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Retreat, Hell - Episode 17.5
🕑 Added 2022-02-04 00:38:29 +0000 UTCA/N: Greetings, Hellians! I've got another episode for you! Well, it's only 2825 words, so half of one, anyway. Or, more specifically, a Half Episode! Today we're back with Tyriel and seeing how he is fairing under human imprisonment! Slightly out of order on this one, but I wanted to get the big battle episode hammered out and didn't have enough time to work on all of my open projects.
I'm in the midst of moving and shipping everything, and taking the opportunity to visit friends and family in the process, so update schedules are going to remain unpredictable for the time being. If all goes well, I'll be done moving and settled into the new place by the end of the month, and I'll be able to finally start up a more regular update schedule after then.
My next planned update is also a .5, with Episode 18.5 making another visit to Tyriel. I'm expecting to get at least that out yet this month, and I'm hoping to be able to get the next episode of A Submariner in Space, as well.
Now, without further ado, your next episode!
Retreat Hell – Episode 17.5
“One, two, three, four, five.”
Turn.
One, two, three, four, five.
Turn.
One, two, three, “four, five … gah!” Tyriel spun away from the wall and stomped back to his bed.
He sat down and tried to clear his mind by diving into another meditative trance. Without even the ability to create a local dreamscape, basic meditation was becoming harder and harder, and doing less and less to calm him.
Silent … Too silent … He started tapping his foot just to have some noise. Two weeks … “Two weeks!” he muttered. “Why hasn’t he called me back in? Our sessions were almost daily!”
Why should I care? Any visit with John was just more time spent with animals. Touched by animals.
“But at least it was a break from this abominablesilence!” His hand tapped his knee, in time with his foot. “And the verbal games we play have always been entertaining.” He smiled, looking forward to the next time he could mentally spar with John.
“Gah!” he snarled. Why am I caring?!?! They are animals! “They are nothing! He is nothing! Beneath me! It is disgusting to interact with them! They are insects!” Worse than insects! They are worms!“I should not care to interact with them! I should cherish every moment I do not!”
“And I am talking to myself!” Again! You need to stop this, Tyriel. “They are trying to turn you mad! They cut you off from Pelanor. Cut you off from the dreamscape. Play games with your mind. Do not let them. Stop talking to yourself. I have to stop- AAAGHHH!”
Tyriel threw himself from his bunk. Stomping across his cell, he reached the opposite wall in five paces and turned to his left. Circles. Circles. Back and forth isn’t working, let’s try circles.
Circles didn’t work last week, another part of his mind reminded him.
“GAHHH! Shut up! Shut up! SHUT UP!” He pounded his fists against both sides of his head as he continued pacing along the walls of his cell.
****
“Looks like he’s finally cracking.”
“Only took almost three weeks.” Major Kolovitch rolled his eyes.
“That ain’t cracking, Staff Sergeant,” the specialist on monitor duty said, looking over his shoulder as he pointed at the screen. “That’s straight broke.”
“John” sipped his coffee as he watched Tyriel on the computer monitors. “I think he’s ready. Take him to the interrogation room.”
****
Maybe I could start throwing myself against the wall again. The guards would come, like they did last time. At least it would be a break from this unending monotony …
“Don’t be a fool. Why would I want the animals to lay a hand on-“
The door to his cell clacked and rattled. That’s the lock, not the food door! He stopped his pacing and quickly tried to regain his composure. I cannot let them see me out of sorts. He pulled his hair back behind his ears, making sure none of it draped over his shoulders. Formal. Formal. Formal. Have to be formal.
The usual guards entered in. They issued the old instructions, instructions he hadn’t heard in ages. Weeks? Was it two weeks?He complied as they bound him hand and foot with steel manacles. He did not resist as they took his arms and led him from his cell. The path they took through the halls was different, just as it had been different every time before. They finally stopped at one of the identical doors, and led him inside. They bolted his chains to a shackle in the floor. Is it the same shackle? Or are there several rooms that are identical? The chair and table are the same. My old marks are still there. He inspected the smooth, painted rock of the floor, looking for any of the marks he had made before. Not there. Just like every other time.
The guards left, and he was alone in silence once more. This silence was different, however. John always kept me waiting here before he arrived. He relaxed in his chair, despite its uncomfortable steel construction, and allowed himself a slight smile. I should not be happy to see this animal. I should – No. I am not happy to talk to him. I am happy because this is an opportunity to once again demonstrate my superiority.
The door opened, and Tyriel had to stifle his smile as John walked in. The human placed a folder and notepad on the table and sat down in the chair across from him. “I apologize for not seeing you in so long, Tyriel,” John said, meeting his eyes with an earnest gaze. “I’ve been swamped with a backlog of paperwork my superiors needed done. I’m sure you know how it is.”
“Indeed,” Tyriel said, even though he didn’t.
“Have you been enjoying your meals?” John asked. “If there is anything you would like to be changed, I can see if I can make that happen.
“They … are acceptable.” He considered a moment. “I would like some more variety. I always get the same things every three or four days.”
John made a note on his pad. “I think we can make that happen. Our doctors have been concerned about expanding your diet too quickly and giving you something that isn’t safe for you to eat, but you haven’t shown any issues or complications from the food we have provided so far. I’ll talk to them about adding more variety to your meals, and expanding that variety on a more regular basis.”
“Thank you.” Tyriel found that he meant it, and immediately had to stomp on the surge of disgust and self-loathing. Showing contempt in these sessions never worked out.
“If I’m going to convince my bosses to increase the variety of your food, though, I need something I can tell them. You know how this works.”
Tyriel sighed, leaning back in his chair, considering what he could tell the human. He had learned early that lies did not pay off. They might not know right away, but they eventually found out, and he suffered the consequences.
“How many mage towers does the Empire have?”
“I do not know,” Tyriel shook his head. “We typically deploy them one to a legion, but sometimes deploy two or three, or none, depending on what is needed or how the battle or campaign is desired to be fought. I have never seen an issue of them not being available.”
“Have you seen them built?”
“Yes. On several occasions.”
“How long does it take them be built?”
Tyriel shrugged. “It depends. I have seen them crafted over months or years, but I have also seen an entire tower forged and erected in days. I do not know much more in the details of their construction or operation. I am not a mage.”
John nodded, jotting down several notes. “How many legions does the Empire have?”
“I have already answered this question, John,” Tyriel rolled his eyes with a smile. “We had twelve legions active in the keshmin lands when your people arrived, including the four legions we pulled from the dohlgra front. You destroyed eight of them when you arrived.”
“We haven’t seen any sign of those four legions, or the survivors of the first battle since we took your base camps. Where are they? Why haven’t they tried to engage us?”
“I am not a commander of armies, John, I do not know their plans or why they have decided to not engage you.” He tilted his head. “You have presented many unknowns to us in that first battle. If I were to guess, I would say they are observing and biding time. Sooner or later, they will strike, and you will be overwhelmed.”
“How many more legions does the Empire have to bring into the fight?”
“I do not know. I never counted them.”
“Does the Empire have more legions to bring to the fight?”
“We did not abandon the dohlgra campaign entirely when attacking the last concentration of keshmin strength, and we have not committed the entirety of our forces to either campaign.”
“Was the forces deployed against the keshmin and dohlgra a significant portion of the Empire’s legions?”
“It was a significant portion of the Empire’s active legions.”
“How many inactive legions does the Empire maintain?”
“I don’t know, I never counted them.” Tyriel leaned forward. “But every elf is trained in the art of war, and may be called to serve the Empire.”
“How many elves are there in the Empire?”
“I never counted them.”
John made another note. “How many cities are in the Empire?”
“We have no cities.”
John raised an eyebrow at him. “You have no population centers?”
“We do, but we do not call them cities.”
“What do you call them?”
“Conclaves.”
“How many conclaves are there in the Empire?”
“There are fifteen Great Conclaves in the Empire. There are many more lesser Conclaves across the Empire.”
“What are your conclaves like?”
“They are great gatherings of elven people. You wouldn’t be able to comprehend them.”
“Did you live in a conclave?”
“All elves live in a Conclave, when we are not serving the Empire. I live in Ierenaeyenlaidenae, the seventh Great Conclave.”
“How long have you served the Empire?”
Tyriel straightened. “I have served the Empire for most of my life. Most elves rarely leave the Umbral Planes of Pelianor. I have spent more of my life away from those sacred planes than treading them.”
“Is your family there?”
“Yes.” He took a breath. “My daughter is there, with certainty. She never understood my zeal for service.” He smiled, looking past the table. “Though I suspect my granddaughter is not. She always tended to take after me more than her mother.”
“Do you have a wife? Or something equivalent?”
Tyriel shook his head. “No. I have met no one yet who has captured my heart.” He smirked. “You might be willing to live with someone for all of your short lives, but it takes a special bond to share a life with someone for more than a few decades.”
“Do you miss your family?”
“I do,” he said with a small nod. “Anseliar especially. Trensilin was a treasure, but we were never close. She found her purpose entirely in Pelianor. Anseliar … She was always eager to hear my stories, and learn anything I could teach her.”
John looked up from his notepad. “Is there anything you would tell them if we could get a message to them?”
Tyriel was silent for a long moment before slightly shaking his head. “Not today.”
Nodding, John set his pen down. “That is all for today,” he said, closing his notebook, then the folder.
Tyriel looked up, suddenly concerned. So soon? Most of our other sessions were much longer! Is this all I’ll have for another two weeks?! He clenched his jaw. Not that I care. I should be glad to be done with him so soon.
“Before I go,” John said, putting the pen in his pocket and setting the notepad on top of the folder. “I have noticed your agitation of late. I know you don’t have anything to occupy yourself with outside of our sessions, and that must be very hard for you.” He reached into a pocket. “Your cooperation has improved, however, and I was able to convince my superiors to let you have this.” He pulled a small object out and placed it on the table. “This is called an MP3 player. It plays music. I don’t know what kind of music you like, but I had it preloaded with a diverse selection. If there is anything you do like, let me know, and I can see about getting you more of it.”
Tyriel stared at the small device. “It works without mana?” John had told him so many times, but he never quite believed him.
“Everything we have works without mana, Tyriel.” He picked the device up and pressed a button, causing a glass square to light up with a soft chime. “This turns it on. Now, I know you can’t read English, so I turned on a feature that will read selections to you.”
He pressed another button and a bar on the screen appeared, highlighting text. “Menu,” said a bland female voice. “Library.”
He pressed another button. “You navigate the menus with these buttons,” he said. “You can sort by genre or artist, or album, play individual songs, artists, or albums, or play the entire library.” As he spoke, he navigated the menu, demonstrating along the way. “This arrow button will play the song or playlist.” He pressed it and the sound of an orchestra emanated from the device. “You can pause or stop, fast forward, rewind, or loop songs, or shuffle the songs in random order. You can even create your own playlist of songs.”
He held the first button again. “Powering off.”
“The battery that powers this does have a limited charge, but it will last several hours on its own.” He turned the device to show a small hole in the bottom. “To charge it, you plug a cable in here. We’ve added an outlet to your cell where you can plug the power cord into to charge it.”
John placed the MP3 player back in his pocket and it took all of Tyriel’s self-control to maintain a stony composure as he collected the notepad and folder and stood up. “I’ll see you at our next session,” he said, then turned and left the room.
Silence fell once again, and Tyriel settled in to wait. It was exactly 1185 enki until the guards came to collect him this time. Over two hundred enki longer than the average, but fifty enki shorter than the longest time he counted.
The trip back to his cell was twenty-eight steps and three turns longer than the average, but two hundred and seven steps shorter than the longest trip, and eleven turns less than the most convoluted route.
They opened the door and walked him into his cell. He cooperated as they remove the manacles and chains, and departed.
On his bed, set neatly on a fresh pillow and folded sheets, was the MP3 player and a loosely-coiled length of white cord. Next to his bed, a small rectangle is now set into the wall. A small hole, like the one on the end of the MP3 player, is centered in the panel.
He snorted in disdain, turning away from it to pace around his cell. Forty paces later, the loop inevitably brought him back to his bunk. He eyed the device, then picked it up. He considered throwing it against the wall to shatter it, but set it aside instead. They would probably take it as not cooperating and set me back to gruel for another week.
Unfolding the sheets, he made his bed, then settled down to perform his daily mediation. With renewed focus, he managed to siphon in another smidgeon of mana. I must not lose focus of this, even though it has been harder lately. No more missed days.
After the bare traces of mana that managed to accumulate in his cell, he continued his meditation, focusing on his service and the glory of the Aesimnai Empire and the elven people.
Eventually, though, the silence started to cut in. He started to tap a finger on his knee. With a grimace, he clenched his fist to stop the twitch, then opened his eyes, leaning back with a sigh. Unable to maintain his focus and calm, he uncrossed his legs in one, fluid motion, and resumed pacing around his cell.
On the third lap, his eyes fell on the MP3 player. He stopped and stared at it. He gazed for a long moment, frozen. Finally, with a sigh and timid steps, he walked over and picked up the device. Sitting down on his bed, he looked at it in his hand. The screen lit up with a soft chime.
“Menu. Library. All Music. Shuffle On. Play.”
Grating noise emitted from the device, and he frowned, hitting the double forward arrow button. Is all human music like this?
The noise stopped, and a moment later actual music played. A string instrument plucked a soft tune. He sat back, leaning against the wall as the music picked up and a woman’s soft voice began to sing. He closed his eyes and listened. He didn’t understand the lyrics, and he knew it was a human animal that was singing, but he suppressed that part. It is okay, at least for a little while, to pretend I’m listening to an elven voice. Even without knowing the words, the song spoke to him of a longing and melancholy that made his heart ache.
When the song’s final notes faded, he continued to sit and listened to the next song.
And the next.
And the next.
Comments
ImezRuez2
Nobody resists forever and just being HERE takes away one of his main coping tools
Craig Dunlap
They did, but there are some tools they depended on that are missing.
Silverwolf
Guess elves didn't train their black ops guys to resist interrogation...
