Although imprisoned within a space no more than six feet wide, the dank dark in which they were enveloped seemed to Fatma to have no end. Twelve iron bars constrained the kittens' movement on one side, and on all others they met with unforgiving rock, but these things were of no matter to the darkness. The darkness existed independently of the material world, all-pervasive and unmoving, the fundament of another plane into which their lives had fallen.
Ahmet lay unconscious on the floor, not sleeping yet unawake, his breathing heavy and laboured with the stresses that these days just past had lain against his form. Above one eye, Fatma could still make out a deep gash, but that too was slowly becoming one with the darkness as the spilt blood congealed in the cold air. That the wound was self-inflicted soothed her little. Anyway, after hours of sorrowed staring, it had become a portal into the furthest reaches of her terror. Her mind became one with the darkness and passed into the wound, and then out between the bars, flitting through time and space to touch upon whatever answer her questioning brain presupposed. In turn reclining with regret, recoiling in fear, rebelling with indignation, rebounding in disgust, at what her mind conceived of and at her own situation, Fatma shuddered in her state of torment.
Painfully, she remembered their prison scene from the night before. Then, she had opened her eyes to find Ahmet, just as now, lain unconscious before her. It was not a perspective she had ever anticipated holding, and to be greeted with it at that point had shocked her to the core. She had been desperate and had leapt from the floor to attend to him. This second time she felt no surprise. She just sat there and stared, saddened and in mournful reminiscence of the events that had led them to this point.
She observed that Ahmet too had met such a moment as this, much earlier in their adventure, after they were rescued by Izmir from the mountain caves of Karendir. He must have watched her unconscious form just as she was now watching his. Tenderly, she recalled opening her eyes and seeing his excited face, and how pleased she was that they had waited for her to awake before reading the prophecy. How different things were back then. Only a minute after she had met Izmir for the first time, and then the three of them had sat down to open the scroll that they had obtained the night before. Then Melchior had arrived. And then after that it was the treasures - the swan and the wings, the palace and the light, the dog king and the sword. They had succeeded at every turn but she had known with all her heart that something was wrong. And then of course Mr Caring and Mr Security had arrived, Izmir had flown off to save Izabel, and they had been captured.
It had not been so bad at first. In their first hours in prison they had felt some hope. Mostly they had felt anger, but anyway some hope. Of course they were furious with the alley cats, for how nasty and scheming they really were. And of course they were angry too with themselves, for how could they have been so stupid to let this happen? For hours they screamed into the darkness, insisting that someone come to let them out, and threatening that if someone did not then Izmir would be there soon to rescue them! But there was no answer, and when they could scream no more they stopped, and nothing had changed. Still, there was only silence and darkness. But anyway, they were sure that Izmir would come, as soon as he possibly could. They just had to wait.
This small hope sustained them through the evening. They sat against the walls and talked quietly, willing the moment of their rescue forwards, imagining not just its circumstances but also the feeling of peace that it would bring. They cherished it so, and clung to it, that in their minds it became real, and by the time they heard a door in the distance clunk, they were certain of their imminent release. Reflected light emerged from around a corner and suddenly the kittens could see. Their prison was set at the end of a long sloping corridor that disappeared after some distance around a bend. Soon, the form of an old hunched cat carrying a flickering lantern emerged from around that bend. Slowly he made his way down the corridor, towards the kittens, who now were sat in silent expectation. As the cat came closer, they could see he was carrying a bowl. He arrived at their cell and, without sparing the kittens a glance, set the bowl down between the bars. He turned around and began to make his way back up the corridor.
'Wait' Ahmet had said. 'Wait. I insist that you let us out of here immediately! Izmir will be here soon to save us. Let us out now and it will be better for you.'
The guard turned his head and looked back at them over a bony shoulder. 'Ha' he said, 'Izmir, you won't be seeing Izmir again'. He turned his head back around and continued on up the slope.
Ahmet had gone wild, springing against the bars. 'What have you done to him?' he cried. 'Where is he?' he screamed. Finally, 'We'll get you alley cats in the end!' he roared. The guard continued silently along the corridor, up and away, and when the door in the distance clunked again, he fell down to the floor and sobbed. She too had begun to weep and it was some hours further into the darkness before either kitten could stop.
The problem was that Ahmet's brain could not accept this truth. He could not stand to live in such a reality, where they had failed, where Izmir was no longer here, where they were trapped indefinitely in a dark cell, and now without any hope at all. Ahmet succumbed to panic. Under pressure, his sense of reason failed completely.
Fatma remembered him springing up to search the edges of their cell. There must be a way out, he would find it, there had to be a crack which they could crawl through. They would save Izmir. This was not the end. For what seemed like an eternity, he scampered back and forth across the floor, pushing and clawing against the rock, determined to find the secret opening his heart longed for. Eventually he had grown tired and fallen asleep.
In the morning, that morning of the day in which she sheltered still, Ahmet had cracked. From the manner of his waking, it was clear his spirit suffered to continue. He made one further melancholy procession around the faces of their confines and then sat down, near the back of the cell, there stationing himself in a creeping flood of sighs and sniffles. Illimited, the waters came high around his head and soon he was blubbing.
Really, she should have done something. And yet how was she supposed to know what would happen next? In truth, and this pained her more than anything, she had come to resent his lack of composure. The futility of his efforts were a poor companion for her own struggles, they were a distraction, and she only welcomed his giving up. That she had understood this hope of escape was all he had… She would have done something… As it was, the collapse of his confidence was all too sudden, and the consequences all too devastating.
Her eyes were closed when it happened. She heard him say something, which in her reverie she did not catch, and then felt the familiar rush of air ruffling her fur. Ahmet was running past her. She opened her eyes just in time to see him hit the bars at full speed. He fell backwards in a spray of blood and then lay unmoving on the floor. Then there was nothing but the echo reverberating through the heavy darkness, his final words, 'I can't stand it any longer', now clear, and then the sound of his skull cracking against the bars.
She knew it was pointless shouting for help. No one would come. She just sat there and stared. Why he had done it she could not say. Had he deliberately tried to dash his own brains out? Or did he think that somehow he would squeeze through at such speed? Perhaps he had just lost his mind. In any case, now there was nothing to distract her from her thoughts. She fell into the darkness and drifted through the structures in her mind, through memories, questions and ideas.
That they had been set up by the alley cats was obvious. Beyond that however there was much to understand. How had they pulled this off? Why? Where did the falsity end? Was there anything in this sorry story that was real?
How dreadful she found it, to be all alone and trapped in great uncertainty. Indeed, as she later told me, in that prison she felt her heart undergo great change. She knew it as the loss of her innocence. She was no longer a kitten, she was a cat, and if one thing was certain, if she ever got out of this cell, she was going to understand what was really going on in this world.
At a certain point during the afternoon Fatma lifted her head, disturbed from her reverie by a sound from somewhere outside. It was the beating of a drum. Then something else. Ahmet had let out a groan. Squinting into the darkness, she could see his body shifting on the floor.