rot alone again.
‘Wait,’ he stopped her, holding one hand out towards her. ‘Please. I’ll tell you what you want to know.’
Her lips curled into a smile. ‘Alright then. But hurry. I have little patience left.’
‘I used to work for the old king. He was defeated, but I have remained loyal to him, and to his son, his heir. The king, he had… a deal with you, with the witches. I came here in search of… knowledge, and a way to wake him, to…’ He started coughing, unable to finish his sentence.
‘Tch. You are blind and foolish, old man. That dynasty is gone. The age of the witches is near. You would have done better to enter our service, or at least not try to stand in our way. But it’s too late for that now.’
She narrowed her eyes. ‘I have a feeling you’re not telling me everything, but what you’ve told me is already quite interesting. I have wasted enough time on you today already. Goodbye, rat.’
With a quick stride, She left the cells, off to more important business.
Helgi listened as her footsteps faded away, and slumped back against the cold stone. He lived. He hoped this would be enough to buy time, that She bought his made-up lie, that this would make her entertain the thought of keeping him alive for a little while longer.
This was a losing game, though, and he knew that. Every day spent in this cell was eating away at his sanity and fortitude of will, and Nomenziona might give up on him or lose Her patience with him at any moment. She would not waste resources on him forever. There was no reason why She couldn’t just kill him, or leave him to starve. For now She still found beating answers out of him interesting, but how long would that last?
His mind was made up. No matter how futile, how seemingly impossible, he had to give his all to try and get out of here. He had done impossible things before. Maybe, if all the luck in the world was on his side, he’d do so again. He barely had a plan, and so little hope of succeeding, but he could not lie down and wait to die. This body still had some fighting spirit yet.
He reached out, stiff body under strain, and felt for the tiles under his hands, finding rims of dirt in the gaps. The feeling of simple dirt under his hands was familiar, and brought him comfort. For a moment, he wasn’t trapped in here, but out there, his hands in the soil, working in a garden.
Slowly, with effort, weak from poor nutrition, he moved one tile. He focused, and started testing the dirt underneath it with his hands. The ground was hardened, and he had no tools save for his hands, but he knew dirt and soil well. It had been his job to work with it for so many years. With patience, and effort, he could try to dig a tunnel, as covertly as possible.
Hope grew ever so slightly in his chest. This was not impossible. This was something he could do. How he would hope to escape the suspended castle itself after escaping his cell, he had no idea, but this was something he could work with.