The Nameless

The nameless answered the girl's question. He had no reason not to.

“The manacles are meant to bind me to my master's will,” he explained. “The bars, I suppose, were to make them impossible to remove.”

The children, there were three of them now, stared at him. The nameless wished he had the energy to be concerned by their reactions, but honestly so long as no one attacked him or started talking about dissection he just didn't have it in him to care anymore. He did feel some slight remorse for upsetting them; they seemed kind.

He tucked himself deeper within the warm blankets one of the boys had piled on him. That was nice. He honestly wasn't sure how he'd found himself here, in this cozy, cluttered little room wrapped in a small mountain of blankets. It was nice, though. He was warm and the truly hideous couch under him cushioned the worst of his injuries so that he was barely in pain.

He studied the three children as they arranged themselves around him. The girl who had dragged him into her car was now sitting on a second couch, equally as hideous as the one the nameless one rested on, wrapped in towels and a fluffy blanket of her own. At some point her drenched sweater had been exchanged for an over sized t-shirt, like as not belonging to one of the boys. It was similar in size and design to the one worn by the boy who had opened the door.

The two boys were nearly identical in features; likely they were brothers. One had short, spiked ashen hair and a fixation with trying to get the nameless one to drink some warm, sweet liquid. If he had the strength to digest any food he would accept; warmth inside his body would be nice. He lacked even that much strength, though, so he refused to drink.

The other boy had longer, tousled hair the same shade of almost blond as his brother. He kept fidgeting with any item that came into his reach. He seemed almost afraid of the nameless one, which was ridiculous. The nameless one would never harm a child, and even if he were so inclined he was so weakened he doubted he could do serious harm to a flea.

The children were talking. They probably didn't see themselves as children. But they were, compared to him.

He tried to focus on their words. It was impossible to follow more than two words at a time, especially as the boys kept speaking over each other, their words braiding into a cascade of nonsense.

Words like “authorities” and “master” and “police” were worrisome. The girl had promised no hospital, but had he extracted a promise of no police? He could not remember. The authorities would hand him back to his master as quickly as the hospital. Surely she could piece that together.

The girl was speaking. He locked his attention on her. He needed to know if she'd keep her promise.

“We wait,” she said. Wait for what? “For now, let's get those things off him, make him more comfortable.”

That sounded nice. Though he was already more comfortable than he'd been in the last three or four decades.

The children approached him. He braced himself for whatever plan they had come up with so far.

He startled a little as the girl sat herself next to him. He hadn't paid attention enough to see her move.

“I'm sorry,” she apologized, “I didn't mean to startle you. I'm going to get that collar off of you. It's not secured in some weird way, is it? It won't, like, choke you or shock you or something?”

He shook his head. The collar was only decorative. He'd have ripped it off himself if he had the strength to manage the stiff, rain soaked leather. He tilted his head up to give her access.

She tugged at the thing for a moment, leaning in until her cheek was nearly brushing his chin. She practically radiated warmth and safety. He resisted the urge to lean against her; he'd done enough of that. He didn't have much dignity left but he'd like to preserve what shreds remained.

The collar came free and the nameless one took a deep breath. That felt so nice, just breathing unfettered.

“Thank you,” he breathed out. He tried to smile for her. From the worried look in her eyes, he hadn't quite managed.

“You're welcome,” she replied, looking down at the strip of leather. She made a faintly disgusted expression and tossed the thing across the room. She shook her hand faintly, as though she'd touched something tainted.

Well, she had, but she shouldn't be able to tell. The collar, like most of his master's possessions, was tainted with blood magic. Not enough to harm her, the nameless one's own magic had long ago nullified any chance it had of harming anyone else, but the trace was still present. Interesting that she could feel it even on a subconscious level.

“Okay, Claire,” one of the boys said, “Do you think you can hold his arm still while we work on that manacle? I figure we can use this,” he held up a vicious looking tool, “to cut through the main band, and then these,” he held up a tiny pair of wire cutters, “should cut through the,” he swallowed nervously, “the bar through his wrists.”

Claire, apparently, nodded. “I can do that. Is that all right with you?”

The nameless one wondered why she was asking if the boy was all right with his own plan. Then, as he saw that all three children were staring at him, he realized she was speaking to him.

Well. That was different.

He remembered what happened the last time he nodded, and so chose to speak instead. “Anything. To get these off.”

He meant that. He'd rather not lose his hands, but if that was what it took... so be it. At least their plan sounded like it might leave him mostly intact.

The boys sorted out their tools and arranged the nameless one's arm across their friend's lap, leaving Claire to brace his trembling limbs. He tried to hold still, but it was a lost cause. He had no choice but to rely on the girl's assistance.

As the buzzing, whirring tool came close to the manacle, he couldn't help but flinch. The sound of tool against metal set his teeth on edge. He turned his face away, and ended up pressing his face against Claire's shoulder. She didn't shove him away; didn't even seem to mind.

The screeching buzz of the tool paused, his wrist was shifted, and then the sound resumed. The nameless one gritted his teeth. He had refused to scream when the manacles were forced on him; he would not scream now. It would only cause these three young people distress, it wouldn't help him.

“There,” the boy with the tool said, “Now we just cut the bar free.”

The other boy moved forward with the wire cutters. The nameless one fought the instinct to pull his arm back. This was going to hurt, greatly. Already the vibration from the little tool had pulled at the wounds in his wrists, and a trickle of blood leaked around the band.

“Wait,” Claire said. “Hand me a towel. He's already lost enough blood, we need to get pressure on the wounds immediately.”

“Right,” the boy with the tool dropped it to reach for a soft, fluffy towel. That was going to be totally ruined in a moment. The nameless one almost protested; why destroy their belongings when he was going to die anyway?