Unending Agony
You’re no friend of mine,” growled Promi, struggling without success to break free from the vaporstone net.
“Or mine,” added Kermi—though his voice sounded muffled because his contortions to escape the net had stuffed a good portion of his tail into his mouth. And his struggles had only jammed the tail in deeper.
Grukarr’s face, still as pallid as ever but with the silvery sheen of people in the spirit realm, flushed with anger. Yet his voice remained calm as he replied, “Whatever I say is so.”
Studying his prisoners, he stepped closer, his bootsteps echoing in the metal hold of the flying machine. Meanwhile, the hooded crew continued to monitor and adjust the gadgets, screens, and dials that covered the walls of the hold. Outside, visible through the round portals, the leathery wings beat relentlessly, making a harsh creaking sound that sometimes rose to a shriek.
Savoring the sight of his helpless prisoners, Grukarr chortled with satisfaction. “How lovely you are so surprised to see me! I did not enjoy dying, mind you. But that experience will never come again, now that I am an immortal spirit.”
He took another step closer so that he stood right in front of Promi. “I suppose,” he said while stroking his chin, “that I ought to thank you for killing my mortal self. Otherwise, none of this glorious new adventure would be possible.”
Without warning, he kicked Promi hard in the ribs. As the young man convulsed in pain under the net, the former priest smiled. “There. You have now been thanked.”
Grukarr glanced out the nearest portal in time to see the pair of wrathful mistwraiths departing. “Too bad for you, shadowy ones. This prize was never meant to be yours.”
Promi stiffened. Ignoring the throbbing of his ribs, he asked, “You mean this was all a trap?”
Grukarr whistled some more of the jaunty tune, taking his time before answering. Playful notes tumbled forth, reverberating in the ship’s hold.
At last, Grukarr said, “The trap was perfectly executed, I might add. I guessed you would start your search for your sister—Jaladay, is that her name?—on the spot where she’d been captured. The fact that those mistwraiths were also in the area played right into my plans. And tracking them wasn’t difficult. Alas . . . they are the only ones to be disappointed by the outcome.”
He stroked his chin again. “But I can assure you, their frustrations are greatly outweighed by the pleasure that my master will take in your demise.”
Grukarr’s voice lowered. “You see . . . death doesn’t come easily to an immortal. But it does come—oh yes, it most certainly does!”
He glared at Promi. “And my master has ways of ensuring that you experience both agony and death.”
He licked his lips, as if he was just about to eat a tasty treat. “First, though, I have some presents to give you—presents I’ve been saving for just this occasion.”
“I’m surprised Narkazan took you back again,” growled Promi. “After how badly you botched his plans for the Starstone and the invasion.”
“Some people never learn,” said Kermi in his muffled voice.
Grukarr scowled. “Narkazan knows that I am more ready than ever to serve him. And to torment you.
“Six! Eleven!” barked Grukarr. Two of the hooded men snapped to attention and faced him, while the rest of the crew continued with their tasks. “Ready the hatch—but don’t open it until I command.”
Spinning around, he called to another pair of men. “Number five! And you—nine!” Like the others, the men jumped to attention. From under their hoods, they watched their captain with full concentration.
Grukarr waved at a vaporstone crate beside his chair. “Fetch the blades,” he ordered. “Attach them now.”
Under the net, the prisoners exchanged glances. Whatever he’s planning, thought Promi, we’re not going to like it.
Kermi’s eyes grew even bigger than usual as he saw the men pull from the crate a long line of rope fitted with daggerlike blades. That’s obvious, you idiot! So what are you going to do to get us out of here?
Promi’s mind raced, searching for an answer. Yet none came to him. He wriggled, trying to grab his knife from its sheath, but the net held him too tight to budge. And there wasn’t anything nearby—not a single stray tool or weapon—he might be able to use.
Meanwhile, the first pair of men twisted a large valve and raised several levers. The dark outline of a hatch appeared on the floor, ringed with tiny silver lights. In unison, the men marched over and stood on either side of the hatch.
But Promi and Kermi weren’t watching. Their attention remained focused on the deadly blades. The men carefully stretched out the line on the floor so the blades, hundreds of them, lay flat, gleaming dangerously.
“Now,” ordered Grukarr, “apply the treatment. Don’t forget your gloves, you vermin!”
Donning heavy gloves, the men lifted a small black bottle from the crate. Carefully, they carried the bottle over to the blades, opened it, and affixed a pointed top. Kneeling over the blades, they prepared to pour whatever potion the bottle held.
“Just one drop for each blade,” snarled Grukarr. Turning to the captives under the net, he added, “That is all it takes for endless misery.”
He glared at Promi. “When this potion touches your skin, it will boil and bubble. That’s right—your skin will melt away! Not all at once, mind you. What fun would that be? No, all this will happen with agonizing slowness.”
Promi tried to show no emotion, determined to deny the priest any more satisfaction. But his heart was galloping. And the skin on his chest started to prickle with heat, something that happened only when he felt most afraid.
“But that,” continued Grukarr, “is truly mild compared to what will happen when it enters your bloodstream.” He grinned wickedly. “That is when you will wish you’d never been alive.”
Though he kept his face expressionless, Promi’s chest grew hotter. The mark over his heart felt ready to burst into flames.
Grukarr turned to watch as the men applied one drop of the black potion to each blade. At the instant each drop fell, that blade would start to hiss and sizzle noisily. As the men finished, they delicately closed the bottle and returned it to the crate.
At a nod from their captain, the gloved men clasped each end of the line and started to drag it over to the prisoners in the net. Slowly, they wrapped the still-sizzling blades around the captives, making sure that many gleaming edges were very close to touching Promi and Kermi—who stayed utterly still, barely breathing.
It took several wraps to use the whole line. All the while, Grukarr watched intently, humming a merry folk song he’d learned as a youth. Finally the men finished, secured the ends, and backed away.
“Good,” declared Grukarr. “All we need now is a bit of motion. Just to stir things up.” He nodded to the men standing by the hatch.
Immediately, one of them pushed a button on the nearest console. A whirring sound erupted—followed by a sudden gush of air as the hatch opened. The men stepped back so they wouldn’t be sucked outside.
“At last,” declared Grukarr, raising his voice to be heard above the din of air rushing outside the hatch. “The time has arrived.”
Facing the prisoners, he smirked. “I will enjoy what happens next. You, however, will not.”
Then, to the crew, he commanded, “Hook them up! And you, number seven—engage the winch.”
The men scurried about the hold. Several of them carried sturdy hooks attached to ropes that led to a massive winch on the ceiling. They connected the hooks to the net holding Promi and Kermi, being very careful not to touch the poisonous blades.
Meanwhile, man number seven flicked several switches and engaged the winch. A blue light started to flash. Satisfied, the man turned his hooded face toward his leader, awaiting the next command.
“Now,” Grukarr explained to his prisoners, “is the moment I have long desired. You will be dragged over to the hatch. If the process is a bit uncomfortable, I do humbly apologize.”
“Nothing about you is humble,” said Promi through gritted teeth. He wanted so badly to leap up and pummel this madman—but he couldn’t move even a little bit without touching the blades.
Grukarr glared at him. “Soon you will know only one thing—unending agony! For I will throw you outside the ship, where you will slam and bounce against the hull for the rest of this night as we fly to Narkazan’s lair. Blades will slice you, poison will devour you. And then, whatever remains of you and your furry pet, my master will give you his most special welcome.”
Kermi growled angrily—not just to hear about the painful torture to come, but to have been called someone’s pet. The very idea!
Triumphant, Grukarr strode over to the hatch. Positioning himself right next to it so that he could see out the opening—and, he hoped, hear every scream of terror—he chortled. Then he turned his head toward the man at the winch controls, who was standing just behind him.
“Proceed,” Grukarr commanded.