There was not too much light in the dungeons of New Hearthglen. Even the torches seemed to flicker unsteadily, as if they would rather go out than bear witness to what we did.
I had been swiftly assigned to guard duty. It had been a test I guess, to see if I had the strength to stomach what a dutiful Onslaught soldier should. I thought I did. For a couple of weeks I kept lying to myself that I was finally back home.
The cells to the right and left were very dimly lit and quiet as I strode back and forth in the corridor. Counting the steps, and the minutes with them until I would be able to get out and breathe again - the cool air of Northrend, that vaguely bears the smell of the plague...“Please…” The voice was hoarse, like metal grinding on stone. I stopped abruptly, peering into the cell to my right to see the haggard face of a woman. She lay directly on the floor, her hands clenched around the door bars. “Please…a drop of water…have mercy…”
I felt the hot surge of anger realizing the torturers were not even allowing the prisoners to drink. A pitcher and clay mugs were set on a table in the guard room, just a few steps away. I went for them, filled one of the mugs and squeezed it through the cell bars.
“Thank you…” the woman managed, as she frantically gulped on the water, obviously afraid I might take it back from her.
“Be at ease”, I said mustering all the calm I could. What I had seen during the last two days, since assigned to the prison guard made me sick to the marrow. Had these people completely lost their mind, the basic sense of right and wrong? “I’ll give you another one if you want.”
She had been beaten badly. Whipped probably. She held her left arm at an unsual angle, which made me wonder how many other broken bones she had. Burns, cuts and bruises of varied severity adorned all patches of skin not covered by the tattered dress she wore.
My stomach tried to knot on itself at the sight. Despite everything I had been through – or done, I still could not look at such physical wounds without feeling uncomfortable. It reminded me too much of the burning of Stratholme and my sister’s flesh ripped away with hungry claws…I struggled to repress the shudder and concentrate instead on the woman in the cell.
“Why are you here?” I asked softly? She glanced at me over the rim of the mug, nervously licking her lips. I was one of her tormentors after all. Shame fluttered in my belly, following the anger I had felt just moments before.
“M…my husband”, she said after a while. “He disappeared for years. I thought him dead…We even made a funeral…since I had no body to bury properly…And then a few months before he came back to me…” The woman paused considering, then shifted, trying to adjust to a more comfortable position. A low pained moan escaped her lips. “He took me here…said we can make a new home…where people do not hate him for what he is. He’s…not himself anymore. But he loves me and out two children. And he’s so sorry for what he has done…I will not tell them where he hides…even if they kill me. He does not serve the Scourge now. And neither do I.”
I grimaced. I was familiar with the Inquisitors' methods. They could torture someone to a bloodied mess and then just heal him and start all over again, denying their victim even the last refuge, the embrace of death…
Another moan came off the poor woman’s lips. She must have been in a lot of pain. I put the water pitcher aside and slowly knelt near the cell door.
“Is it broken?You arm…”
She nodded. That close, she looked even worse, eyes sunken into the back of the head.
One that serves the Scourge deserves nothing else, a small voice started by rote in my mind. I snuffed it out, disgusted. Some things we learn when we are younger tend to come back every now and then, whether we truly like them or not.
“I cannot do much”, I said surprised to hear a very steady voice. Squeezing my hand through the bars though, I took hold of the woman’s arm and focused inwardly, on the glorious sensation of light filling me. It took much more skill than I had to be able to direct that flow and properly mend injuries and I had never healed anything more than a couple of gashes of my own but even with my feeble strength I could ease her pain a little. I heard her gasp in shock as the light wrapped tightly around the both of us and then the next thing I knew, gauntleted fists closed on my shoulders.
“Betrayal!”someone shouted, as the man behind pulled me harshly to my feet. “She is serving the Scourge as well…!”
“We must try her and sentence her immediately.”
“To the gallows!”
The poor woman sobbed uncontrollably on the floor of the cell as one of the guards started yelling more curses and insults at her, out of which “Scourge loving wench” was the most innocent one. The rest though were too concerned with me to care. Before I could utter a single word, I had been pushed away from the cell and into the closest wall, two of the men moving to hold me, as if I were an unbelievable powerful being that could take them all down if not properly restrained.
A face or two I knew…people I had fought with, back in the Plaguelands. Now they were all fixing me intently, their gazes hard and malevolent. They could probably imagine me hanging already. Panic crept into my belly but I held onto the memory of Light flooding my senses. I had done nothing wrong wanting to ease the pain of a suffering being. I had not…
“Let’s not hurry”, I heard someone say. Looking left I saw one of the captains, a grizzled man entering the corridor in which we were gathered. He came straight towards me and lifted my chin, peering into my eyes. Another man I knew, he had been in Hearthglen before I left.
“I don’t think she’s working for the Scourge. She has just let a moment of weakness cloud her judgment…”
With a sigh, he released me. His expression had never changed, yet I thought I could see a flicker of uneasiness in the depths of his eyes.
“She will be punished though. Thirty whip strokes and a week in seclusion to meditate on her mistake will surely set her right.”
He was trying to save me, really. Thirty whip strokes was hard enough to satisfy the lust for blood these men had, yet not not enough to kill me. Silence followed his words, broken only the whimpering of the prisoner in the cell across the room, then suddenly the man holding my shoulders pushed me forward. I stumbled, almost falling over. It was what they had expected, for in a matter of minutes I had been dragged into the interrogation room and my wrists fastened to one of the chains in the wall, tall enough that it would uncomfortably stretch my entire body.
The same hands that had maneuvered the chains gripped now the sides of my coat and pulled it sideways and down my back making the buttons pop. The shirt I wore underneath followed immediately, with a crisp sound of torn linen and both pieces of garment gathered around my waist. I felt the damp, cool air against my skin. The sensation was eerie, tinged with the embarrassment at being so exposed.
“So you serve the Scourge…?” the same man said. This one I did not know, all for the best, maybe.
“No”, I answered back, condensing all the anger I felt into that single word. There was no use in arguing with such fanatics. The light beckoned at the edge of my awareness and I focused on it instead of the hard gazes around.
“Thirty and not one more”, the captain said sternly. “Then lock her up, she’ll have time to meditate on the dangers of meddling with the unbelievers.”
The men grumbled but none of them really dared to mutter against. Discipline might have slackened – I had seen soldiers with unkempt armor, fights taking place at night after too much ale…something you would have never stumbled upon back in Hearthglen or Stratholme – but not to the point where one would disregard a superior’s order.
All shred of thought vanished as the birch landed on my naked back for the first time. It burned, spreading like fire tendrils across my skin and I could not repress a violent shudder. Ages seemed to pass until the next blow came. My body arched instinctively, as pain became deeper. In between ragged breaths, I counted the third strike, slashing across my back. My muscles felt like tense bows, ready to spring any second, my wrists ached from the metal cuffs. The fourth and fifth blows nearly made me cry out. I bit my lips, stifling the sound just in time…A sharp gasp was everything that was heard as the birch lashed again. I gritted my teeth against the pain, the feeling of blood starting to trickle down my sides. I would not have them hear me howl. Seven. I blinked away stinging tears and drops of sweat. Time seemed to have slowed to a crawl. Eight. Light was warm and sweet, engulfing me protectively. Nine.
--Light, let it be that my humble acceptance of the mistakes I’ve made and the penance I rightly deserve free me from my sins and make me worthy of your healing.
Tenth.
-- Light, may I grow in your service and become pleasant to you –
A sharp stab through my heaving chest reminded me of the slow-healing, invisible wound I had taken during the fight upon Naxxanar. I had worked alongside a death knight. A man carrying the taint of the Scourge. There had been times when I would believe my torment was well deserved.
Well, I didn’t believe it now.
Eleven.
I stopped fighting the pain, gave into it, allowing it to flow through my quivering body. A simple trick I had learned from a priest years before. Struggling against it only made it deeper, unbearable. The key to enduring was to surrender and empty your mind. Distantly, the sound of the birch against my skin made me cringe, but the pain of each strike belonged now to someone else.
-- Light, guide me to do your will, show me your way and open my mind to see how I should live. Teach me love and understanding, cleanse my heart and make me anew.
Suddenly the blows stopped. It could have been five minutes later – or an hour. The coppery scent of blood filled the air, rich and heavy – I felt it through gulping breaths while my body shuddered and convulsed, the pain barely suppressed for a while coming back a thousandfold.
Truthful to his words, the captain had my chains unclasped and two of his men dragged me to a room nearby. As the door closed on them, pitiful cries broke from outside – the rest had probably returned to tormenting the prisoners.
I collapsed to the floor, knees giving up under my weight. Small rivulets of blood dripped down my sides, onto my naked abdomen and soaked the white linen shirt. The screams rose again, shrilling agony. I shivered inside, chilled to the bone.
As much as I hated to admit it, Dawnbringer had been awfully right...
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