Chapter 4 ~ Power Practice
Unlike the mirrors in the other cells, smudges, cracks, and splotches were nonexistent on the one in mine. The bed was stainless but looked old. Then there was the last piece of furniture in the box: the toilet. It sat, forever unused from the time it was first wheeled in here, in the middle of the farthest wall.
Four hours had come and gone and King Kawmu still hadn’t made an appearance and no one seemed to care to tell me why. Well, seeing as how I was being charged with murdering the beloved daughter of the king, common curtesy kind of had been shot, stuffed in a bag, and thrown out the window. My only source of entertainment was counting how many cracks there were in the ceiling. Fun, fun, fun!! Not to say that it wasn’t riveting, but I seriously needed to do something productive. Of course, since I was locked in a cell and completely cut off from all forms of life, minus the guard who refused to even look at me, I had no other choice but to work on my cardiovascular system. Sliding my legs off the edge of the bed, I stood up and started to pace.
Waiting well and truly stunk. You always wished for it to be over and when you do, it only makes the time seem that much longer. I don’t believe there were many things that could top it. Well, maybe there were, but waiting was definitely in the top ten. Yep, it was right on up there with writers’ block. Now if only there were a cure for it.
The clicking of gears shattered my thoughts and snatched my attention. As the door was raised, an officer stepped through. He was tall and built like the walls that held this place up: thick and sturdy. He took off his hat as he approached the female guard, nodding to her and sending a nasty glare my way.
I moved to the bed as he bent to whisper something in her ear. I watched their expressions, none of which changed from the stone hard looks they were set in. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that they were stuck like that. The officer finished his hushed messaged and turned back toward the door, throwing me another hatred filled glance. My guard’s face broke into a smile as soon as he was gone.
“Looks like you got lucky, kid,” she spat, “The king couldn’t make it today.”
“Great,” I muttered, “What’s keeping his highness?”
“Don’t use that tone with his name! He’s ten times the man you’ll even be!”
“I know that,” I sneered, “I’m a girl.”
“You’ve got a lot of nerve, kid. And for your information, he’s at his daughter’s funeral. You’ll have to wait until tomorrow to get what you deserve.”
“What I deserve is an apology from that tyrant!” I fumed.
“An apology? You? For what?” she asked incredulously.
“Well, let’s see. Maybe for his people kidnapping me, then blaming me for murdering his daughter, even though she actually killed herself!”
“You’re crazy,” she scoffed.
“No, your king is.”
“Hold your tongue! Or I’ll hold it for you!”
“Bring it!”
I stepped up to the bars and so did she. We stood nose to nose, staring each other in the eyes. Neither of us blinked; neither of us backed down. Six seconds passed. She blinked first. In a huff, she went back to her post and tried to ignore me.
Since there were no windows in this place, I couldn’t figure out what time it was, or if it was even still daytime or not. I wasn’t going to test my luck with the guard. It wouldn’t have been a smart move considering the fact that she hated my guts right now. So, once again, the cracks on the ceiling were forced into entertaining me.
One crack. Two cracks. Three cracks. Four cracks. This is lame. Five. Six. Still lame. Seven. Eight. Only getting lamer. Nine. Ten. Okay! That’s it! I groaned mentally. I have to get up and do something! Back to the pacing.
One turn… two turns… three turns. This is almost as stupid as the crack counting! Four turns… five turns… I swear I’m insane… six turns… time please! Seven… eight. This time I groaned out loud.
“Bored?” the guard asked, not bothering to look at me.
I refused to answer, deciding that keeping my mouth shut would please me much more.
“Well, join the club. I should have stuck to dishwashing.”
“You? A dishwasher?” I queried, “You don’t look like the type.”
“And you’re right about that,” she sighed, “Besides, dishwashers don’t get cat calls from convicts, dog piled on by other smelly guards, or stuck babysitting stale aired, dirty cells all day.”
“Sounds like fun,” I smirked.
“It can be at times, but since I got promoted, I don’t get to join in the fun anymore.”
“Promoted? To what?”
“To keeping an eye on high profile criminals like you,” she explained, actually throwing me a raised eyebrow. I should feel so honoured.
“How did you get picked for this? You look like you could be much older than twenty, so you probably just got out of the academy not too long ago.”
“I’m twenty-one to be exact and I got out early for good behaviour,” she joked, “Then the fact that my father is second in command to the Chief General certainly helped. Only nine commanders get that position, so he’s got quite an influence in the decision making.”
“But even so, they wouldn’t trust this job to any old cadet, no matter who her father is,” I argued.
“I’m good though. (another sigh) Sometimes being good isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
“I know what you mean. Not that I’m good at anything, but I’m pretty important back in my village.”
“Why? No offence, but you don’t look like you’d be that important. You didn’t kill your king’s daughter, did you?”
“I didn’t kill anybody,” I snapped, “We don’t even have a king in Kedlien.”
“Yeah, you’ve got that prince who thinks he’s all that, right?”
“Why do you say that?” I walked back to the bed, sitting with my legs pulled up beside me, and propping myself up with my palm to the mattress.
“Well, for starters, he had his father killed. Everyone knows that. Now he’s making threats to Ondio, saying how he’s going to take us to war and finally put us in our place.”
“When did this happen and why didn’t anyone hear about it?” I questioned, shocked by this news.
“About a week ago,” she answered, “It was during a private meeting between him and King Kawmu. I was chosen as one of the fifty guards from Ondio, twice that number in total, and was stationed right outside the door. I heard every word.”
“That’s odd,” I murmured, more to myself than to her.
“So, why are you so important again?”
I shrugged. “I’ve got these wings.”
“What’s so special about them?” she laughed, “It’s not like they’ve got some mystical voodoo powers or something, right?”
“Or something.”
Her eyes widened. “Excuse me?”
I didn’t bother repeating myself. She heard me and by the look on her usually blank face, she believed me but didn’t want to. The conversation quickly dropped and I waited while the guard sorted out her thoughts.
“So,” I said, breaking the tension that heavily populated the air, “am I going to get a name from you or do I just have to call you Ms. Guard?”
She gave a nervous chuckle, acting like my joke was actually funny. “Officer Mariketa Gresyu. Oh my gosh! I’m befriending a convict! And not just any convict, the most hated one in the region!”
“Hey, I’m not that bad,” I defended myself. “Besides, I already told you, I’m innocent. You do believe me, don’t you?”
“Do you know many prisoners have tried to pull one over on me just by being a little friendly?” she asked, then sighed. “So why am I starting to think you’re right?”
The lights went out, according to Mariketa, at 22:00 and wouldn’t be back on until 6:30 the next morning. I laid on my bed for about thirty minutes in the dark before the clanking of gears snapped my attention out of the cell.
A flickering light found its way into the hall and to the cell. Following it was a tall, lean man, about mid-thirtyish, dressed in full uniform. His outstretched arm held the source of the light: a rusted, copper coloured lantern. Badges of various achievements were pinned into place on the left breast pocket and under the glint of a nametag. As he crossed the halfway mark of the hallway, by squinting, I could just read the tiny black letters.G. Visoff.
Humph, I thought, stiff name for a stiff guy. He half marched, half walked up to Mariketa.
“Commander Visoff reporting for second watch of prisoner 9702 31-3,” Officer Stick-Up-My-Butt announced, saluting.
“Thanks George,” she replied dismissively, brushing past him on her way to the door, “I’m starved!”
“Excuse me! You know you are not supposed to act so casually around the prisoners!” Visoff fumed.
“Why? She ain’t going anywhere,” Mariketa shrugged, seemingly enjoying the fact that her superior was wigging out. Without another word, she left, leaving General Spastic to do his shift and me to be completely and utterly bored.
“That girl causes more trouble than she’s worth,” he grumbled. Sighing, George Visoff took up his post by standing board straight right off of the left side of the door of the cell, leaving the lantern lit.
Sleep seemed out of the question for me, so I had no choice but to try to find something else to keep my mind occupied. I flat-out refused to think about impending trail and crack counting and pacing just didn’t seem all that constructive. That’s when the idea struck me.
Ever so quietly, I crept from the bed and over to the corner. Tucking myself into the shadow, I turned to face the wall. A tiny fracture blemished the dusty concrete, drawing my attention and almost automatically becoming my target. Gathering all the control I could muster and pointing at the crevice, I shot the tiniest bolt of lightning I could manage. Concentrating hard, I was able to keep it silent and small though the sliver of electricity was dwindling fast.
Slowly the crack grew larger under the fury of my minuscule ray until a hole was left in its place. My breathing was even but deep and my forehead crinkled from focusing so hard.
“Hey, what are you doing over there?” Visoff barked, breaking my concentration and causing the lightning to vanish.
I thought quickly, trying to come up with something that would throw make him lose interest and leave me alone to practice. “And the pretty flowers will be my friends and we will dance all day!” I murmured in a dazed voice, laughing dimly.
“Pardon?” he snapped. I heard his rough hands scrape over the metal bars, telling me that he was a the door and could feel his gaze intent on my back.
“Dance, dance, dance, dance!” I chanted dopily, trying to sound like I was on some sort of drug.
“Ha. The little twit has gone insane,” he laughed.
“Dance, dance, dance, dance!” I continued until I heard him turn away.
That was close, I sighed, shifting my mind back to the hole.
Instead of trying to make the cavity bigger, I chose to ice it over. It wasn’t too large and should have been simple and easy to fill. Or so I thought.
Hours went by and all I could show for my labour was a two centimetre thick layer of ice glazing the rounded surface. Sweat had already begun to form and trickle down my face and by breath came heavy and hard. My right forearm was aching and swollen from the force of expelling the ice while keeping it raised in the air and my head throbbed from having to hold my focus for so long on such a tiny spot.
Reluctantly, I decided that I’d had enough practice for the night and left the hole to return to the bed. Maybe now I could get some sleep, I thought wearily. Laying my pounding skull onto the shabby pillow and pulling the thin, clean smelling sheet over my tired body and up to my nose, I started to settle into a rough slumber.
Just when I had gotten comfortable, the clanking of gears once again caught my attention, shattering my attempt to get a bit of rest.
The lights flickered on just as the door finished going up and in stepped an old pal. Standing in the poor light of the single bulb hall was none other than Army Buff.
“Well, isn’t this a pleasant surprise?” he sneered. “I hope you slept well, because you’ll be needing to look your best for the king.”
Snapping my eyes shut, I tried to ignore his sly comments.
“Rise and shine, missy, mustn’t keep his highness waiting.”
The lock clicked and the door creaked open, but still I pretended to sleep. With a nasty jerk, I uprooted from my forced sleep and was pulled out of the bed and into the air by my arm.
“Wake up, you little brat! Your trail awaits you!” Gonwed screamed into my ear, tugging me out of the cell by my wrist.
My feet slammed onto the floor, jarring my injured knee. I’d been going easy on it for the past several hours, so had forgotten how much it hurt until just now. It buckled under me and I felt myself collapsing.
“You’ve had your chance to rest!” Army Buff shouted, lifting me back into a standing position without stopping, and causing me to trip over myself. “If you’re still tired then tough luck!”
I was dragged out into the circular cell room and up to the door. As we approached the fat guard, five others joined us with Vayt and Maranori in tow. They looked tired as well, sleep depredation obvious on their faces. Their clothes were wrinkled and hair dishevelled, but otherwise okay.
“Lieutenant Gonwed reporting to take Prisoner 9702 31-3 and Prisoner 9703 31-4, Vayt Palmes, to their trail and the unknown accomplice to Booking.”
The guard nodded, stepping aside, and unlocking the door. Leaving level five behind, we headed back down through level four. We travelled backwards through the prison to the main foyer. I staggered down the steps behind Gonwed.
Once in the foyer, we took a sharp left and went between the double staircases in a single file line. Hidden behind them was another set of double doors I hadn’t noticed yesterday. Stationed just outside were two heavily armed guards. Serious, stone set expressions masked their young faces and they stood with weapons at ready.
Waiting just beyond the doors was a little, wooden planked courtroom and at the bench, in all his doom and gloom glory, was King Kawmu himself.
“Good to see you again, Miss… um… I did not catch your name,” he hinted, attempting conversation.
“I didn’t throw it,” I responded scornfully, not taking the bait. Hatred and bitterness oozed from my voice and stare, but Kawmu didn’t seem to pick up on it. Or if he did, he chose to ignore it.
“And Mr. Vayt!” he mock cheered, acting as if he were greeting a long, lost friend and not a person charged with aiding in the murder of his daughter. “How have you been doing? The castle has been quite empty without you lately. Of course it has been even worse without Aklema. She really liked you, you know?”
“Yeah, I-I know… knew,” he answered timidly, a tearful tint in his flaming eyes. He averted his gaze to the filthy floor, trying to hide his grief and pushing back clearly visible tears.
“And you,” he said, switch his interest over to Maranori, “I do not believe we have met.”
“Well, you can call me the same thing that most people refer to me as, which is ‘Freaky Forest Chick,’” she glared, “but I’m sure by the time I’m done with you, you’ll be calling me your worst nightmare.”
The king chuckled at this, acting as if Maranori had just told the punch line of a kneeslapper kind of joke. “Very amusing, but I don’t even know why you are here. Surely you cannot be standing trail with these two.”
“Actually, sire, I’m sorry to intrude,” Army Buff butted in, not looking in the least bit ashamed of his interruption, “but the woman is here for charging.”
“Booking? You don’t say? For what, may I ask?”
“Yes, sir. She was caught aiding the fugitives,” Gonwed said proudly, glowing like he was something special.
“Well, by all means, take her to Booking. I’ll deal with her later.” King Kawmu waved his hand and Maranori was carted off through a door in the left wall by two guards. “Now, shall we begin?”
A man stepped forward. Standing at only about five foot six and having about a hundred pounds more than the average six foot tall man, it was apparent that he was just here for managing the books and not for any actual physical work. He’s either a retired soldier, but guessing by his youngish appearance, he applied for the Academy, didn’t make the cut, but still wanted to work close to law enforcement.
“Prisoner 9702 under code 31-3 standing trail for murder 3 of Aklema Wasmall, Princess of Ondio, daughter to King Kawmu Wasmall IV and Queen Jasmarie Wasmall and capital treason to his royal Majesty’s kingdom,” he read from a sheet of parchment, his thick moustache wiggling as he spoke.
“Just a moment please,” Kawmu injected. “Do you mean to say that we still have not gotten a name from her?”
“Well, no, sire, we haven’t,” he muttered.
The king turned to me, waiting for me to give up my name. I blatantly acted like I had no idea that he wanted me to respond, looking around listlessly, and humming to myself.
He cleared his throat.
“Got a cold, sir?” I asked mockingly.
His nostrils flared. “No, I am waiting for your name.”
“Who, me?” I teased, intentionally ticking him off.
“Yes, you!” he shouted, losing his temper for a second, but quickly regaining it, and clearing his throat again.
“Nivid,” I blurted without thinking. I was shocked by my own reply. I hadn’t so much as briefly thought of that name for years. When Lifwent and I were little we used to play games and pretend we were elves or warriors and my name would always be Nivid. Her’s was always Kykowa. I wasn’t going to give this tyrant my real name. He’d only go after my family and I wasn’t going to let him convince them that I was a murderer.
“Nivid…?” he pressed, evidentially requesting a last name.
“Just Nivid,” I lied, “I’ve been living on my own for so long that I’ve lost touch with my family, so I don’t really have use for a last name.” I’ll give it to you on my last night but not a day before, I added mentally.
“Very well,” he sighed, “I just thought you might want them to know what has become of their daughter.”
“I’m sure, by now, they’ve forgotten all about me. I wasn’t really part of the family anyway. You know all about that don’t you King Kawmu?”
He cringed at the comment but brushed it off. “For Miss Nivid, I grant a sentence to death. Six years of appeals and visitation from any three people once a week for four hours per person. (a crack of the gavel) Next!”
I was pulled back into the crowd and Vayt was brought forward for sentencing. My punishment was incredibly lenient considering, so I was hoping that he would be even easier on Vayt, considering he didn’t really do anything, but help me escape.
“Prisoner 9703 under code 31-4, Vayt Palmes,” the portly man began again, “standing trail for being an accomplice to murder of Aklema Wasmall, Princess of Ondio, daughter to King Kawmu Wasmall IV and Queen Jasmarie Wasmall, capital treason to his royal Majesty’s kingdom, and aiding in the escape of a fugitive.”
“As much as it pains me, Vayt, I must sentence you to life in Hallfelled Prison without the possibility of parole. Visitation is granted for family or any four outside people at a time during visiting hours. All sessions will be in your cell,” Kawmu stated blandly.
Without another word, he left, throwing me an apologetic glance, and leaving us to be escorted back to our cells with the help of our little group of cheery sunshine.
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