Caracara's Hunt 3 The Monster

No, the Gutter was the only place for him. Although the magic dampening stone had little effect on him, it was a rea.s.suring presence. Even if he went crazy, it could absorb a portion of his power before breaking.

His heartbeat had increased for a moment, but he calmed it, refusing to acknowledge the part of him that wanted out. He hadn't once seen the world outside, but that place didn't want to see him anyway. He was a monster, a creature that shouldn't exist.

"I'm an aberration, a mistake," he mumbled to himself, forcing the words to sink in.

The mantrlike words killed any stray thoughts about the outside, and he closed his eyes as well. No matter what Corwal said, Arawn wasn't leaving. It was something not meant to happen.

A while later, food came. The guards ordered for everyone to step aside and lowered two buckets. One contained a thin broth which was mostly dirty water mixed with a few vegetables while the other had hardened bread. Parts of the latter were gray with mould.

The guard lowered the rope even more, unhooking the bucket's handle, and pulled the rope up. He did the same with the other bucket and closed the hatch behind himself. Once some time pa.s.sed, he would return to pick up what was left.

Arawn stood up and went to sample their meal first. To his surprise, it was even worse than usual, and he wondered what was happening outside. His food had never been filling, but at least it was edible. What he was looking at now were dregs of the lowest quality. It would be a miracle if they didn't make him sick.

Yet that was all the food there was. He crouched down and grabbed two pieces of bread. He put them into the broth so they would soften and scooped up a piece of carrot.

The moment it entered his mouth, he spat it out along with a couple grumbles. Did they plan to poison him? The carrot had been beyond disgusting, and he'd been living on prison food his whole life.

Noticing his sputtering, Feist walked over. He was the only one who ever dared to interact with Arawn with less than half the cell between them.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, looking down at the bucket.

"Try for yourself," Arawn said with a grimace. He looked over at the two pieces of bread and wondered if he'd spoiled them as well by putting them in the 'broth'.

Moments later, Feist was spitting as well, his expression thunderous. Something nasty was about to escape his lips, but he gritted his teeth and grabbed a piece of bread. It was dry and hard to swallow, but it was all they had.

Arawn tried a taste of his broth-softened pieces, then threw them as far he could. Someone above was really trying to sicken them to death.

With a sigh, he picked up two new pieces of rock-hard bread and returned to his corner where he began to try to get through one of them. It was a slow and arduous task, but it wasn't like he had anything better to do.

Once Arawn vacated the buckets, the other criminals made their way over as well. A few tried the broth and cursed, then all of them grabbed some bread and fell back.

When the guard came to pick up the buckets with his ropes and hooks, Feist tried to reason with him through curses, but it didn't go well. The guard said he didn't give a d.a.m.n, and that criminals like them should be happy they got anything at all.

Once they were alone once more, Feist looked over, but Arawn ignored him. Although he was hungry, it wasn't to the point that he was starving. Besides, he had a whole hand-sized piece of bread with him! In a few hours, he might even be able to push it into his stomach.

In a while, the newcomer woke up, and Arawn threw him the extra piece of bread he'd taken. Corwal looked at it with a stupefied expression.

"What's this?" he asked, holding the bread with his fingertips like it was a venomous snake about to bite him.

"Food." Arawn held up his piece to show the corner he'd already nibbled. "That's all we get till they remember to feed us again."

Corwal's eyebrows shot up. He looked again at the stone hard thing in his hand that barely resembled bread and shook his head. "Can it even be eaten?"

His complaints fell on deaf ears, and he sighed before trying to take a small bite. He couldn't even make a dent.

"That's why you nibble," Arawn explained. "First you moisten it enough by keeping a corner in your mouth, then sc.r.a.pe it away."

The look Corwal leveled on him was a step beyond a glower, but it soon receded. With a frown, the man looked around, and noticing that everyone else was working hard on their bread the same way, he did it too.

Once their mouths got too dry to continue, they went to a wall with a small rivulet of water going down it. No one knew where it came from, and it was too dark to see it well, but no one wanted to question its origin. It wasn't the first time that the guards 'forgot' to give them anything to satiate their thirst, and they wanted at least some peace of mind.

Corwal resisted going there. He instead put away his bread and just sat leaning against the wall. After a moment, he looked down at his shoulder and grimaced.

"Do you know anything about healing?" he asked, but Arawn could only shake his head. He'd never been hurt badly enough that he'd needed healing. "Right..."

With that word, Corwal grabbed his shoulder and twisted. His face went as pale as a sheet of paper, eyes watering, but he didn't make a sound. Still holding onto his arm, he breathed hard, gasping for air.

This attracted the others' attention, but they didn't dare come closer with Arawn around. For the first time, he felt almost thankful for it.

"Are you dying?" he asked after a moment. Was that why he'd asked for a healer?

The young man's eyes flew open. "Dying? Are you crazy? I'll be fine in a few hour... well, maybe days." He pulled the thin clothes tighter around himself. "Is it always this chilly here?"

Arawn looked around, somewhat puzzled. He was wearing sc.r.a.ps which had more holes than cloth yet he didn't feel any cold. Feist was always moving about only in his loincloth as well, and the rest of the batch were little different.

"Lordling," Cayote mocked from his stone game with Liam.

"Why do they keep saying that?" Corwal asked, his dark eyes on Arawn. "I'm not even anyone important."

It was a good lie, but still a lie. Arawn smiled to himself. There were only two types of people who were sent to the Gutter: monsters and eyesores. No one would waste such an expensive cage for small time thieves and burglars.

But he didn't feel like bursting Corwal's bubble. If the man wanted to pretend to be a monster and not an eyesore, then it was his choice. Even if a foolish one.

"Because you're healthy, unscarred. What street kid looks like you?"

"You've got no scars either," Corwal instantly pointed out, sounding defensive.

It was hard not to be amused by his desperation to be seen as strong. "I grew up here, so of course I've no scars."

"Did no one ever attack you?"

There was interest in the man's voice, and Arawn gave his question a moment's consideration. "People die before they get to hurt me, so no, I haven't. Not in any major way anyway."

The conversation died down then, and Corwal closed his eyes again. Although he'd slept just moments ago, he went under straight away once more. His breathing evened, and Arawn wondered how the man could be so exhausted. Was the life outside that tiring?

In a while, Feist walked over. He was alone, but everyone's eyes followed him from their dark corners.

Arawn watched him approach with narrowed eyes. He had an idea what it would be about, and he already didn't like it.

The scarred man stopped a few steps before him and looked down. "Give us that boy. You've no need of him."

It was a demand more than anything, and anger boiled within Arawn, something he hadn't felt in a while. He jumped to his feet and raised his chin. "Make me," he growled.

He'd acclimated himself to others' demands his whole life in fear of hurting them, but did that mean they could trample all over him? He hadn't once had a friend, and he knew Corwal was no such thing, but wouldn't it be wonderful if he could have someone to actually talk to in the cell? Someone that wasn't terrified of him?

"Step down, boy. You don't want to fight me on this," Feist said, trying for a gentle tone. His features were too twisted though, the scar making anything he said sound like a threat. "Haven't we been living here for years already? Can't you trust me?"

"But I do trust you," Arawn snarled. "I trust that you're just as base as all the others here and are only looking for amus.e.m.e.nt." His hands clenched into fists and he took a step forward. "Now back down, or I'll clear up this cell of trash again."

"Arawn—"

With a wave of Arawn's hand and a flash of light, Feist flew across the cell before crashing against the opposite wall. "Last warning," Arawn said when the man slid to the ground. He then made a point to look every criminal into the eyes. "If you mention anything again, I'm wiping out all of you, understood?"

After receiving a few scattered nods, he retreated into his corner. There, he sat down and raised his knees to hide the shaking of his hands.