Bound in Spirals Ch. 12

'Mhm... Well, I'll leave that up to you.' Sam said. He heard voices up ahead. 'I'm going to need to focus on getting Theodore the help he needs, so you can do the thinking that I don't have time for.'

'Very well.' He felt Samson retreat as he stepped into the clearing.

Dettella was the first to notice him returning. "Oh! Samson, where have you been? You shouldn't just go disappearing like that. You had us worried." She said, rising from the small stool that had been set out for her. Behind her, Darrel shook his head.

"Ah, well I... Um, well I just needed some time to think," Sam said, feeling bad for worrying her. "I didn't mean to be gone for as long as I was... I sorta just got lost in my own thoughts I guess."

"Alright, as long as you're fine I suppose it doesn't matter." The princess said. "While you've been away Giela tried talking to the captives, but none has been responsive. I don't think we can count on them testifying for the legitimacy of our claims." Giela looked away, ashamed. Though Sam didn't understand why she would've felt responsible.

Fenella pursed her lips. "I offered to make them more... amenable, but the princess refused. Apparently it's 'inhumane' or some other high and mighty widdel shite." She said in an annoyed tone.

"I told you, we will not threaten them with poison. It does not matter whether you have the antidote or not." Dettella replied. Her words were calm, yet they seemed to emanate a subtle hostility.

'Whoa, what the hell happened between them? What's going on?' Sam wondered, staring wide-eyed at the two of them. 'What's this talk about poison?'

"The naivety of the nobility these days..." The healer muttered, shaking her head.

"The naiveté of the nobility does not change the fact that using threats will only make our situation worse. We need them to corroborate our story, and using that method will only make them less likely to help." Dettella countered. "I am aware of the uses of fear tactics, but now is not the time for them."

Fenella scowled at her. "As it stands, they will only get us imprisoned or killed if we try to have them explain what happened!"

The two continued debating the point, but Sam had stopped listening. 'It doesn't really matter. Theodore will get healed. One way or another.' He turned toward Darrel and quietly asked, "Can we go train?"

The guard nodded, and the two slipped away...

———

Hennel woke with a whimper. His breathing was ragged and made a raspy whistling sound in his chest. Fiernil had given him an herbal mixture to help him sleep the night before, and it had certainly helped him stay asleep. What it didn't help were the nightmares. They repeated endlessly, trapping him in a cycle of terror. He had no idea where they had sprouted from, but he found that the more he had them, the more he feared them. And the more he feared them, the more real they felt.

"M-Master Hennel! Are you alright?" The elven doctor had been wiping him off and replacing his sheets when he woke.

"Nhhah..." He tried to say no, but it came out as a wheeze instead. Tears filled his eyes, and he resisted a sob. With every second that passed, Hennel's resistance became weaker. The pain was so excruciating. It wore down his spirit like a constant rain, beating against his will, eroding it little by little. He tried to say 'kill me', but it caught in his throat.

The small elven man began to cry. "I-I, I am so, so-sorry my prince... It is all... it is all my fault..." He said between sobs. "I could've... I should have worked harder... I-It's my fault you suffer such pain." Hennel watched as the elf's knees buckled. Fiernil's shoulders quivered, and his head fell forward. "I-I deserve punish, punishment..."

'Yes,' Hennel thought, 'Yes, kill yourself. But kill me first. Take me with you. Please... Just... Just put me out of my misery...'

"No..." Fiernil muttered, still weeping. "No, not yet." He looked up. "Prince Hennel, I-I will find a way to fix this. I will find something, I swear on... I swear on my mother's heart of crystal and flesh!" The short man stood, a look of determination taking over the despair on his dainty face. "I will be back soon. I need to find a halfling merchant!"

With that, the elf scampered out of the room, his short red cloak flapping behind him. 'Why...? Just kill me. You can't save me, just kill me...' Hennel's tears began falling again. His throat hurt from holding back his sobs. 'Dettella... Sister, I-I can't do this...' He thought, feeling utter misery settle over him. It was as if the pain was all he could think of. Past, present, and future. Everywhere he looked, pain surrounded him like a group of clamoring hands, all seeking to caress him and torment him...

When Fiernil returned, Hennel had finally just managed to roll onto his side. He could almost reach the scalpels on the tray, just a little further... The elf pushed the tray away to make room, not noticing Hennel's slowly moving arm. The hopeful prince felt the last thin wall of his will crumble and be pulled away to flow down the rapids of endless pain. He finally released the sob he'd been holding in.

"P-Prince, I have an idea. I will give you some, er... pain relieving herbal extract. It will help to keep you feeling... better..." The elf looked a bit nervous for a moment but shook his head. "W-Well, you'll only need it until I find an antidote for the poison in you. For a time, I'd been losing m-my confidence, but I reminded myself that I am the royal doctor for a reason! Prince Hennel, I will find a cure for this poison, I promise you that on my mother's heart of crystal and flesh!"

Hennel managed a slight nod, and the elf began scrambling around the small room. 'I have never heard him use that phrase before, and now he uses it twice in a day. I wonder if he just made it up, or if it's supposed to be significant somehow...' He wondered, watching the elf clear a space on the desk. Then the small man began ruffling through his canvas duffel bag. He came out with a small vial.

'Ah, I see.' Hennel thought, seeing the contents in the vial. Unlike the Reyall princesses, the princes were allowed outside the palace after their fifth year. As such, Hennel was considerably more worldly than his sheltered sisters. So, when he saw that vial, he recognized the drug instantly. The crystalline flecks of silvery green glittered as Fiernil turned the glass to look at it. 'Wellid crystals, "green platinum".'

Hennel had acquainted himself with the most popular drugs, and though he had never taken to any himself, he knew what most of the positive and negative effects they had. It seemed that Fiernil knew a bit of them himself if he knew to choose wellid crystals. The crystals were made from an extract of the wellid plant which was known to grow wild across most of the northern region. The plant itself had many uses, but the crystals were the most common product of it.

'Good for pain relief and certain varieties are used for sleep aid. The effects have a long duration.' Hennel remembered. 'May cause hallucination if used in large quantity.'

"This will help your pain, milord." Fiernil set the vial down on the desk and ruffled around in his bag some more. A moment later, he pulled out an odd looking pipe. It appeared to have been custom made for a person who could not sit straight, ideal for Hennel's situation. "It's been a while since I had to bring this out."

The well polished, carefully carved eddenwood pipe shone under the dim light of dawn. The elf popped the cork out of the vial and tapped out a few of the green crystals into the chamber. He brought out a halfling lighter and pressed the button, waited for the tip to become red-hot, then pressed it into the chamber. A faint green smoke began drifting up from the pipe, and a soft crinkling sound, like crumpled parchment, started coming from the wellid crystals as they burned.

"Can you hold it?" Fiernil asked, holding it out to Hennel.

Trying to nod, he reached up for the pipe. He held it gently in his shaking hands and pulled the chamber lower as to see into it. Inside, the shards of crystal glowed softly, like burning incense. The aroma wafting from the pipe was slightly sweet, slightly acrid. Hennel lifted it and let the curved stem into his mouth. He sucked tentatively, and when the smoke entered his lungs he nearly coughed but managed to hold it in. He breathed out. Then hesitantly took another breath of the smoke.

He fell into a slow rhythm of sucking in and breathing out the corner of his mouth. After what felt like a short time, the pain in his stomach began to fade slightly. A feeling of such excitement rushed through him that he nearly laughed aloud with glee. As he breathed in and puffed out, the pain only decreased, until it felt only like a normal stab wound. This time, he could not hold back the laugh, nor the tears in his eyes. Though unlike the majority of his tears of recent, these were tears of joy.

Fiernil looked over his shoulder at him, and seeing Hennel's almost childlike smile of happiness, began to smile with him. "Is it helping?" He asked.

"Yes." He managed to reply with little strain.

"Alright, then I suppose now is a good time to do the withdrawal." The elf gently took a glass syringe from the desk and screwed in a needle. Gesturing to the needle, Fiernil said, "Only the halflings can make something so delicate and precise. Others have attempted, but needles are far too difficult to forge correctly. These are very expensive, but you cannot put a price on the safety of the patient. My granfa taught me that."

"I can... I can have you reimbursed." Hennel said.

"Nonsense." He waved off the prince's words, then gently rubbed a small circle on his stomach scar with a cloth dipped in alcohol. "Master Hennel, I did not pay for it myself. I have a budget for such things from the queen. The late queen, your mother, set aside generous amounts for the use of the palace medical staff. Now hold still."

Hennel held his breath as the elf pressed the needle into his stomach wound. He didn't even feel it. Whether that was due to the wellid or the fact that the pain in his stomach was at such a peak that it was insignificant, he did not know. Fiernil slowly pulled the steel plunger back. A blackish purple fluid filled the glass. When it was full, he extracted the needle, wiped off Hennel's stomach, and carefully carried it over to the desk. He began fiddling with more glass vials, injecting small amounts of the dark liquid through the rubber seals into each one.

Hennel began to lose track of time as he laid there, listening to the doctor work, continuing to inhale the wellid smoke at a carefully measured pace.

———

Dettella frowned at the sweaty form of Sam as he returned, followed by Darrel. She'd been so occupied with the healer and trying to remember what she knew of the elven queen that she hadn't even noticed them leave. He flashed a sheepish smile at her between deep breaths. 'At least he didn't fall unconscious this time...' She thought, returning his smile.

She took a glance at Darrel and was surprised to see him bearing his own share of sweat. He shook his head almost imperceptibly, the look of surprise barely noticeable in his steel eyes. She looked again at Sam. There was something slightly off about him today. The dark circles under his eyes had receded a little, and it seemed as if he was more energetic. Despite that, the subtle air of melancholia and a deep rage, seemingly biding its time remained, shrouding him.

The princess still had trouble with finding a way to help him. It still seemed as if the only things keeping him rooted in the land of the sane was his friend Theodore. As much as she tried, she still could not completely convince herself that she was helping, or could help, at all. Self-doubt was a foreign concept to her, and she was really having difficulty overcoming it. She shook her head. 'Perhaps I will discover something more once we have a chance to talk. Something I can use to help him.'

Dettella was tempted to just pull him aside right then. Her curiosity was almost overwhelming. She suspected that her sudden revelation the previous night would be confirmed, that Sam was an 'other'. If it was true, she wondered if she would be able to hold herself back enough to actually help him at all. Thinking of all that, the temptation reached a peak. Dettella took a step towards Sam, ready to drag him into the forest.

Fortunately, Giela appeared before her at the same moment. The princess managed to clamp down on her curiosity and looked to her handmaiden to see what she needed.

"I managed to get one of the captives to speak to me... I mean other than the harsh words of usual." The pink-haired elf said.

"Ah, good. Was it the one I mentioned?" Dettella asked.

"Yes, she said she was spared by, um, Lord Samson. Well, she didn't know his name, she called him the man with the scary, pretty eyes." Giela said, blushing slightly as they both glanced toward Sam. He was sat cross-legged, gulping water from a leather canteen. Dettella nodded for her to continue. "She just said she wanted to know why. Why she was spared, why he gave her food, and some other things that I couldn't quite understand due to her crying."

"Hm..." Dettella brought her right hand to her chin. 'I'll have to keep an eye on Giela around Samson...' She thought. "Alright, I'll ask him to talk with her. This might mean the difference between being imprisoned or being given justice. I'd like you to translate the conversation for me when it occurs."

"Of course, milady. In the meantime, I would like to quickly load up your chest for our departure." The handmaiden said, and bowed when Dettella nodded to her. She walked away with the practiced gait of a professional servant.

The princess turned, and strode around the empty fire pit, feeling the sticks and rocks beneath her thinly soled slippers. Sam looked up as she approached, and seeing her, smiled. He already looked revitalized, after only a few minutes rest. He stood, leaning on his sheathed sword. Then, he bent forward and kissed her briefly. He did it in such a casual manner that Dettella went along naturally. Only after a moment of thought did she realize what had happened.

Her stomach fluttered as she looked up at him. It seemed that he hadn't really realized what he'd done either, as all of a sudden he blushed and looked around quickly. Seeing that no one had been watching, he let out a relieved breath. He looked back down at her and started rubbing the back of his head the way he did when he was embarrassed. Then his eyes began darting around, looking anywhere but at her as he spoke.

"I-I, uh, ahem... Uh, sorry. I don't know where that came from." He whispered.

"Again, you need not apologize, Samson. It was nice. If I am to be courting you, I would like you to do that more often." She gave him a playful smile. "And I would hope to be able to reciprocate as well."

His cheeks turned bright red. "A-Ah, uh, yeah. Th-That'd, um, that would be good."

Dettella shook her head, remembering that she had come to him for a purpose, not to flirt and tease. "One of the captives wanted to speak with you. I think it is a good opportunity to bring her to our side. It may be the difference between whether your friend gets treatment or not."

Sam stiffened. "What do you mean? Which one is it? What should I say?"

"She is the one you spared in the fight, the one you knocked out after severing her hand." She replied. "She wishes to know why you did it. As for what you should say... You should just be honest."

"O-Oh, okay..." He scratched his head. "I was wondering who she was the other night, but I'd sorta forgotten. Alright, I'll talk to her." Sam's eyes became distant for a moment, somewhat glazed. He nodded. Then he frowned and shook his head.

Dettella watched the odd actions with a mixture of concern and her ever plaguing curiosity. She shook her own head, attempting to dispel the urge. "Good. You should see her now before we leave." She smiled at him again. "Time is of the essence, dear Samson! We have an elf queen to confront!"

He grinned lopsidedly. "Okay, let's go talk to her then."

———

Sam followed the princess as she walked around the carriage to where Giela had the captive elf waiting. As soon as he appeared, the elf looked up. Her dirty face was striped by the dry trails left by tears. Her eyes looked exhausted with the large bags beneath them. She sat on the ground, her bound legs and arms held out in front of her. Curly, yellowish green hair brushed her shoulders.

Sam glanced at Dettella as she quickly disappeared around the carriage with her handmaiden. 'Wh-What?' Suddenly, he wasn't feeling nearly as confident. Dettella had said this meant the difference between Theo getting treatment or not. The pressure fell on him like a hammer blow. 'What... What am I supposed to say? I-I don't even know the answer to her question!'

He shuffled his feet uncomfortably. After an awkward moment of silence, he sat down on the ground. 'Hey, it's alright Sam. You got me here with you after all.' Samson said with that annoying tone of indifference he sometimes got.

'Ah, I feel so much more reassured now.' Sam replied.

Samson gave a sort of mental frown. 'Really?' He asked.

'No.'

The elf woman opened her mouth, but closed it after a moment and looked away. Sam shifted, hunching forward in the way he did when he was feeling discomfort at something.

"You speak elf." She stated softly, still not looking at him.

"Er, yeah..." He replied.

"I saw you speakin' to that knight. She don't seem to speak much back." She said, and Sam nodded. She paused for a moment, then continued. "You talked to her with care, and you gave her your own clothes... Well, I suppose that should be 'nough, but I wanted to hear from you. You... You din't actually nab the liege lady's daughter, did you?"

Sam frowned. "...Do you mean Feima?"

"Yes..." Her brown eyes finally turned back to him, an intense focus shining through her obvious fatigue.

"Ah, well I sort of did, but it was so I could make Belleby her familiar. It was supposed to have been a repayment for his leading me back to my friends, but then Feima's mother killed him. I'm sure you saw that part. I think that's why Feima ended up fleeing to the human lands, and why she vowed to kill her mother. I can imagine what that might feel like. If someone killed my familiar I would be pretty upset too. Probably feels awful, getting the bond ripped out of you like that."

Sam felt his eyes getting a bit watery at the idea of losing Letta. He shook his head, realizing he'd started rambling like he tended to do when he got nervous. "Ah, sorry. I started rambling." He laughed shakily.

"I see... I suspected as much." She replied.

Sam scratched his head, unsure what to say next. He wondered if maybe he should broach the subject that had brought him there. "Um, if you don't mind my asking... What's your name?"

"...I am called Frinala. Though, my fellows have recently taken to calling me Nientrevuchaman." She replied, her eyes leaving him again.

"Um, I don't know that word... What does it mean?" Sam asked, frowning.

Even as she answered, the meaning seemed to click into his mind. "It's slang. That may be why you dunno it. It basically means 'slut for humans', or 'human fucker'. It's similar to Nientrevuchala, which means the same thing, but for the mountain elves." The way she said 'mountain elves' seemed to radiate disgust.

"I see... Why did they start calling you that?"