Drained

Something is wrong in Pyros. Not that its inhabitants realise it, of course. For most, it is the same as it has always been – a peaceful country ruled over by an illustrious, immortal king. But others have their suspicions. Talented youths with propensities for magic are disappearing from the outlying villages, gone without so much as a trace. After Jaron almost suffers the same fate, he and his brother, Eduan, soon find themselves hunted as fugitives, and desperately trying to put to rights the dark web of lies and illusions that has ensnared their people.

(Amazing cover by @Infinite_Exho)

9Likes
14Comments
1426Views
AA

1. Prologue

The Prisoner

 

 

. . . The Prisoner’s awareness would always come back in patches. It would invade the sweet oblivion and let in the cold, harsh reality like an unwanted house guest. A sound, maybe, or a brief glimpse of what lay beyond close eyes. The feeling of rough, cold stone that sliced at skin with icy fingers, the feeling of bruises and of gripping hands. When this happened, the cold always came with it. Not the physical cold, although there was plenty of that too, but another kind. It was the cold ice of emptiness, and of being alone. . .

 

. . . The Prisoner wished these snatches of reality never came at all. The only thing that hurt more than the awareness was the memories. Hurt more because they were happy, and spoke of better times. There weren’t many of them. The majority of The Prisoner’s existence seemed to be a blank, but sometimes there were images. Clear water running swiftly over smooth stones, the kiss of sunlight on skin, rich green, and . . .

 

. . . Each time The Prisoner sank back into darkness the void would creep closer. Not the void that already inhabited where The Prisoner’s mind once was, but the more permanent one. The one that meant forever. It scared The Prisoner, but it was tempting too. The promise to be rid of the exhaustion that dragged at The Prisoner, of no more pain. The promise of an end . . .

 

. . . A deep rasp grated against The Prisoner’s mind, disrupting the peace that, for a brief moment, had been close enough to touch. It had been so close, but now the pain was too distracting, like sandpaper against the tender flesh of The Prisoner’s mind. It was continuous, agonising, and there was anger within it, too. It was the first time The Prisoner had felt that rasp scratching and whining, though when it had been heard before, The Prisoner couldn’t tell.

 Something fluttered briefly against the edges of The Prisoner’s cage. There had been a time when the vicious growl had meant something. It seemed so long ago now, an eternity. Maybe it had been an eternity, it was so hard to know – to remember. Maybe if The Prisoner could concentrate harder, it would make sense. The Prisoner sure it was important. . .

 

. . . There was something The Prisoner had wanted. Something The Prisoner was supposed to do, to remember. It was so hard, remembering. There was an exhaustion within the prisoner now, but also some strange urgency. They clawed and scratched at the prisoner, determination and listlessness, life and death, with all the hunger of twin beasts. Oblivion was much easier than this vicious conflict inside The Prisoner’s mind. It was softer than reality, and so much sweeter. Everything would better, easier, if the void simply swallowed all that The Prisoner was . . .

 

. . . The Prisoner’s awareness would always come back in patches. The Prisoner wished it didn’t . . . 

Join MovellasFind out what all the buzz is about. Join now to start sharing your creativity and passion
Loading ...