41
The Demands of Darkness
Brandyn awoke to the violent sensation of drowning. His nostrils burned as he thrashed in desperation to expel the assault, arms flailing as he kicked his feet to push to the surface, going nowhere. His lungs were on fire, but the water pooled mainly around an obstruction in his mouth. It was large enough that he couldn’t close his jaw, and it tasted of filth and old cloth, and a lifetime of cleaning floors.
“I can stop,” a cool, soothing voice called out. Brandyn didn’t recognize it. Maybe if he didn’t open his eyes, he could pretend he was still asleep in his tent, that he didn’t feel the rope cutting into his flesh as it bound him to the chair, or smell the dank air of what seemed to be a cellar.
“Stop,” Brandyn begged, though the word was indistinguishabl
