MF1.0 - 45 - Bite the Hand...

Astrin lay still in his cell, ignoring the pain, the darkness and the fear. He concentrated and prayed that what he had felt wasn’t a sign of insanity.

His body screamed for food, but beneath all of that, he was sure that he’d felt a kick.

He wished he could rub his belly, to make contact with Natenal, to feel if his son was still alive.

After a long while in the dark, he began to doubt the feeling. He hadn’t felt his child move since falling to this wretched world, and he was sure the grotesque changes his body had undergone had simply erased his child from existence. That maybe Natenal had been the void’s price for landing on another world.

Dorian had told him that he had met many…on this world, his kind were called “leeches”, and that no leech had given birth to a child they had carried from their previous life.

Natenal kicked again.

This time, he knew it was real.

He pulled on his chains, they barely budged. No matter how strong this hideous form was, it had no power when it was hungry.

Food. They would bring food soon.

He pushed the pain of hunger away, and thought of Mela. She would handle this so much better, she’d always been so much stronger, even if she hadn’t known it.

He pushed his thick tongue out of his mouth and took a deep breath. The breath hurt – he was sure at least three of his ribs were broken. After a moment, he began to sing to Natenal.

The old ways dictated that the first child should be a scholar – that way, they would be able to help any future siblings with their choices, and to have the informed choice whether or not they wanted to join the family business or not. No one listened to the old ways anymore – they had long ago decided that he could be anything he wanted.

All he wanted for his son was for him to begin his life.

He heard the rattle of the food cart – it came around every once in a while, sometimes they would throw bread to the prisoners, sometimes they would just laugh and move on.

Demons, the old demons with delusions of power, at least had reasons for their cruelty. This place…this was a manifestation of a nightmare without rhyme or reason. They thought they had reason, and that made it all the worse.

When the door opened, the jailer lifted a dry piece of bread from the rusty cart and brought it closer.

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,'CenturyGothic',Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">Wait…wait…wait…NOW!

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,'CenturyGothic',Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">He lunged forward and bit the man’s hand, he relished the man’s scream as his teeth went straight through. There wasn’t time for moralising this time. This time, it was life or death. He shook his head like a dog and the man’s hand came loose, after a couple of bites, he swallowed it.

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,'CenturyGothic',Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">‘Undo my bondage,’ he hissed at the man, dribbling blood from the morsel.

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,'CenturyGothic',Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">The man cried in pain, and stared at the bloody stub. He brought his face closer to that of the terrified man. ‘I will kill you. Free my bonds and I may let you live.’ He gnashed as the man’s face, enough to draw blood on his cheek.

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,'CenturyGothic',Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">The man fumbled for his keys, and shakily undid the cuffs.

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,'CenturyGothic',Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">He pulled the wires and tubes from his limbs and stood properly for the first time in hours. He was weaker than he ever would admit, but that didn’t matter.

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,'CenturyGothic',Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">He placed a hand on his belly, then ran.