‘You know why you are here, Greyleaf,’ said the leader of the three other men, his voice cold and terrifying, though it carried a strange unwelcomed warmth, ‘tell us the names of those you have been speaking to so boldly.’
The cold air came to his body as sharp as a knife would; his arms were bound to the wall behind him, held up for so long they had gone numb. He raised his head once more, noting the location and appearance of the four men: one was in front of the other three, with brown hair that fell to his shoulders. The other three shared the same tone of brown, with varying layers of dust and filth coating their locks.
‘Who is it,’ he said in a disused voice, having finally mustered the strength and will to speak (indeed regular beatings led to this), ‘that you claim I speak to?’
‘Strike him; strike him in the face,’ commanded the man in front. Almost at once, Greyleaf was greeted by a clenched fist to the face; he felt his nose crack, and he was certain it had started to bleed. ‘The names of those you have been speaking to,’ continued the man, ‘Now.’
‘I speak to many people,’ Greyleaf began, ‘and many people speak to me; you wish for me to name them all?’
His words were met with the response of several strikes against his chest.
‘You will tell us, Greyleaf,’ ordered the man, ‘or you will suffer immeasurable pain. These beatings are only the beginning, truly; we will take you to the wild and there we will burn you. Alive.’
Greyleaf choked, coughing up blood and phlegm as the beating stopped. ‘You’re a fool,’ he began, ‘you’re all fools; you bow down to the whim of some madman!’
At once, the beatings returned; this time all three of the men were on him, hitting him all over his body. Then a voice came from the darkness, from some hidden thing, ‘Stop,’ the voice commanded, ‘he has suffered enough.’
The voice grew louder as it approached him, ‘Do not think of me as more than a man,’ it told him, ‘but do not think of me as anything less.’
Greyleaf raised his head, which seemed to weigh a great deal more than it did before the three men beat him; he saw now that it was the very madman himself. ‘You,’ he hissed, spitting to his right to hide the pain.
‘Me,’ the madman said mockingly, ‘yes, me. You were unwise, Greyleaf; you were unwise. Did you truly believe that you could remain hidden forever? That your talks would remain unheard?’
‘You will die,’ Greyleaf spat, knowing now that he himself would soon knock on death’s door, ‘every one of you will die.’
‘Yes,’ said the madman in a serious tone, ‘yes, we will all die. One by one, every single one of us will die; some before others; some will die young, some will die old. We must all die in the end. You will die soon, Greyleaf; by my command or nay, you will die, your body will rot.’
Greyleaf could not think of anything to say. The madman left, the beatings began again and the world became a void of hatred.
