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They’re left carelessly, dropped anywhere. It’s clear Volikan left these things by accident, simply forgetting or not bothering to clean up after himself.
But now his sloppiness is my gain. I wiggle my fingers through the bars. I can’t reach more than a few inches before my palm gets stuck between the metal, but that’s all it takes. The edges of my fingertips graze a pair of calipers, just enough to get a hold of them.
Calipers in hand, I can now use them to extend my reach. I work slowly and carefully, easing the calipers out toward the shelf. Pinching them shut, I grab for a stray nail.
But I didn’t close the handle tightly enough, and as soon as I try to lift it, my grip on the nail fails. It goes skittering across the floor, hopelessly out of reach. I watch it in despair, knowing it’s already too late to stop it.
Never mind that, I resolve. There’s more. Just don’t do it again.
I exhale loudly, blowing a frustrated puff of air across my face. The honey brown hair that hangs in front of my face ripples with the movement, and then falls back to cover my eyes.
With one hand, I push my hair out of the way. Biting my lip, I concentrate, trying to steady myself. I can feel my nerves racing, on edge from my recent failure.
With methodical precision, I attempt again. My heart races when I grip the nail, and I hold my breath as I pull the calipers and nail back into the cell. It isn’t until the smooth metal falls into my palm, safe and sound, that I finally let out a nervous giggle of relief and start to breathe normally.
Almost dizzy, I have to take a moment to collect myself. Just then, I hear loud noises overhead.
I draw both the nail and calipers tight to my chest, protectively. At first, I listen for the dungeon door to open, waiting for him to come for me.
Nothing happens, and I soon realize that the sound isn’t coming closer. It’s squarely upstairs, whatever it is. I pause to look up reflexively. I can’t see what’s going on up there, of course, and am left to wonder.
It doesn’t sound like he’s up there breaking things, the way that he did before. I think I even hear another voice, as if they are talking excitedly. There’s a stomping sound, maybe like heavy feet jumping around.
If he has company, this could be the perfect time to sneak out. It sounds rowdy, the sort of scenario where he’ll never notice me. This is my chance. Once again, it feels like The Mother has intervened on my behalf.
I set my tool down on the floor, moving quickly toward the lock. Nail in hand, I shove it into the keyhole. “C’mon, Anastasia, you can do it,” I mutter to myself. “You’ve done it before.”
The lock is old, and not particularly sophisticated. I have no special lock-picking talents, but when you’re a human on Protheka, you’re forced to get creative. This one isn’t that challenging, and after a few tries, it springs open.
I scramble out of the cell, high tailing it toward the stairs. “Thank you, blessed Mother, for looking after your child,” I breathe quietly, folding my arms together in a brief acknowledgement. I don’t wait, lightly hopping up the stairs even during my prayer.
As I near the top of the stairs, a giddy feeling courses through me. I’m almost there, and soon I’ll be free. I have no idea what comes next, but I’m not scared. The Mother will steer me in the right direction as long as I listen.
For now, I just want to be out of here. Away from this horrid place and this awful little prison.
I climb the last few steps in a hurry, reaching one hand toward the door at the top of the dungeon stairs. I freeze with my hand on the knob, hearing an unfamiliar voice.
Whoever it is, they’re right on the other side of the door. I can’t go without being seen. If the door wasn’t here, blocking them from view, they’d be in arm’s reach.
The glee gives way to panic as I listen to them laughing loudly, a raucous, guffawing noise. And then, with no time to hide, the door is suddenly flung open.
Bright light spills through the doorway, and all I can do is squint. My eyes have been in the dim dungeon light so long that they don’t know what to do, and struggle to adjust. My throat tightens, knowing that I have been found.
A monstrous shadow falls across me. At least it blocks the harsh light, making it easier on my eyes. But as I look up at the creature standing over me, the one casting the shadow, I decide that I preferred not seeing.
“Well, well, well,” he sneers. “What do we have here?”
101
VOLIKAN
When I’m left alone to reflect on my past battles, it’s never quite as glorious as when they can be shared with a friend. It’s been so long since I’ve done so that I had forgotten the feeling of spending time with someone who can appreciate it.
There are many moments of victory that I’m proud of, but no one can understand that as well as Drir’gen. In some ways, we’re two halves, cut from the same cloth. Even among demons, we are what most describe as ‘extreme’ personalities, but we reflect each other perfectly.
We’ve been close ever since we were small, inseparable as whelplings. He has always been there to encourage me, and I’ve grown into one of the strongest, most bloodthirsty fighters thanks to his encouragement. Now, even though we’ve gained enough independence to live our own lives, we’re still almost like brothers. When we come together, it’s as if we’ve never been apart.
“Remember when we got kicked out of the bar a few years ago?” Drir’gen recalls. “You flipped that table and broke the mirror on the wall.”
