Batter

The Reckoning// Halestorm

I follow my captor blindly. After seeing our oven in a most impossible place, its image is all I see, all my mind can grasp. I no longer process my surroundings, unable to make sense of the painting on the walls or the details of the dwelling. What was once wonder at my opulent surroundings is now indifference, as only a multitude of questions now fill my mind. Each hallway and alcove blends one to another. I can't find the energy to care. The fire in my spirit I felt the night of the party, the night I left on this ill-fated journey, is extinguished. Gone. My feet carry me along whatever path I'm led, but my spirit is lying in a heap back in that kitchen.

Eventually we come to another large space with what can only be described as a cage sitting right in the middle of the room.  A cage fit for no bird I've ever seen. Almost as large as the room, this is the first thing I've been able to focus on since my discovery. I am awestruck at its sheer size. But what grabs my attention like a vice is the ornate design. Its system of pipe-like bars rises up to an apex near the ceiling. A smattering of gears and gages, much like that hateful oven in the kitchen, decorates various points along the bars. It is both beautiful and horrifying, as I realize what this cage is most likely meant to be—a prison.

As if he could read my thoughts, the beast looks back at me, sorrow in his eyes. It's an unnerving expression to observe on the face of a creature such as he. The fear I should have been feeling all along finally makes an appearance.  If he is giving me this sorrowful look, my situation must be more dire than I think it is. Before I have time to ponder the situation any longer, a flutter of movement catches my eye.

Sitting high up in the cage, above my sightline and on a small bar, is a bird. Feathers black as the night sky with a red crown and white belly, I recognize it instantly as a woodpecker. My breathing becomes shallow with fear. Memories play in my mind like flashes, the words of the stories two unlikely men have told me. Tales of a cruel and powerful master exacting revenge, changing the offending woman he'd encountered into a bird. A woodpecker. And here I am in the presence of such a bird, held in a high dwelling that can only be described as spellbound with magic of a sort I've never encountered, too many connections to my own life to count. My heart pounds in my chest as the world around me stops moving, then begins spinning. When will these shocking discoveries cease?

We continue past the cage and along yet another corridor until the beast stops before a door. Unlike the other sections of the house with doors carved and polished into fine works of art, the door before me now is plain, white, unadorned. He gently opens the door and ushers me inside the small room, empty save for a simple cot.  Sudden awareness overcomes me. This is yet another prison in which I will be kept. Yet this time, it is a literal prison rather than the emotional cell that my life has been.

"I'm sorry," The beast says, sounding remorseful. "This is the only way. Had it been up to me I would have left you to find your way in the woods. You would have likely given up after another day or two of traversing through the thick growth."

For that I should be grateful. But instead I am filled with confusion. "If not your choice to hold me here, then who? I'm simply seeking answers about the sudden disappearance of my mother, why put me in this cell?"

He shakes his head, "That I am not permitted to say. But trust me when I tell you that answers will come. Be patient." The beast turns to leave, then hesitates. "A word of caution. If you are seeking to find out about the disappearance of a loved one, do not ask those questions directly. But keep listening and the answers will be made known."

As he speaks, I sense the weight of his words, that he speaks at a great personal risk. But a risk to him or to myself, I am not sure. When I stumbled through the brush and into this giant, I had no inkling that things would turn out as they have.

"Thank you," I whisper as he walks out the door to my small room.

"Save your thanks. You may regret them later."

I remain quiet for a heartbeat but decide to try once more with him. "What is your name?" My heart races for a reason unknown.

The beast pauses then turns back to face me. "Grimhold." He speaks his name with honor before closing the door. I hear the lock click into place then nothing else. Silence once again. And I am alone.

My spirit and my body both forlorn in the same way as I lay trapped in a crumpled heap. A strange turn of events has now trapped me in a cell rather than a kitchen.

I know I've lost hope when I don't scoff at my own thoughts. My kitchen has been my prison cell. This bleak room is no different. I've spent the last years, day in and day out, in the same mind-numbing routine of early rising, baking for hours in stifling heat, cleaning, resting and then more baking and cleaning. Predictable yes, but as hopeless as I now feel.

It was meeting Drue that changed everything. Suddenly I had something, or rather someone, to look forward to. I loved his stories, his joy, the light in his eyes. I've missed that more than I can express in simple words.

I press my face against the cold floor, my body refusing to carry me the short span of this cell to the cot. My left hand lays on the ground, limp and motionless by my side. Standing or pulling on the door would prove useless, why bother? Calling out for help won't do because who knows what would greet me if I did. So I continue to lie in a motionless heap on the floor of the cell, save for one task, gripping the small wooden bird in my pocket. Holding on to this bird feels like the only way to keep my sanity, the only way to hold on to what is true and real. Everything else around me seems to be from a tale Drue would tell rather than from my reality. But it is real. I am here, lying on the cold floor, all of my hope locked out in the wilderness.

Or rather, all of my hope trapped inside the fire of that burning oven.

Reminding myself of the jarring similarities between our bakery oven and the one here in the high dwelling, I sit up in frustration. How in the world did the very same oven end up here, in this most-likely enchanted dwelling? The oven which became my father's pride and joy before my mother's disappearance. The famous oven, known to bake bread to perfection, none to be found like it in any bakery around. He tinkered that oven, his own hands creating it from nothing more than scraps of metal. Why would a ruthless ruler of this high dwelling need the same creation in a place of mystery and magic?

Shocked as I realize that the opposite is more likely to be true, my hand flies up to cover my mouth. It is not this dwelling's oven that is the match, but my father's. In which case, now I wonder how the very same oven found within the high dwelling of some fierce ruling master has ended up in my bakery? The oven I've used for years, for as long as I can remember?

I would suddenly give anything to be in a space large enough to pace. My emotions swirl fervently; worry, sadness, anger, fear all mix together to form something new—desperation. Desperation for answers that will probably never come. I find myself once again on the floor of my cell as I plop down in surrender. My energy sapped away, nothing left to give or fight with. I lower my head to the ground, unable to hold myself up, the cold floor pressing to my cheeks.

How long will I linger in this place?

And the plot thickens! The oven, the cage, the cell, and the beast has left her with cryptic instructions to listen...until tomorrow! ❤️

One of my new music loves is Halestorm. Their song I Am The Fire is Daralis theme song, and this one, The Reckoning, is her new determination while held in the high dwelling.

[There should be a GIF or video here. Update the app now to see it.]

Thank you for reading!