(Continued from "A Finch's Beginnings: A Woman Named Averill: Part the First".)
The sky was red.
Red like blood.
Red like anger.
Anger and blood were two things Averill had tasted much of during her forced journey through the blasted land of Angmar. Her wrists and ankles were chafed and bleeding from her unceasing and ultimately futile struggle to be free. Her anger had yet to cool; anger over Keir's betrayal, anger over being brought to this accursed looking place, anger at being treated like chattel, anger for her captors, and anger towards herself for the gnawing fear she could feel in the pit of her stomach. Were it not for the gag silencing her, she would have been spewing curses endlessly.
As she was brought deeper into Angmar the landscape began to change. Brown dirt and dried grass gave way to black rock and dead trees. The mount she had been thrown over and tied to almost lost its footing a few times and, as if it were her doing, she was punished for it. Angry, muffled shouts ensued when she felt one of her captors' rods at her back.
Before she could even witness the terrible, black, towering structures that eventually loomed ahead of her, she was blindfolded. They couldn't have a slave knowing the path to and from their prison. Of course, that only served to make her angrier. Averill promised herself that, at her first opportunity, she'd get her revenge. Revenge was better than tears, after all.
A little while longer, and she could smell it, the scent of death and despair; of doom and hopelessness. And then she heard it, the mingling of strange words, some sounding fell and terrible and others merely odd and reminiscent of something long forgotten but remembered wrongly. And, in between the words, noises like weeping, crying, and the clanking of chains.
Averill shivered when she felt cold envelop her. But, it was not like the cold of winter. No, this cold was altogether different; like the chill of a tomb, like the stories she used to hear as a child of icy, ghostly fingers come to snatch you away if you dared to open your eyes and peek out from under the blankets at night.
Though she did not know it at the time, this was the first time she had ever felt what it was to feel the threat of hopelessness, beckoning her towards the edge of a cliff to plunge down into the depths of total despair. But, not yet. Not yet! She still had her anger that blazed brightly within her chest. She would refuse. She would fight. She would make them pay.
She nearly cried out in surprise when she was pulled this way and that. In the blink of an eye, she was unbound and pulled from the wearied mount. But, before she could even form a thought or struggle further, she was tossed through the air and onto the cold, hard ground like a toy a child had long since grown bored with. With her hands free she pulled the gag from her mouth and the blindfold from her eyes, only to see the dingy and cruelly wrought metal bars of a cell door close in front of her, followed by the grinding screech of an old but thoroughly sturdy lock.
None of her captors gave her a second thought as they walked away to collect their reward, save for one. The Angmarim leered at her through the bars, uncaring of the grime that clung to his red robes. And then, he stepped back and gave her a cruel grin.
"Welcome to Carn Dûm, chattel."
Her only response was to lurch to her feet, slam herself against the iron bars, and spit at him. He merely laughed and stepped away from the cell. He laughed all the louder when she began yelling curses at him. Eventually he grew bored with her display of rage and suppressed a yawn behind his hand as he too walked away to collect his share of the reward.
Averill continued to scream and yell every curse she knew, uncaring if anyone really heard her and opting to release all that pent up ire she had been forced to hold in until now. Her voice echoed for hours and hours but to no effect other than to make her tired. The woman collapsed to the dirty, dusty floor of her cell, panting hard and finally groaning in pain from her still-bleeding wrists and ankles.
Yet another sudden noise from behind her made her freeze in place. Now what?
Taking a deep breath and gathering her wits, she slowly shuffled about on the floor, turning to look behind her. What she saw in the dim light made her heart stop in her chest for a moment before resuming again, beating faster and faster. She was not alone in here.
Men, women, children... All were present here and in various states of dishevelment. Some were mere skin and bone, having clearly been here and gone without proper nourishment for some amount of time. Others appeared to be barely holding onto the last of their courage, dreading the future with each shaking breath. But, the thing that chilled Averill to her very core was the look in their eyes. Hopelessness. Some showed it more than others but it was very clear that they were, more or less, despondent and resigned to their fate.
None looked at her. None spoke to her. None drew near to her. And, Averill was certain that if she asked them to, she would receive nothing in response; for, what was the point?
She backed up, crawling backwards across the floor until her back rested against the cold iron bars of the dark cell. Green eyes fell closed and, at long last, tears escaped them. But, she did not weep. She refused to give them the satisfaction. However, in the now, there was little she could do but silently cry into the long, lonely hours of her first night in Angmar.
And the next day, she would certainly endure fresh horrors...
(To be continued.)
