It was.
He set down the candle and then felt the hinges of the door. Rotten wood just like in the barn back home. He had watched the villagers pull that door free with little more than their hands. Could he do the same?
Digging into the rotten wood, ignoring the splinters that scraped his skin, he gouged out the hinge at the top and then the bottom of the door.
One firm pull when that was done, and the door gave way with a loud crash. It fell against him, almost crushing him against the far wall, the noise echoing far into the distance.
Wallace’s heart pounded in his chest as he freed himself from behind the door. Surelysomeone would have heard that? He would have to hurry.
Passing through into the darkness beyond he stopped dead. What was that sound? The rattling of chains somewhere beyond the low glow of the spluttering candle. The air was thick with the stench. It clung to the inside of his throat, making it hard for him to breathe.
“Father,” he said quietly, hand over his nose, hardly daring to believe. “Is that you?”
“Who’s there?” a man’s voice replied hoarsely.
“It’s me, father. Wallace. I’ve come to save you.”
“Get out of here! Now!”
“I have an incantation to recite. Soon you will be free.”
The candle light fell on a figure slumped against the far side of the room. His ankles and wrists were bound to rusty iron chains, his flesh marked and swollen from years bound in place.
The man winced at the glow of the candlelight. His face could not be seen behind lank greasy hair and a thick straggly beard. Only his eyes were visible as they focused on Wallace for the first time.
Jock held up a hand, the fingernails yellowed and broken. “Go!” he said. “Now!” The hoarseness of his voice was gone and suddenly he was on hisfeet, towering over Wallace, his head brushing the ceiling.
Jock reached out to push the boy away, but his chains held him too tight to the wall. He looked at his son as if with fresh eyes. “My boy,” he said, his voice failing for just a moment. “Has it been this long? You have grown so much.”
Wallace started to read the incantation.
Jock yelled at him. “Stop. You must not read that.”
It was already done.
The chains fell away, thudding into the floor.
“What have you done?” Jock asked, grabbing at the manacles and trying to bind them around his wrists once more. “Take me back, he has nothing to do with this.”
Wallace ran to his father, tugging at his arm. “Come, let us leave now. You are free.”
Wallace tried to pull his father away but for some reason he could not move his own arm. He looked down. The manacles were bound tightly around his own wrists. He moved his feet and immediately found they had become chained as well.
The manacles that had held his father had silently locked around his limbs, bound with astrength stronger than any metal, trapping him in the dungeon.
“Let him go,” Jock screamed into the air. “It is me you cursed, not the boy. I beg you, let him go.”
“What’s happening?” Wallace asked, bewildered. “What have I done?”
“You are the last of the MacGregor line,” Jock said. “You freed me and condemned yourself.” He suddenly staggered and fell to his knees.
“Father, are you all right?”
One hand gripped his chest. “I am fine,” he said. “Just a pain in my arm-”
He fell onto the letter, his face hitting the scum covered stone floor with a horrible crunch. He lay still, nothing moving other than the slightest twitch of his foot.
“Father!” Wallace said, pulling at the chains that bound him, trying desperately to reach the stricken figure. “Please, say something.”
