Through Ages of Weary Fulfillment: Ch. 10

At Castle Throg

Notes:

And here is the first hint of the real plot :DDDD

I don't think what's here is any more intense than canon...I just delve into thoughts more :')

*****

“Who. Released. The. Prisoners.?” A menacing voice hissed, the usual honeyed sweetness gone.

Ilana twirled a strand of her honey colored hair, then brushed it against her cheek. Soft. A nervous tick. Dizzy flutterflies tumbled around in her stomach, making controlling her panicked breathing ten times more difficult.

The woman said the words again, yelling, growling, near-screamed this time. Ilana winced. Her hair twirled faster, stroked her cheek again, cool against the flush of terror burning there.

It would only be another few moments before she was found and then what? She had never angered her mother before; not in this way. Talking too much, fidgeting too much, asking too many questions: these had all frustrated her mother or grandmother or uncle more than she preferred. Meaning their frustration made her feel unsafe, in a way she really thought no child should feel. 

But this time…this time her mother was truly angry, boiling fury spewing from her voice and her…her eyes that now came into Ilana’s view. Her mother’s eyes peeked through the cracks of her hiding place (in the abandoned room with the half-rotted door), and the blazing hatred in them was palpable, sending her stomach spinning. 

Ilana swallowed nervously, worried she would retch, forcing the breakfast she had not eaten onto the floor. She supposed it was a good thing it wouldn't make much of a mess, but the sound of her throwing up would surely alert her mother to her location, and then all attempts at hiding would be pointless anyway.

Footsteps grew louder; her mother came closer, louder, breathing heavily in anger. Ilana squeezed her eyes shut, wanting to do nothing but disappear. She would be found in seconds, then those hatred-filled eyes would bore into her, burning her with all their might.

For a brief second, she stopped, wondering what had caused her to have such fear of her mother’s anger when she had never really experienced any sort of full wrath from her. A lump in her throat and memories flashed across her mind: her mother’s honeyed-kindness to some that could change to blistering, seething fury in a matter of moments. That was the cause of her fear. She knew what her mother was capable of, and the thought of her suffering the brunt of it was more than she was sure she could bear.

The door creaked and Ilana’s eyes flew open, showing her the turning knob—stuck, but only for a moment. Oh, if her mother couldn’t get it open with all the rattling of the knob in the next few moments, she would kick the door down, Ilana was sure. It was a rotted door, the wood soft and weak. 

The knob and lock finally gave way and the door lurched open, showing its age. Trembling, Ilana stared at her mother, her slender figure draped in dark cloaks that made her lovely in a terrible sort of way. 

“Child,” she whispered, her honeyed voice peppered with anger. “Did you release the prisoners?”

Ilana stared, her knees shaking, her stomach churning, her head spinning, her breath seizing, her eyes blurring, her ears ringing. “Yes,” she heard herself whisper weakly. Oh, why couldn’t she tell a lie?

“And just how did you do that?” Her mother’s words were clipped, angry, muffled by the cottoned-terror stuffed in Ilana’s mind.

“The keys,” she whispered as she clung to the wall behind her for support. “They work for every cell.”

Her mother came closer, eyeing her, some sort of horrible thought in her mind, Ilana was sure of it. “Who told you where the cells were, all of them? Some were hidden.”

There was something in her voice that told Ilana her next words could mean the life or death of someone or something, or maybe even herself. She knew what her mother, her grandmother, her uncle were all capable of! Killing and more; killing and far more. 

Swallowing, Ilana prayed she could lie to protect the trolls who had helped her, even though she was terrible at lying to protect herself. “I found as many as I could,” she murmured, looking down at the floor.

A hand seized her chin and jerked it upward. Her mother glared at her angrily. “Say it to my face,” she hissed. “And look me in the eyes.”

Ilana’s breath stopped in fear, and she gasped out, barely able to maintain eye contact, “I did it on my own.”

The hand left her face, then came back in the form of stinging fury across her cheek. Splinters dug into Ilana’s palms as she caught herself from slamming into the floor, and she held back a sob. 

This isn't normal, but it'll be alright, she thought, wincing as her mother’s slender, cold fingers dug into her shoulder and jerked her up from the floor, forcing her to walk wherever she was led. It’s so much worse for the other kids she hurts. With me…her anger doesn’t last forever, it never does. It’ll be over soon, and then it’ll be okay. 

“In there, you conniving brat!” Her mother spat, shoving her into the cell on the main level that had everything else, like the private dining area and the bedrooms and everything else making such a cold place habitable. 

Ilana fell on her knees this time, and by the time she had gotten up and rushed to the cell door to beg for mercy, her mother was gone, stalking away angrily, completely obvious to the tears wetting the stone floor of the cell. Falling to the floor and wrapping her arms around her knees to create some semblance of safety, she wept for what felt like forever. She wondered if what she had done had any worth, if the people and cloven had reached safety, if they had been recaptured, killed, tortured, imprisoned, if anyone else would suffer for her crimes against her family. 

She prayed they would not, that good would come of her actions. Ilana clung to that desperately as she fell asleep, dreaming of rescue and love and fathers, because of course fathers had to be wonderful, since she had never had one.

*****

Pacing, Amrah surveyed her assets. Her mother was not one of them, nor was Gnag. They had both met their death, Gnag by the hateful hands of the Hollish and Jewels of Anniera, and her mother by the jaws of a Sea Dragon. Those curséd stones! At least she had benefited from the oldest Jewel’s death. Being a mutant crab for the rest of her life would not serve her well.

Back to her assets. She had herself. The child, if she played her hand right. She had no Murgah, no Gnag, no prisoners. She had some Fangs, but without any Stone they would eventually become wild and unpredictable, useless, unreliable, better off dead. 

Amrah wanted nothing more than to hurt the Wingfeathers. She smiled wickedly as she thought of the power she held over them. The only trouble was finding a way of letting them know of the fact. They had no idea of what she wielded above their heads. It was better than any Fang army, better than any Ancient Stone. It was a weapon that could destroy the core of their family so many times over, slaughtering trust, love, and life all at once. 

No, it was not a weapon that could annihilate all of Anniera or one that could bring the land under her control. Amrah had no desire to control the entire Isle or people, just a select few of them. She could bend and twist them to her will once more in an even more dastardly way. 

Why did she only want to destroy the Wingfeathers? Well, that was simple. They had hated Gnag. They had tossed him away like he was a piece of trash. The Jewels had hated him the moment they saw him and had brought about his death. They had destroyed his handiwork that had taken years of research in a simple blink a flash. It should not have been so reversible. Such transformation of the soul should have taken years to undo, but they had done it in seconds. What a lack of reverence, consideration, respect. 

Amrah hated those who could not find it in their pure hearts to respect Gnag. That was exactly why she would destroy them now. It would work. It had to work.

“To the Phoobs we go,” she laughed menacingly. “But I suppose a quick stop in Anniera may be necessary first. Or some semblance of it, at the very least.”

She couldn’t wait to see the pieces fall into place.

*****

Notes:

Huh...I wonder what Amrah's plan is. And I wonder where she procured the child...

Any ideas?! :DDDD

I don't think there should be anything noncanonical in this one, but let me know if there is :)

And thank you, Andrea, for giving me the melding idea :D