Throwing the Gauntlet

Chapter 4

“Pay attention!” Lain barked.

Frey bit his lip and swung across to the next bar, managing not to slip this time. He got one foot up onto the bar before his fingers lost their grip and he found himself hanging upside down. With a huff he crossed his arms and looked down to where Lain was watching from below.

“Frey, you’re completely hopeless.”

“The bars are slippery.”

“They are not.”

“They are.”

“They are not.”

“They are.”

“They are n- stop baiting me; I won’t play this childish game with you.” She moved to a new position where Frey couldn’t see her anymore.

“I’m not being childish,” Frey said, trying to twist so he could spot where she had gone. He didn’t like the idea of her getting up here with him. It was bad enough when she was goading him from the floor.

“Yes, you ar- would you just get hold of the bar and keep going!”

Frey grumbled as he swung himself to and fro until he could get a hold of the bars again. “b***h, b***h, bitch.”

“Unless you want this torture to continue for the next three hours I suggest shutting up and paying attention.”

Frey curled his fingers around the bar, gripping as hard as he could. He used his foot as leverage and managed to swing himself up above the bar and land on top of them in a crouch. He was pretty sure he heard Lain mutter “Finally”.

“I’ll have you know,” he said as he stood, “that I have a lot of amazing talents.”

“Procrastination one of them?” she asked sweetly.

He rolled his eyes and hopped across the bars. He knew a lot of Warriors skipped bars when they completed this part of the circuit but he wasn’t confident enough that he wouldn’t slip so he took it nice and slow. He was probably the most uncoordinated vampire in the world.

He took a deep breath when he got to the end. He hated this bit. Jumping across empty space to try and latch on to rope hanging from the ceiling six feet away. It wasn’t even that he would hurt himself if he fell because he wouldn’t. He was only thirty or so feet above the floor; child’s play. It was just the falling bit that freaked him out, and the jumping, and the grabbing on. And just pretty much all of it.

“Jump already, Frey, for goodness sake.”

“I am, hold your bloody horses!”

“Don’t make me come up there and push you.”

Frey gritted his teeth, trying not to say something nasty, and leapt off the bars before he could think too hard about it.

He reached for the rope and knew before he got there that he had jumped too hard, too fast, and was going to sail right past them. His stomach dropped, bile rose up his throat and down he went.

Most vampires landed gracefully on their feet. Frey? He landed in an uncomfortable jumble on his ass, arms and legs going every which way.

“It’s really not rocket science, Frey. Jump, grab, hold. Rinse and repeat until you get to the other side. I’m going to get you through this circuit at least once, even if it kills me.”

Frey opened one eye to see Lain looking down at him, looking exasperated. He closed it again. Maybe if he ignored her she would go away.

She kicked him in the rib.

“Get up, do it again.”

He groaned and rolled over but didn’t get up.

“Don’t make me kick you again.”

“You’re a slave driver. Why don’t you just put me in chains as well?”

“Would that make you get up any faster?”

He tried to kick out at her legs but she merely stepped out of the way like he was just a nuisance. He scowled as he forced himself to stand.

“Why don’t we practice sword play instead?” she said. “Give you a break from the fitness course?”

Frey narrowed his eyes at her, trying to work out her angle. She was giving him an out but he knew from experience that that was never a good thing.

--

Frey ducked, twisting out of reach of another swing at his head. “You know I’ll die if you lop my head off, right? This doesn’t feel safe.”

Lain sighed. “Frey, you’re supposed to be a Warrior, remember? Lift your sword and try and hit me.”

“I only got that title because of my father, not because I wanted it, or because I earned it.”

She shook her head. “You are the worst excuse for a vampire I have ever seen,” she said. But the smile on her face bellied her harsh words.

Frey shrugged. “I never wanted to play soldier.” He gestured around the room. “I never wanted all of this.”

“Well, it’s yours whether you like it or not.”

“Great,” Frey grumbled.

Lain sheathed her sword. “Go put your stuff away, I think we’re done for today.”

He didn’t wait for her to change her mind and quickly hung the sword with the other equipment that needed cleaning from the days training.

“I heard on the grapevine that your father is bringing another clan to stay for a fortnight next week,” Lain said, as she moved to untie the scabbard from around Frey’s waist. He moved his arms out to give her more room. “The leader of the clan has been angling for you to marry his eldest daughter.”

“He can angle all he wants,” Frey snorted. “They can all go to hell.”

Lain paused. “Frey…”

“Whatever you’re about to say; just don’t.”

“Maybe if you stopped and listened to a word I said, we could figure out what to do.”

“You mean ignoring the problem until it goes away won’t work?”

“I’d slap you if I thought you were serious.”

“You’d slap me anyway.” He grabbed a towel from the rack and wiped his face and down his neck. “I can’t change how my father feels, or the decisions he thinks he can make for me. It won’t change how I feel, or how I choose to live.”

“You need to be more careful,” Lain said. She tried to hold his gaze but Frey looked away. He didn’t need or want her sympathy, pity or any other emotion she dredged up for him. His life was fine and his father and anyone else that wanted to tell him how to live it could go f**k themselves.

“I have nothing to be afraid of.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m his only son, what is he gonna do, banish me?” Frey scoffed. “He’s too worried about his precious throne to risk anything happening to me.”

He threw the towel on the ground and got away from the tension in the room as quickly as he could.

--

Frey chewed on his lip as he lay on his back on the cold dungeon floor. He had one leg bent and the other crossed over it and was throwing a stress ball up and down as he read a book on werewolf taming. It mainly talked about the physiology of the werewolf and how they moved and their thinking patterns; it was boring.

The food had been cleared from the day before, and Frey had decided he couldn’t be bothered finding out who had entered the room without his permission. At least the room wouldn’t smell of rotting food.

He did find it strange that the wolf didn’t smell, despite the fact that it had been chained for over a week now and hadn’t been given the opportunity to bathe.

He glanced at the wolf but when their eyes met he turned away. Just because it seemed content to stare at him all day didn’t mean he wanted to follow suit.

After a few minutes he huffed and swatted the ball away when it came down once more. He put the book on the floor and dragged himself up into a sitting position.

He flicked through the few books he had brought with him and picked up one on a favourite watercolour artist of his. It was a half biography half picture book and it was one he had read a number of times already.

After a few minutes even the lure of the familiar words wasn’t enough to keep his attention. The silence was starting to drive him insane. Even when he was painting he had music on in the background.

“This is ridiculous,” Frey told it. “Why won’t you speak to me? Are you mute?” He wondered if being deliberately mute would be more annoying than if it was something it had no control over.

The look he was given made him want to punch something. Never mind; being deliberately mute was worse.

“I can’t do this silence,” he declared. “If you don’t say something I’m going to go insane.”

And he really shouldn’t have been surprised that that accomplished nothing. “Why don’t I read something aloud?” He had meant to say it sarcastically but now that he thought about it, it wasn’t a half bad idea. He could still read, the creature could still ignore him, and something would fill the silence that threatened to overwhelm him.

And if it pissed the creature off? Even better.

So he picked the artists book back up, and began to read.

--

Later that afternoon Frey watched the wolf closely as food was rolled into the room, to see if there was any reaction to the aroma of the meat.

Not even a flicker.

“Not going to dance for your dinner?” Frey asked sarcastically.

He was so f*****g sick of the silent treatment. He wondered which of them was liable to break down at this stage, because he was close to losing his s**t.

He kicked the trolley closer to the wolf and left it there. He flopped down onto the floor with his legs folded, leaning against the wall, and grabbed a random book from the pile. It was one of the werewolf taming guides. How ironic.

He flicked through it, not really reading anything, grimacing at a few of the more graphic pictures. His finger stopped on a page. “Hey, look,” he said, “It says here one of the best methods of taming is creating dependence by using deprivation to associate the needs of the wolf with the needs of the Master.”

He glanced over to the wolf to make sure it was listening. Sure enough, those eyes were on him. “It says that werewolves are extremely dependant on their sensory needs: touch; smell; taste. Examples for the most effective kinds of deprivation are taking away food, and other privileges like showering, or certain freedoms such as fresh air, and only giving them back when circumstances are met. A kind of ‘reward’ system.”

Frey suddenly felt sick. The food was still sitting there, as close to the wolf as it could get without being able to physically touch it. He threw the book aside and moved closer. Those liquid gold eyes tracked his every movement, like they had been every day Frey had been to visit.

“Is that what I’m doing?” he asked. “Depriving you of something in the interest of making you feel indebted to me?”

Frey shook his head at the wolf’s blank look. “No, I don’t think that’s going to work for you, either,” he agreed.

He cut a piece of the still steaming meat and looked at it. He tentatively took a bite, and tried not to gag at the taste. “This is disgusting.” He glared at the amused look on the wolf’s face. “Oh, shut up.” He dropped the offending piece of meat onto the trolley and picked up another piece using a different fork. “You eat this s**t?”

He moved closer and pressed the meat against the werewolf’s’ lips. The fork was long enough that he was reasonably confident he could move out of the way without losing fingers if it decided to go for him.

Frey continued to hold it there, even when the wolf refused to open his mouth and take the food. “I’m not going to let you out of these chains, so this is your only option. At this point, it’s your choice if you don’t eat, and I refuse to feel guilty for that.”

But it still didn’t eat.

Frey snarled and threw the fork against the wall. “Fine, starve!” He moved back to his sitting area and sat down heavily. He picked up the book but it took him a few minutes to calm down enough to be able to read aloud without wanting to hit something.

He ignored the eyes that he knew were watching him, always watching him.