PodCastle 885: Prisoners
* Author : Si Wang * Narrator : Shingai Njeri Kagunda * Host : Matt Dovey * Audio Producer : Devin Martin * Discuss on Forums PodCastle 885: Prisoners is a PodCastle original. Rated PG Prisoners by Si Wang The fortress was as large as a city and empty as a dried-up well. During the days, I followed a tattered map annotated by many hands and took many wrong turns through cramped hallways, treacherous stairways, and rusty gates. At night, I couldn’t sleep. Resting on the cold, stone floor, I clutched a delicate metal ringlet weighed down by heavy keys, worried I might lose it. After five days, the claustrophobic ceiling finally opened up into a courtyard. The air was cold and fresh. The full moon illuminated a cloudy sky. At the center of the courtyard, a rusty cage hung a few feet off the ground — just enough distance so that the man’s feet couldn’t touch the stone floor. The man was as gaunt as the cage. They were one and the same with the way he sat: motionless, his thin arms wrapped around the bars, his thin legs protruding from the bottom. He slept with a shallow breath, now and then shuddering and whimpering. His eyes fluttered open, and he groaned. “Who’s there?” he said weakly in an accent I had not heard in a long time. Although his hair was jet black and his face free of wrinkles, the frailty of his words made him appear a hundred years old. He straightened up and said more firmly, “What do you want?” The illusion broke, and he looked like a much younger man. He looked familiar, like a childhood friend. I tried to control the excitement in my voice and hide the reason I was there. “When I heard about you, I had to come see for myself.” “Who are you?” “I’m the Queen.” His face was impassive. “Is that so? Come closer — I can’t see very well.” I stepped forward, a breath away from his reach. His eyes studied me. My red silk gown flowed as smoothly as ocean waves, the jewels in my hair gleamed in the moonlight, and the perfume on my feet smelled of petrichor. The chaos priest had painted the penumbral edge of judgment on my forehead. The heavy set of keys hung on my belt. “Are you going to free me?” he said and laughed bitterly. “That was my intention, but first, I have some questions for you.” “You would have brought guards if you intended to free me. I’ve had this conversation countless times with countless people. I don’t know the answer to what you’re looking for. You’re wasting your time.” “You’ll find it hard to believe how much time I’ve already spent trying to find you.” “Your forebears wanted the same thing. Whatever means they used, it always ended the same way: they died, and I am still here, locked up in this cage.” “They were not my forebears.” The man’s eyebrow arched. “A revolution then? That must be quite a story.” “Allow me three questions. That is all I ask.” He looked tired. He shifted his legs and grimaced. “And you’ll free me afterward?” “That depends on your answers.” The man sneered and nodded. “Of course.” “Why were you put into this cage?” I asked. “I stole a piece of bread,” he said, “Next question.” “I was told you didn’t need food to survive.” “The bread wasn’t for me.” The man’s eyes were like dark pools of water where the depths were deeper than the ocean, and I couldn’t see below the surface. “Please, tell me more.