So this is what dying's like, huh?
Not all that different from what I pictured.
And mind you, my delusions were never all that precise.
Either way… something's still not right.
If I'm dead, why am I still thinking?
Let's be honest, even hell makes more sense than this. Heaven, even.
And to top it off, there's noise.
Water. Lots of it. Dripping. Waves beating against something heavy.
A woman's voice calling for someone named Teldryn. Over and over.
For fuck's sake. Can't even get any peace in death.
***
The ship swayed in a slow, lazy rhythm. Somewhere in the dark hold, a stubborn drip kept time, its drops hammering the floor.
Teldryn lay stretched across the boards. Still. Dead.
Careful footsteps approached; a girl emerged from the shadows and crouched beside him. Her hands flew to her mouth.
"God…" she said.
Pressed against the floor, his face was covered in vomit. Chewed bread, bile, stomach acid — all of it mixed into a greasy paste that oozed from the corner of his lips.
She swallowed hard. Reached out slowly and, with the tip of one finger, nudged his shoulder.
His eyes opened. Red and vivid. Almost luminous in the dark.
She threw herself backward with a strangled cry.
Her long skirt soaked through in the foul water. Her heels scraped the wood as she scrambled away.
Teldryn coughed. Hoarse and raw. He raised his arm to shield his face from the dripping.
"Shit…" He said, blinking against the dim light.
"I-I thought you were dead!" she said, already pressed against the opposite wall, knees pulled to her chest.
Grunting, he ran a hand across his face and felt the sticky fluid clinging to his fingers. Brought them to his nose. The grimace was immediate.
"A-are you okay?"
Teldryn looked at her — soaked, thrown in a ship's hold, covered in his own vomit.
"Yeah" he said, voice dragging. "Just dandy."
He tried to get up, but something protested. The metal rattled before he could react, the chain snapped taut and yanked him back to the floor with a hard jolt. He was chained at the wrist.
"You sure about that? You were throwing up pretty bad."
He looked down at himself, but couldn't make out anything in the dark.
"Where are we?"
The girl didn't answer. There was movement — fingers feeling along the wet floor. Something dragged with a low scrape, almost metallic. She brought her hands behind her back in a quick motion.
His red eyes tracked every movement in the shadows.
"I don't know…" she said, fingers rolling a pendant at her throat.
"But we should be getting there soon."
A pause.
"You, at least."
Frowning, Teldryn tried to get up again, pulling at his trapped arm. The chain scraped and held. He pulled again. And again, but in vain.
With a grunt, he threw his back against the wall and let himself slide down to sitting. Forearms on his knees, breathing heavy.
"How bad was I?"
"Bad… Very. The last two… three days."
The hold creaked with the ship's sway, wood moaning against the waves.
"The sailors. They didn't know what to do with you anymore."
The place reeked of mold and urine, a burn that climbed the nostrils and settled at the back of the throat. The only light was a pale sliver escaping from under the door. Every so often, beneath the roar of waves against the hull, muffled voices drifted down from somewhere above.
"Teldryn… Glad you're feeling better."
A moment. Silence. Just the drip, on and on without end.
"Who's Teldryn?" His eyes searched the dark for someone else, something else. Nothing.
"Huh." She tilted her head. "You. Aren't you?"
Before he could answer, footsteps echoed on the other side of the door. Heavy. Close.
The wood groaned and swung open. A guard appeared in the gap, hoisting a lantern that spilled warm light across the hold — revealing, at last, the full extent of the filth. Cockroaches crawled up the stained walls, fleeing the sudden light. A few dropped into the dark puddles with dry clicks, splashing.
Teldryn was chained in one corner. The girl, huddled against the opposite wall.
"And you" the guard said, eyes finding Teldryn. "Still not dead?" He glanced briefly at the girl. Then turned back. "C'mon. Sun's out."
He tossed a key. Teldryn caught it against his chest and felt along his wrist until he found the lock. The metal turned with effort and, with a dry click, the chain dropped heavy to the floor.
But before he could so much as flex his numb fingers, the guard had already grabbed him by the arm. Snatched the key back with a sharp tug and hauled him out of the hold.
"Damn…" The guard turned his face away, expression twisting in disgust. "The hell is that smell? Didn't I tell you to use the bucket?"
On the other side of the door, still sitting in the dark, the girl watched. Eyebrows raised, eyes steady.
The guard glanced back. She dropped her head. Hid her face between her knees.
He shouldered the door shut. The wood struck with a dull thud that shook through the floor.
"I was almost dying in there, you know that?" Teldryn said.
The guard didn't bother answering. Hung the lantern on a hook above a barrel and grabbed a bucket.
"Shirt off. Now."
Teldryn didn't move. Took a step back.
"Why? No. I'm not doing that."
The man clicked his tongue. Without looking away, he plunged the bucket into an open barrel and lifted it overflowing.
"MOVE IT!" he said, spittle flying.
The water hit him before he could react. Freezing and briny. A shock that cut skin and drove the air from his lungs.
Teldryn threw his arms up in a useless attempt to shield himself, his whole body contracting. He coughed, spat, and for a moment could only stand there, soaked and shaking, the cold biting into every exposed inch.
"Rather smell like this, would you?"
He grunted, but obeyed. Pulled the shirt off in stiff movements, the soaked fabric clinging to his skin before peeling away with a wet snap. He stretched his arm up and hung it from a ceiling beam, where it dripped.
Another bucket.
The water ran down his back, his chest, dragging the last of the filth with it. He clenched his teeth and held, muscles locked against the cold, breath coming out in short, quick clouds.
When it was over, he was clean. And shaking like a dog left out in the rain. How's that for a cliché.
***
Teldryn stumbled as the guard shoved him forward. They passed hammocks where sailors slept with their arms behind their heads, hairy armpits exposed and reeking of something sour that hung in the air.
Further on, a large chicken coop in the corner, the birds scratching and clucking softly. Pigs rubbed against each other in a makeshift pen, eating slop while a young man ladled in more.
Covering his nose, the young man muttered something. Glanced at the two passing by, then said nothing else.
Relief only came when they reached the stairs, opening up to a rectangle of blue sky. Real light. Fresh air.
They climbed.