The Lower Demon part 1

Imprisonment on the Isle of Wolves.





It was dark, it was always dark in the wet stone room. Somewhere a continuous drip droned on hitting the tin bucket he was supposed to shit in, there was a tiny slit in the wall which might claim to be a window, all he knew, that small naked body - dirty and huddled in the corner, was that when any light shone through it his eyes hurt; and it was glorious. He didn’t remember outside he had been here for far too long his young body already ravaged by his imprisonment. What had he done? This small skinny boy who might have been in his middle teens but nobody knew for sure. What had he done? It was funny as that as that one single event had led to his eternal torment but you know what? He didn’t have a fucking clue he wasn’t even sure what his name was anymore let alone that he had to shit in a bucket in the corner that was full of water from a constant drip that came from in from the ceiling and was his only source of hydration, food was a distant painful memory.
That was the thing with the Isle of Wolves prison, they broke you until you wasn’t human any more; the base instincts took over until you were little more than an animal and then when you were gone in your mind they threw you over the crack in the world, and down down you would sail into the lower world to live among the other wild animals - assuming of course that you survived the fall.
So the days went by and sometimes a guard would take pity and throw him some food and watch like some proud pet owner as he wolfed it down, heh wolf it down, a bitter joke for a bitter place. The small door that made up the only exit to his cell was made of thick rusted metal but it meant he could at least see outside. Back in the distant din of his mind he remembered an old man who had occupied the cell opposite, but he had been gone for years now, down into the lower world with the rest of the animals and the cell had remained empty ever since. He had had no human companionship since and all the old man had tried to do was to touch his thing and he had not been far gone enough in those days to let him, he had snarled and backed away, these days who knew?
Curled up in the corner he had shit himself where he lay, the idea of sanitary, or the use of the drip bucket was long beyond him.
“Oh for fuck sake.” the voice was distant but he heard it and he knew what it meant and he knew what he had done wrong but he lay curled up in the corner not caring, after all death would be a blessing.
The guard shouted to someone else, “He’s only gone an’ done it.”
“Again?” The even further removed voice answered, it came echoing down the darkened hallway between the cells, “I’ll get the mop.”
“Fucking dirty little shit.” The guard at his cell spat, “Don’t you know? didn’t we tell you all ready Baron Mort is down on inspection today and he’s got a special guest today, fuck, for one day - one day can’t you just use the fucking god damned bucket!”
He heard a thick key slide nosily into the lock of his cell door, once he had dreamed that a time when the door was opened would be his chance to escape but the strength he had once had was long gone.
He heard a second pair of heavy boots come clattering down the hallway towards his cell, “Stand up.” the guard above him said quietly, he knew this one, not by name but by his voice and by his viciousness.
“Get up!” he said a second time loudly, the boy placed his arms under his self as he tried to stand, it had been a while since he moved and his arms shook violently as his malnourished body tried to lift him.
“God is this guy pathetic?”
“He’s trying.” The second voice was far more sympathetic but he was new and the boy knew he’d change in time, he remembered this other man giving him food - he was a good man.
He felt a fist tighten in his greasy unwashed, dirty and matted hair with a yank the guard lifted him up, the pain was a shock to his weary system and he shook as he tried to move the hand out of his hair so that the pain would just stop, the guard laughed as he held on tight.
The second man threw a bucket of ice cold water over the floor and took a broom to it, scrubbing hard so that all sign of the excrement was removed, a second bucket was poured over his head, the first bad man still held tight to his hair as he sputtered out water, the second guard went at him with a hard wire brush scrubbing at his dirty, stinking body.
“Make sure you get his balls.” The guard said with a chuckle but the second didn’t answer.
After what seemed forever he was released and pushed back into the corner as the two men left he heard them talking but their words were to distant to hear, and he didn’t care about what they had to say. They had cleaned him so that Lord Mort would come and see that his prisoners were not being mistreated. In spite he unpended the bucket of stagnant water out of his own bucket over himself hoping it would make him at least stink, if only he needed to shit again he could have rolled in it, but as he got no nourishment and when he did it was not good food he rarely even needed to go.
Minutes, hours, days, weeks even years had no meaning here, the only time he was aware time passed was the moments of light he got through the small slot in the wall as he remained curled up in his corner it may have been a few minutes after the guards left it could have been two days he didn’t know but when a voice like ice issued at his cells door he sat up faster than he thought possible. He was a man who longed for death and yet still the voice that came sent a jolt of fear from his groin up into his chest.
“This one.” The cold voice said. As the boy backed away into the corner, “What was his crime?”
“My lord.” it was the guard who had held him up by the hair before, “He tried to cross the river.”
“An act punishable by death.” Lord Mort said, “And yet he lives?” It was an inquiry.
“Yes Lord Mort, When judged he age was taken into consideration his highness granted him life.”
“Death may have been better.” Lord Mort considered.
“Yes my Lord, but that is not for us here to question.”
“Indeed.” The boy shivered at the tone of the voice, this man, this Lord Mort was terrifying and he had yet to see him. He remembered being this scared yet it was so long ago so distant where lots of old men sat in high galleries wearing white wigs with white faces.
“Prisoner step forward.” The guard said.
He stepped back, watching as the guards eye twitched as he refused the order, it wasn’t through defiance that he didn’t obey it was fear. The guards lip twisted as his eye continued to twitch, slowly he slipped the cell key from his belt as he stepped towards the gate, with deliberate movements he slipped the key in and with a grin he twisted it violently throwing the cell door open.
“When Lord Mort wishes to inspect his prisoners you scumbag, ah ’scuse me Lord, you do as your told, step forward!” He seemed to like the boys hair as he once again grabbed it, his eyes forming small slits as he smelt the stench of stagnant water on the boy, it was a small victory for him but it was marvellous, with a shove his skinny naked form was propelled forward, he hit the bars and slid quite ungracefully down them, his eyes meeting Lord Mort’s as he went.
Lord Mort was an incredibly tall, yet skinny man, his face was like that of an old scarecrow with a very long pointed nose, his head was as bald as it was shiny and bold white mutton chops shot down his jaw like lightening bolts, but it was his eyes that held the terrifying truth for they were dead and cold.
The guard was back by his lords side, locking the cell door. Mort looked down at him, the way the blood had began to pour from his nose, the way the bruise had began to form around his eye, the way he shivered on the ground a small smile curled on his lips, “Does he please you Emille?”
There was no response as the prisoner began to cough and struggle to his knees, his blue eyes moved passed the guard past the terrifying stare of Lord Mort and he saw her, the first woman he had seen since he had been in this place the first woman he had seen since hitting puberty and becoming a man, he was not ready for the mixture of chemicals this caused inside him, she was the epitome of beauty. His mouth dropped open as his body worked for him, it was as if all his days here had been worth it, screw that tiny bit of light that would sometimes creep into his room in the slot in the wall of his cell, this was light this was brightness all wrapped up in wonderful mocha coloured skin with big dark eyes and thick sensuous lips.
“Well.” Lord Mort chuckled but it was a dry rattling nose like something that a skeleton would have been more than capable of making, “Whether you like him or not Emille he seems quite fond of you.”
It was the first time he had felt conscious of his nakedness he moved back away trying to covering himself as he man hood was pointing quite firmly at the source of his affections, he hadn’t even had this happen to him before, it was new it was terrifying was he broke?
“He seems amply equipped for our plans.” Mort nodded regarding the prisoners penis, “You’re a lucky girl Emille.” Mort turned back to the cowering prisoner, “Tell me prisoner how is this guard treating you.”
The boy inclined his head, his embarrassment gone - as was his erection - as he tried to remember how to talk, he had not done it in time out of remembering, he was not sure if he could even do it he was just glad to be rid of whatever wildness had taken him when he had seen the girl, “he…” his throat hurt, “treats…” every word felt rusty, “us…” he gulped hard the spittle not going down and getting stuck, “like…” He smiled but it did not go to the boys eyes, “shit.”
Lord Morts face fell as he turned his gaze on the guard, “Is this true?” He had cocked a bushy eyebrow.
“N-no Lord Mort the prisoners get rowdy sometimes and we have to act accordingly.”
Lord Mort nodded, seemingly understandingly and the guard relaxed, “Still I do not wish to take the chance, this boy is good stock.” he eyed the prisoner again with a certain amount of admiration, “take this man away strip him of his uniform and give him fifty lashes then…I don’t know, cut off his balls or something, don’t kill him.”
The guard had gone pale his jaw bobbed up and down, as guards, colleagues of years seized him with stony expressions as if they did not know him he found his voice, “Lord Mort!” He screamed, “Please don’t do this to me, I fucking never done nothing wrong. Fuck….nooo” his voice growing ever more desperate as he was dragged away, he turned to Emille herself dressed in a tight dress which only just covered her ample bosom, a look designed to inspire the kind of reaction it had gotten from the prisoner but she too was in irons bound to Lord Mort by a light chain, “You see dear Emille you can’t let these men get familiar, he thought he was above reprisal working here but if the Lower Demon says a man lives then he should live well even as a prisoner here, don’t you agree?”
Emille frowned, “You disgust me you old pervert.”
Mort smiled and was about to reply when an explosion rocked the hall, Mort stumbled backwards, his grip on Emilles chain relaxed and she ripped it from his hand, it was wrapped around his right index finger which came along with the chain, Morts skin was like old dry paper it wasn’t a surprise to her that it came off so easy but Mort looked at the bleeding stump in shock, thick black blood oozed from the wound, “You bitch.” He lunged forward but was thrown sideways as the wall opposite them exploded in a mess of dark brick and smoke, Mort was thrown against the wall. The prisoner had moved all the way back away from the cell door, understanding that something dangerous was happening.
Emille had backed away from Mort who was advancing on her, a third explosion rocked the hallway as Emille was thrown to the ground Mort was thrown back against the cell door, the prisoner took his chance he dove forward seizing Mort around the throat he pulled him hard against the bars, “You…do…this…to…me.” the prisoner said into the Lords ear.
By now guards, armed had began to move down the hallway, which was now full of thick smoke seeing Mort in his current state the backed slowly away not wanted to be the one having to explain to the Lower Demon why his favourite baron was dead.
“Emille!” called a faraway voice that was deep and strong.
“Havok?” She called back as Morts eyes slid in the direction the deep voice, the prisoner tightened his grip on the Barons neck not knowing but sensing Morts interest, “Havok.” he grinned, his teeth black and rotten, like his heart, “That old fool is still alive?”
Emille said nothing the guards had frozen between Mort and Emille as Havok and his men came bounding down the corridor, seeing the situation Havok smiled, he was the biggest man the prisoner had ever seen, with a thick grey grizzly beard his hair shot up in a thick clumps equally as grey as the mans beard, he looked like a bear and sounded like one who could speak when he did so, “Well Mort,” He beamed, “This is better than I had hoped, tell your men to stand down, we want Emille nothing else.”
“Oh so Lewis sent you?” He said, his throat growing tight from the pressure being exerted on it.
“Who?” Havok said.
“You reckon you can snap that things neck?” Havok growled at the prisoner, although everything Havok said seemed to sound like a growl.
The prisoner nodded, “It…old….frail.” he tightened his grip and Mort gasped for air
“You’ll pay for this prisoner, you were going to know pleasure beyond measure but now…you’ll die for this.”
“fuck…you.” the prisoner rattled.
“Good lad.” Havok growled.
Mort was beginning to turn a deep shade of red as the prisoner began to strangle him, “Stand down.” Mort wheezed as the guards hesitated.
“Sir?” one said as Mort went purple, his body began to shake, “Fucking do it you stupid…” He went on in a similar vein as the men began to back away; Mort still cursing as he began to black out.
“Get him out of that cell.” Havok directed his men as they began to ensure the guards were moving back, no one had ever escaped the Isle of Wolves and no one had ever broken in, it was a risk but to get Emille back it was worth it Lewis didn’t know he was doing this but it did not matter a princess of the baronies should not be a pleasure doll for the Lower Demon it was about time people from the Upper World stood up for themselves.
Mort was dragged aside and bound, he would be offered up for ransom unfortunately far to valuable to kill and was he going to be pissed off after this, that was if he survived explaining this to the Lower Demon.
The prisoner stepped out of his cell with a tiny step, avoiding Emille he did not want these men to see his reaction to her he didn’t know the word love but that was what he felt love and lust for this woman and it was more than his fragile mind was ready for, so he stepped from his cell with tiny steps not relishing freedom but accepting that finally he was out of that room,
“Right men move out, the Brain estimated that we have 3 minutes before the entire black guard move in from The Hacked-Knee and we’ve used two of them here sixty seconds remain.” he checked the time piece strapped to his wrist it was one of the only ones left working, extremely rare and extremely valuable more so than even Mort’s ransom would fetch.
They pulled back the prisoner and Emille were dragged along with Havok’s men the bear like man was up ahead clearing the way of any remaining guards nervously counting down on his time piece. When it hit thirty seconds remaining he knew that the timing had been off - not by The Brain, he never got things wrong - but Havok’s own timing had been out the Black Guard were already here and there was no fighting them, they had to fall back to the river. He could hear Mort being carried and still shouting obscenities as he went which would only inform the Black Guard of their location.
A large rent was still smouldering in the prison walls as they approached their way out, from here it was only a further minute to the river once they were back across into the jungle they were gone forever, not even the Lower Demon ventured into the Green Witch, the power of Lorek repelled him, and his followers. There was a roar of noise as the Black Guard began to pour into the prison, their distinctive bug like armour glistening in the sunlight, the sky was blue - the sky was always blue as the eternal heat seared at them. What the old civilsations had done to the world was beyond their understanding but they knew it was them who were responsible for the constant heat and they knew it was also they who had cracked the world.
Havoks men, those at the rear passed Mort on and turned to fight knowing that their ends were sealed, no one beat the Black Guard although no one had ever broken into this prison. The rest of Lon-din was in for a shock when the news spread, although the Lower Demon might cover this up.
By now Havok, Emille and the prisoner had made it through the wall with several men and Mort in tow, they might just make it, Havok was thinking as his worst fear was confirmed the Black Guard had flanked the prison and were waiting for him. Mort was grinning, “Never let me down.” He was saying
A commander of the Black Guard, dressed as the others but with a high black plume on top of his helmet said, “Give it up Havok it’s over.”
What were left of Havoks outlaws had formed a protective circle around him, these men were not dressed in armour, did not carry the best weapons and stunk to high heaven but they were loyal to Havok he had saved each of them at some time or another.
The grey bearded man, as round as a bear and just as tall pulled Mort towards him, “It’s not over I’ve Baron Mort here and if I am going to die so does he!”
The Black Guard commander sighed, wishing that it was anyone other than he who was dealing with Havok, “Give us Lord Mort and Princess Emille and we were honour you and your men a safe passage across the river.” The words sounded like they hurt, no one crossed the river without permission.
“No the girl comes with us!” Havok protested.
“Then we cannot negotiate further.” The commander said.
“But I have Mort?” Havok growled.
“I have orders from the Lower Demon himself. Lord Mort is to be saved only if the girl can be secured if not…I have my orders.” He said, his jaw set firmly under the strap of his black helmet.
Emille put her arm through Havoks, it looked like a dark stick comapired to Havoks thick muscled arm, “Let me go.” She whispered.
He shook his head slightly, he had lost good men for her, he was not about to just hand her over, “Havok, thank you, you tried but you aren’t going to win and I’d rather have you alive to try again one day, Mort and the Lower Demon they don’t treat me too bad. Let me go, live Lord Havok come again another day.”
“Yes go on Havok do as the little bitch said.” rattled Mort, “Go back to your jungle and your precious golden tree.”
Havok turned to Mort with some concern, he nearly did end him there and then.
“Yes we know all about it, so you better run Havok and defend it.”
Havok looked at the princess again, his large bushy eyebrows upraised, “I am so sorry Emille.”
“Don’t be Havok, you tried. Tell my father that I love him.”
Havok made a huff noise but could not confirm that he would tell Lewis anything, not in front of Mort, officially the outlaws and Lewis’s Hamlet did not do any kind of business even though the Lower Demon knew it, it was after all Emille that was the price of that blind eye, she was a beauty but there was more to her than that and the Lower Demon had plans, worrying plans for her.
It was what he was trying to breed that concerned Havok.
“Alright Commander, you have a deal, We’ll give you Mort now and leave Emille on the south bank when we are safely away.”
“Do you think me an idiot.” The commander snapped, “You will leave Lord Mort on the south bank and we will pick him up from there.”
“Very well.” Havok bowed. They turned Emille over, with some regret the prisoner watched her leave.
Havok turned to one of his men, “As soon as we reach the south shore,” He lowered his voice, “pitch that skinny bastard over the side, they can fish their precious Lord Mort out of the drink.”
The man smiled, “Yes Havok.”