(2nd excerpt from A Book of Creation) In the Halls of Exile 2

Interrogation

     A stream of droplets echoed constantly as water poured down a wall of the old man's cell to puddle and run along, and out through a crack in the granite floor. From time to time he found himself cupping his hands against the slimy wall to take a drink and, as ever, he grimaced at the foul taste. There had been nothing that Azrah could do to make the water taste any better, and as he munched, or rather, savored a morsel of seeded bread, he dreaded sullying its flavor with another discouraging sip of the water.

     “Why must you be so dry?” he asked the morsel, then looked to the putrid water. “So delicious, but so dry…” he sipped at the ichor. “Would that I could eat you whole,” he said with a wipe of his lips.

     In the decades since his incarceration, Azrah had become wise to the fact that no one really cared if he lived or died in here, as evidenced by the general lack of food and decent water provided to him. Things were even trickier as sacks of bread and grains, and old perishables would find their way to his cell ever so often with sometimes days in between, and sometimes weeks, but never on a regular basis, and he had to portion out his allotment while never knowing just how much to portion. But, even though he never knew just how much on which to hold, he always knew he could count on Lariel.

     Just like the food, though much more frequently, Lariel showed up at his cell at completely random intervals, and for her own reasons. However, the two of them always enjoyed seeing one another, and Azrah could always look forward to seeing her again.

     Aging away, Azrah just sat there in his cell, looking at the last bit of his seeded bread and hoping that more would be given to him, soon. His thoughts were broken when he heard the familiar and hushed sound of a sniff of the air.

     “Lariel?” he asked excitedly as he spun around to see the silhouette of the lioness shift around while she sniffed the air at the mouth of the cave. “Lariel!” he smiled widely.

     Of where Azrah’s cell sat in Exile, he could not be entirely sure, in fact, he had not even the slightest idea. The Halls of Exile where no mere prison and absolutely nothing like he imagined them because the Institute had done well in keeping the nature of its reality a secret from the public. All he knew about this place were his surroundings: a dank, dark cave, barred at the entrance with immovable steel. That, and this young lioness that seemed to have adopted him, and to this point she had been visiting for nearly nine years. Unsure of how, Azrah knew that she had learned to understand things.

     Her slender and sleek form slipped its way through the bars and hopped her way down the rocky, near-vertical shaft, from one precipice to the next, until she found herself at the bottom. Azrah smiled even wider as she came closer in the dim light and he could slightly make out that Lariel held something in her mouth, and she began to purr loudly as she dropped the item at his feet.

     The old man bent down and gingerly reached to feel the item and see what it may be, deciding it safe to pick up, Azrah held it and knew, mostly what it could be. A rodent of a rather unusual size, though, exactly what it was he could not tell and did not care because it felt freshly killed, and meaty.

     “A thoughtful gift,” he said to the lioness. “Thank you!” he reached out and wrapped his free arm around her neck in a big hug. “Thank you greatly! A feast fit for a King!” His excitement shrank away when he remembered the small morsel and realized, “They have not come to check on me or deliver things in quite some time, my friend…it’s not safe for you to stay.”

     The large cat just sat on her haunches and leaned into his hug to nudge him with her head.

“I’ve missed you, as well,” he said.

     Lariel purred deeply, then stood and slipped out of his arms as she turned to leave, and just like that she leaped up, over, here and there, and muscled her way through the bars as she pulled herself up, and over the ledge, and out of sight into the night.

     Another couple of days had passed, and Azrah nibbled on the raw meat from time to time. Though, still not able to handle it without becoming somewhat sick, he lay on the ground as he clutched to his stomach with a meek groan. After his stomach had stopped bubbling, and in the quiet of the moment, Azrah heard another familiar sound: a pulsating hum. He rolled over no his wings with a wince, from his side to his back, and he closed his eyes as the rocky ceiling of his cell washed away in a flood of fluorescent light. Weakly, he raised his arm to shield his eyes from the light and slowly opened them up to adjust to things.

     Over Azrah, on a platform not far above at about five meters stood a group, two armed men with weapons trained on him, one clad in all white wearing blacked-out goggles, and an attendant that tossed two small bags of things down into the cell.

     “Anything to request?” the man clad in white asked with disdain.

     “Where are my sisters?” he managed to ask with grit while hiding just how sick he felt, yet the weakness kept him from standing.

     “Are you going to tell us how you survived the countermeasures when you opened Gate 17?” the man in white asked, as though there would be any exchange of information. “We know you had help, it’s only a matter of time before we find out who it was, then perhaps you’ll change your mind,” he turned away with a fake sigh. “Any other requests?”

     “I have run out of tinder and strikers,” he finally said. “It has been getting late in the season, the cold is getting-.”

     “Very well,” the man in white abruptly said as he motioned to the attendant to gather the items. “I don’t suppose you’re ready to tell us anything about this?” he held up a palm sized and rounded, but flat red gem. “Our examinations have revealed that it’s made of the same materials that you stole from Grimore Systems,” he pressed. “And, we know what it does…so, once more, tell us how to operate it and leniency will be given.”

     Azrah just remained silent as the requested items were haphazardly tossed down around him. ‘It does not make sense,’ he thought. ‘How can they know that it is Spectra and not know how to operate it? They must be toying with me,’ he reasoned in stern silence.

     “Very well,” The man in white coldly stated, again as the ceiling, and the darkness returned.

     The old man mustered up a good amount of strength to set up his tinder and, with the strikers, had it lit in little time, and then he set to cooking up what remained of his gift with a halfhearted smile.

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