Harm had been violently sick, his head over the bucket in the corner of the room. He had eaten the bread and honey, and his stomach growled as he had. It wasn’t until afterwards that it had immediately caused him to vomit. The contents had come back up with a vengeance. The stench from his acidic outpouring permeated the air of the room, and he had leaned by the window, drawing in fresh air as he had attempted to rally himself. Eventually, he managed to sip some more water, easing the pain in his throat again, not just from its damage through drink but from the damage his stomach acid had caused as it erupted from his stomach in protest of foreign matter. It had taken Harm a further couple of hours to settle again before he had once again attempted to eat. Slowly eating another pear that remained, leaving the remaining bread and honey on the table. It was apparent he hadn’t eaten food in a long time.
Harm lay down again on the mattress, his head swimming and the pounding intensified again. Eventually, he closed his eyes and managed to fall asleep, overwhelmed by weakness and exhaustion. It had been several hours before he had awakened again. Cautiously, he moved; his head immediately throbbed, and his throat again screamed. He reached for the canteen he had placed by the mattress and again slowly sipped at the liquid.
What have I done to myself? He thought. Wes’s words about his previous strength and fitness weighed heavily on him. He was the shadow of the man he used to be. Exercise. He thought as he groaned, rolling onto the floor on his stomach and adopting the press-up position. Placing his arms under his shoulders, he attempted to push himself upwards. His arms shook violently, and his head pounded. With his teeth gritted in pain and frustration, he slowly forced himself to complete one press-up before again collapsing onto his stomach. He was very weak. He rolled again onto the mattress, holding his brow, thinking his head would split open if he weren’t careful.
As he lay there, time passed slowly. Harm tried to recollect the last few weeks, but only fleeting glimpses appeared—the interiors of buildings he didn’t recognise, several faces as well. Nothing made sense in his confused mind; the only thing that did was the continual cry for a drink. He needed one. He needed to remove himself from this torturous state.
It wasn’t until later that afternoon that he heard footsteps and the key placed in the door. He slowly propped himself on his elbows and looked towards it, feeling too fragile to try moving. The face of Jeffer appeared.
Jeffer was holding a plate and another canteen of water and, on entering, scrunched his nose. The stench from the bucket was still present even after the length of time it had been there. Without speaking, Jeffer walked to the table and removed the previous plate and placed the new one with the new canteen. Jeffer pointed to the canteen by the mattress, and Harm shook his head, indicating it wasn’t empty. Jeffer then walked to the bucket, picked it up, left, and locked the door again. He hadn’t spoken a single word, for which Harm was grateful; he wasn’t sure if he could have spoken even if he had wished, his throat was so painful. Jeffer returned not long later with a fresh bucket before again leaving Harm alone to continue the torturous journey through his mind.
Although Wes and Sister Carol came to see him, the next few days passed the same way. Jeffer would bring him food and water, replenishing his supply. The third day had been the worst so far. He had awoken in cold sweats, shaking violently. This had continued for several hours, and when Jeffer had come to see him in the morning, he had gone to get Sister Carol to check on him. On seeing him, the Sister had shaken her head, explaining it was a sign of Harms’s body fighting the temptation that continued to scream at him. It was only on the fifth day that the shaking lessened, and Harm managed to keep more than a pear in his stomach, his throat slowly easing. The repeated rounds of vomiting had not helped its recovery.
Day six brought a pain Harm had never felt before. His bowels had moved. He had urinated a few times, the initial dark colour slowly lessening to a clearer stream, but he hadn’t been to the toilet. Crouching over the bucket, he had almost cried at the pain as he had passed a stool that felt like a rock. His body was not used to the intake of solids. Two days later, day eight had brought him not just shivers, but fear coursed through his body. He had spent much of the night hallucinating and wailing in fear, seeing demons or beasts in the shadows of the room once the light had fallen.
Sister Carol had brought him a lantern after hearing his cries, which he had moved to the side of the mattress and sat almost cuddling into it as the rest of the night passed. It was only at daybreak the following day that the fear had started to subside. This had been replaced with anger at his weakness and fear, and he had thrown the canteen at Jeffer when he entered the following day in a fit of rage. His body was still too weak to do much else; even with eating and drinking more, he still had no strength. He wondered how he had managed to do anything without food inside him.
His thoughts had still tortured him, the screaming need for a drink and the pain his family’s memories brought, often bringing him to tears again. It was the morning of the tenth day when he had awoken for the first time without his head splitting. He took this as a positive sign and tried another push-up. That had been a stupid mistake, as the exertion had again sent the blood pulsing in his temples. It wasn’t until the fourteenth day that Harm eventually felt well enough to try again. His head had been clear for a couple of days, and he had cautiously attempted again. The elation he had felt in succeeding had coursed through him. His head hadn’t objected.
By the twentieth day, Harm was managing to complete seven press-ups and had even started to perform sit-ups and squats. It was painful, and after each round of exercise, his muscles screamed at him, but the memory of the burning pain was something he had overcome in his previous life as an adventurer and fighter when he had trained, and he was determined to get back to it. Every day was still a test of his sanity, his mind continually drawing him towards its darkness, but he was slowly succeeding in combating it.
As the thirtieth day of his incarceration came around, he was feeling almost human again. He doubted he would ever completely feel free from the torture, but at least he now had some hope. After thirty days without a drop of alcohol in his system, his body started to agree with its new, healthier lifestyle. Harm hadn’t suddenly returned to the broad-shouldered, muscular man he had been, but he was heading in the right direction. His strength slowly returned with each passing day.
“Harm. Jeffer wanted to know if you would like to help him in the chapel grounds today?” Sister Carol asked during her morning visit.
Harm looked at her in confusion. Was he going to be set free? “Sorry?”
“Would you like to help Jeffer today? I spoke to Wes, and we think the sooner you can start doing something productive again, the better you will feel.”
“Sure,” Harm said. The thought of going outside the room filled him with joy.
“Great. There is a diseased tree that Jeffer needs help with. Margo hasn’t been able to cure it, so we need to remove it so it doesn’t affect the others,” Sister Carol said.
Harm had no idea who Margo was, not that it mattered. He was going outside. He stood from the mattress and walked to the door. Sister Carol stepped back and allowed him to pass. Harm wasn’t ready for the emotional feeling that struck him as he left the room and almost fell to his knees; panic flooded his body. His hands started to shake violently, and his vision blurred. Over the past month, the room had become his refuge; he had battled his demons, and although they weren’t defeated, he had started to win the battle. He leaned heavily against the corridor wall and gasped. Sister Carol moved to his side and placed her hand on his arm before slowly guiding him back inside.
Harm stood momentarily, his face ashen as the panic started to lessen. He clutched at his pounding heart in his chest as it slowed.
Sister Carol looked at him with the look that she might have given a wounded child, with pity and sorrow. “Maybe tomorrow we can try again?”
Harm spun. “No. Today,” he said, determined to go outside.
“Only if you are certain?”
“Yes,” Harm said as he took a deep breath to steady himself before walking from the room.
The panic started to rise again, but this time, he fought it, pushing it back down inside. The thoughts of his first-ever dungeon visit resurfaced as he did. He had been much younger then but remembered the feeling clearly: nervous tension, sweaty palms, and an explicit fear of the unknown. Slowly, he walked down the corridor. Harm had never been in this part of the chapel, and when he reached a branching corridor, he wasn’t sure where to go.
Sister Carol turned right towards a small set of steps leading up. Harm followed close behind. The step led to a door that opened into the rear of the chapel; it was only now that Harm was here that he realised that the way the chapel was constructed meant that the storeroom was on a lower level compared to the main area. The brilliant sunlight flooded into the chapel’s hall through its large ornate windows as they stepped into it. There were two people in the chapel, both kneeling at the base of statues. Neither looked up as they entered. Sister Carol headed towards a side entrance and opened the door.
The breeze on Harm’s skin felt wonderful as he stepped into the fresh air for the first time in a month. The room where he had been staying was well-aired, but virtually his whole life, he had always spent time outside, and it felt good to be back here. He stopped and took a deep lungful of air, tilting his head up towards where the sun lazed in the sky above. It felt wonderful.
Sister Carol smiled as she watched him. “Jeffer is to the rear of the yard,” she pointed. “I need to go and see Mrs Stovall. She is due soon. I assume you will be okay?” Sister Carol asked caringly.
“I will. Thank you,” Harm said as he turned and headed towards the rear of the chapel.
“Don’t overdo it,” Sister Carol said as she watched him go.
Harm just waved as he walked away. He felt amazing in the sun’s warmth and the fresh air. He found Jeffer at the end of the churchyard; the tree in question was an old apple tree. It stood twenty feet tall, and its branches were thick, sweeping out and surrounding it, twisted and gnarled with age. Jeffer heard Harm coming and turned, looking at him, smiling.
“Grab an axe,” Jeffer said. “We will take the larger branches off before we fell it fully.”
Harm stopped in his tracks. In all the time he had been in the room, not once had Jeffer spoken, and he had come to think that he may have been mute.
“I didn’t know you could speak?” Harm said with surprise.
Jeffer raised an eyebrow and shook his head. Obviously not a man of many words, he turned away and swung the axe he held at a low-hanging branch. Harm moved to where the other axe rested and picked it up. The weight surprised him. He had used axes his whole life, but this time, lifting a two-handed axe, it felt heavy. He hefted it, adjusting his grip as he moved to the other side of the tree. After only a few swings, Harm could feel the acid building in his muscles, the exertion from such physical labour making his breathing uneven. He wasn’t going to give in to it, though, and continued to strike the branch he had chosen as his target. Eventually, it creaked and groaned as the weight it tried to bear took precedence, and it snapped, tearing the bark away as it fell to the ground, still being held up by the strength of the bark. With two further swings, Harm managed to chop through, and it fell to the ground entirely.
Jeffer had stopped watching him and nodded in appreciation. It was only as Harm looked over that he noticed that he was already on his third branch. Harm watched as he effortlessly swung the axe, each strike hitting perfectly where the previous had. Determined not to be outdone by him, Harm set to work on the next.
