by Jake Stone
Candatoria regards Atia for a moment, her face a cold sculpture. “Fine,” she says, “I’ll do my best.”
“Come,” Atia says to Zorel. “Let us leave this forsaken place.”
Candatoria watches as they leave, her ire clearly written across her sharp features. It’s then that my heart begins to beat faster. They’re leaving me? Here? Alone? With her?
“Come,” Candatoria beckons, leading me by the hand. Her skin is soft but cold to the touch, and I feel myself being guided into what looks to be, yep, a dungeon.
Fuck!
From behind the iron bars, figures begin to stir—slim shadows of decrepit bodies rising from the corners of their cells. They hobble out to see us, the sound of metal chains clanking at their feet.
Prisoners, I realize, poor souls who’ve been incarcerated for God knows how long. They look at me with wide eyes, mumbling incoherently as they reach out with trembling hands for my help. I swallow.
How the hell did I get myself into this shit? My stomach flutters and my hands begin to shake. I don’t want to be here. But I quickly hide my nervousness, knowing that if I’m going to survive, I’ll need to keep my shit together.
“Real nice place you got here,” I say.
“Thank you,” she says. “It’s taken me ages to decorate.”
“I bet.”
At the end of the chamber, a giant fireplace is roaring. The heat is uncomfortable, but Candatoria feels right at home.
“Please,” she says, motioning to an iron chair sitting in the middle of the room. The chair’s armrests are carved in the likeness of two screaming gargoyles—a real conversation starter.
Dust rises from the red velvet cushions as I take my seat, and my gaze quickly darts to a strange figure appearing out of the shadows to my right carrying a metal tray with two glasses of what looks to be green liquid.
“Cranish,” Candatoria says as if sensing my reluctance. “It comes from a green fruit called, kordick. We let it rot on the vine for a week before we pluck it.”
“Sounds like a winner,” I say. “But I’m not really thirsty right now, thanks.”
The figure—a starved man with a strap of worn leather over his eyes—lets out a painful moan as he shoves the drink into me.
I jump back, afraid. “Whoa…”
“Relax,” Candatoria assures me with a smile. “Harod is harmless.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course.”
I take the drink from him, thanking him with a nod. “What happened to his eyes?” I ask.
“Blinded,” she says sadly. “Seared by the end of a hot iron. Such a shame.”
“Who did it?” I ask.
“I did,” she says with a smile.
“Why? What did he do?”
“There are many sinners on this world, Xander. Unfortunately, we must purge them of their desires. His…” Her voice grows cold as she glares at him. “Was walking in on me accidentally while I was fucking myself with the end of a whip.”
I give a lifeless snort, shocked by the revelation. She burnt out his eyes over an accident? Fuck, I’d better be careful.
Harod bows one last time before hobbling back into the shadows.
“What are you going to do to me?” I ask.
Candatoria shrugs. “Ask you a few questions.”
“Like what?”
“You say you’re from off-world?” she asks, sliding behind me, her hand resting on my shoulder.
“Uh, yeah.”
“Yet, you cannot tell us exactly how you arrived?”
“Sure I can,” I say. “One second, I was working on a particle collider, the next, I was transported here…on this planet.”
“You are a scientist then?”
“My father was, is, I mean. I was just trying to keep his machine from blowing up.”
“Machine?” Her hand slides across my chest as she moves around to face me.
“A particle collider, to be exact.”
Her eyes narrow as some candle alights in her brain. “You know, it was a machine such as this that opened the riff in space, the one we now know as the Dark Horizon.”
Dark Horizon. I remember this. Zorel mentioned it on our way into the city.
“The portal that allowed the fires of hell to pass through into our galaxy,” she continues.
“Oh yeah, Zorel mentioned something about that.”
“If that’s the case, perhaps you are a demon as well.”
“What? Of course not.”
“So, we shall see.”
Before I can move, she leans in to kiss me, and in a blinding flash, I’m overcome with a jolt of energy.
The world around me drowns away, and I’m suddenly whisked to a magnificent bedroom with black-wooden walls and purple-velvet curtains. Lying on my back, I’m shirtless, the top of my jeans already unbuttoned, exposing the top of my underwear.
For a moment, I’m relaxed, nestled against the soft sheets that cling to my body. But then, my pulse begins to race, and I notice the slender figure watching me from the doorway.
Candatoria, barely dressed in a black negligee with a matching short robe, sashays into the room. She sits on the edge of the bed, her hand falling lightly against my chest. Her skin is pale but taught, a smooth masterpiece of untouched skin. It's almost supernatural.
Parting her robe, I see the tips of her nipples pressing through her negligee, and she grins, watching as lust quickly fills my eyes. “Is this what you like?” she asks, her fingers tracing the space between her breasts.
With a seductive smile, she removes the robe, allowing me to see her square, but narrow, shoulders. My chest flutters as she guides my hand to one of her thighs, and I can feel my cock begin to get hard.
“You’re very handsome,” she says. Her nails claw at the back of my hand, pressing it harder against her thigh. “You can imagine my excitement when I saw that it was you who they’d brought me.”
My hands suddenly begin to work on their own. She releases her grip, her hand now rising up the length of my arm toward my shoulder. I look at her full lips and dark eyes. I want to kiss her, to sit up in bed and sink my tongue into her wet mouth, to yank her down with me, so that I can roll over and grind my cock against her pussy. But I don’t. Something keeps me at bay. What is it?
Slowly, deliberately, she crawls onto the bed, turning around to straddle me like a stripper in a club. I feel the weight of her perfect ass on my lap, and I begin to rub my cock against it.
She crosses her arms as she expertly lifts her negligee past her waist, and I see the thong riding up her ass. I grab her cheeks, and she lets out a gasp of excitement, her head falling back, as I begin to squeeze harder and harder.
“I want you,” she breathes, turning around to face me. She reaches into my pants and grips my cock. Up and down, she begins to stroke it. The sensation is amazing. I reach between her legs, my fingers struggling to slide under the front of her panties. Her pussy’s tight and wet.
“All you have to do is tell me the truth,” she whispers. “Are you a demon?”
It’s then, as I hear the suspicion in her voice, that I’m shocked back to life. This is wrong. This is all wrong. I think of Rachel, her heart-shaped face and blue eyes, and I’m suddenly steadied by something pure and true. This is a trap. I’m being tested.
“No!” I say, pushing her hands away from my crotch.
“Tell me!”
“I already did.”
“Liar!”
Once again, I’m overcome by a jolt of energy, and I’m instantly returned to Candatoria’s layer. Only now, I’m chained by my wrists, hanging from a pair of wooden boards that have been set up like a giant X behind me. To my right, I see a muscled man wearing only leather pants and work boots holding a metal iron that he’s roasting over coals. I blink in fear.
“No more games, off-worlder,” Candatoria says, drawing my attention. She’s in her black leather dress again, and her long dark hair is pulled up into a bun, sign
aling to me that she’s about to get her hands dirty. “Tell me how you got here?”
“I already did!”
My eyes widen in terror as the muscled man removes the iron rod from the hot coals. Its end sears a glowing red, plumes of smoke lifting from the tip as the burning metal meets the air. Slowly he walks toward me, a sadistic grin stretching across his sweaty face.
“No more lies,” Candatoria says cooly. “Only demons can pass through the Dark Horizon. We know this. Now, tell me: what is your name and who is your master?”
“I’m not a demon!” I scream.
“Oh that’s right,” Candatoria says with a mocking grin. “You’re the Light Bringer, the one to save us and push back the darkness. Do you really expect me to believe that?”
“I don’t give a fuck what you believe,” I say. “Just let me go!”
The iron is only inches away from my face now, and I can see Harod huddled in the corner, whimpering in terror. The searing metal is a reminder to him.
“You have to believe me,” I say.
Candatoria pauses for a moment, considering my plea, only to grant her torturer an approving nod.
I turn my head as the iron nears my face. Already, I can feel its heat. The smell is pungent, a smoke that stings my lungs and makes me cough. I want to scream, to tell them to fuck off. But all I can do is grit my teeth and brace for the approaching horror.
Chapter Six
“Stop!”
I search for the source of the voice, relieved to find Atia standing in the background with Zorel at her side.
“How dare you?” Candatoria demands. “This is the confessional, the right hand of the clergy, the—”
“I warned you,” Atia says, “The beshai wants him alive.”
“And as unfortunate as that is, his Excellency said nothing about his ability to see.”
Atia gives Zorel a subtle nod, who quickly summons a ball of crackling light in her hand. The amusement on her face is priceless.
“There’s something he’s not telling me,” Candatoria insists, “something he’s hiding. Whether he knows it or not.”
“Has he passed the test or not?” Atia asks.
Candatoria falters. “Technically but—”
“Then release him,” Atia orders, reaching for the gun at her waist and aiming it at the muscled man, who quickly looks to his mistress for help, whimpering. “Or I’ll do it myself.”
“Blasphemy!” Candatoria says.
“If you have a complaint,” Atia says. “Take it up with the palace. Otherwise, release the prisoner.”
Candatoria scowls in frustration. She’s been beaten in her own domain. It’s painful, humiliating. Turning to her torturer, she signals for him to release me.
I grimace as my wrists are set free. It feels as if I’ve been wearing the cuffs for hours now. How long have I been here for? A rush of blood surges back into my arms as I step forward, able to pick up my white t-shirt and grey sweatshirt from the ground.
“You should stay, Xander,” Candatoria says like a host who’s sad to see their guest go. She bends her head seductively to the side, her fingers caressing the valley between her large breasts. “There’s still so much left for us to explore.”
“I think I’ll pass,” I say, standing behind Zorel, who’s still holding her ball of electricity. “I kind of want to keep my eyes if you know what I mean.”
“Pity,” Candatoria whines. “They’re so beautiful.”
I squint as we enter the sunlight, the sound of shop owners and street hustlers and prostitutes filling my ears once more. It’s morning again, earlier than when I’d first arrived in the capital.
“How long was I down there for?” I ask, finding myself starving.
“The whole night,” Zorel says, congratulating me with a pat on the but.
“I don’t understand. It feels like it was only a couple of minutes.”
“You were under her spell,” Atia says, “A mind control.”
The street is packed with venders of all sorts. I look around, astonished as I see a host of strange animals. Catlike birds with pink feathers sing beautiful melodies from the insides of sturdy cages, while something like a tiny dragon, the size of a dog, barks its protest at me as I walk by. This is such a weird place.
“Spell?” I ask, hurrying to catch up. “Like a witch?”
Both Atia and Zorel halt to glance over their shoulders, checking to see if anyone heard me.
“Bite your tongue,” Atia says. “Of course not.”
“Candatoria’s a psychic,” Zorel explains.
“Like you?” I ask.
“No,” Zorel says. “Not exactly. Her power is burrowing into peoples’ minds, finding out who they really are and sensing whether or not there’s evil inside them. Which is why the gaideck uses her for this type of thing.”
“So I passed?”
“Apparently,” Zorel says.
“I don’t understand.”
“When a person is lying, they have to concentrate,” she explains. “Their focus is split. They give in to their temptations. The fact that you were able to refuse her meant that you were telling her the truth.”
“I see, so what happens now?”
“The confessional has cleared you,” Atia says. “Now your testimony will allow us to continue our search.”
“To find Rachel?” I ask, hopeful.
“I’m sorry,” Atia says, “but, as much as you’d like to find your friend, Skarteck is much more important. He is the key to all of this.”
“But Rachel’s out there!” I protest. “I need to save her.”
“Again,” Atia says. “I’m sorry.”
I sigh as I look away, pissed that I have no control. But what can I do? I’m on another planet with people and laws that I don’t understand.
“Zorel,” Atia says. “Let us go.”
“Permission to stay behind, Captain?” she asks, granting me a look of sympathy. “It’s been days since he’s last eaten. Perhaps I could…”
“Don’t take long,” Atia says. “We have plans to review.” Atia turns to leave, her blond hair twirling in the afternoon light. I watch as she pushes up the street, her stern beauty like gold amidst the ragged populace. Even in my despair, I can’t help but notice her undeniable beauty.
“Are you sure food is the only thing you’re craving?” Zorel asks, following my gaze.
“I was just looking at the crowd,” I say wearily.
“Uh huh. Come on, let’s go, I’ve got a great place that makes some of the best yacky in the city.”
“Yacky?”
“I know, right?”
Zorel leads me to a hut with a small kitchen at the end of the street. A long line has formed. It makes sense. The best cooks usually have the most patrons. But I’m starving, and I don’t want to wait. Sensing my frustration, Zorel grants me a smile. “Don’t worry, sexy, you’re with me.”
The crowd erupts in a disapproving groan as she cuts to the front of the line. The cook behind the table, a short man with only a few whispers of hair to comb across his bald head, straightens in surprise, a noticeable look of nervousness on his fat face.
“Officer Zorel!” He wipes the sweat from his brow, then combs the last the few streaks of hair left on his head. “Well, isn’t this a surprise.”
“Hey, Jongat!” Zorel chirps, her gaze turning to the slabs of meat hanging from the hooks along the back. Jongat takes the opportunity to examine her body, his gaze lowering to her perfect hips and long, fit legs. I don’t blame him.
“What’s fresh?” she asks.
“Got some bobiyat from the Frontier yesterday. Just butchered it this morning.”
Zorel makes a face. “Gross. How ‘bout any yacky?”
Jongat winces at the term, his eyes stealing a glance at the stack of meat hidden under a pile of paper on the table. Zorel notices his apprehension.
“Come on, Jongat,” she coaxes. “You wouldn’t be holding out on your best girl, would y
ou?”
The fat man quickly crumbles against her charm, failing hopelessly to realize that she’s merely playing him. “Well, I was going to keep it for myself, being how expensive and hard it is to get this time of year. Especially with all the new restrictions and such.”
“Jongat,” she says, making a pouty face.
“But for you, sure. Why not?”
Zorel beams with joy. “That’s my guy,” she says. “And make it two.”
He looks at me in surprise, his bottom jaw slipping open as he realizes that she’s talking about me. His dreams of being with her are suddenly destroyed. “Yeah, alright,” he grumbles, letting out his frustration on the chopping board.
“Thanks,” Zorel says.
Poor guy. I know how he feels. Every waitress at Hooters, at one time or another, had me convinced that I was their special customer, only to learn a week later that they didn’t even remember who I was.
Jongat slices a slab of yacky and places it on the grill. The fire is hot, and he only has to cook it for a couple of seconds on each side before it caramelizes to a crispy sear.
When the meat is ready, Jongat rests it onto a thin slice of bread, something between ciabatta and sourdough. Whatever it is, it looks crispy. He then accompanies it with a slew of colorful vegetables, or at least, what I think are vegetables, and a heavy coating of olive-tinted cream. When he’s done, he wraps it up and hands it to her. “Here ya go,” he says with a smile, anxious to see what she thinks.
Instead, she looks at me. “You first.”
I hesitate. The germs and bacteria here are alien to me. If my body rejects them, I could die. But I’m so fucking hungry I don’t care. Breathing in its scent—a spicy aroma that reminds me of a falafel—I take a bite.
The taste is amazing. The meat is scrumptious, juicy, the closest thing to what I imagine Kobe beef would taste like, only better. The vegetables pop with flavor, a sweetness balanced by the savory cream Jongat used on the bread. It’s wonderful.
“I told you,” Zorel says, her eyes bursting with satisfaction.
Taking her food, she waves goodbye to Jongcat, whose stare lingers on her ass as she turns away. The street is packed, but I’m more concerned with the heaven that I’m holding. I begin to devour the sandwich over the next couple of seconds, unconcerned with the mess that I’m making on my face.
