"Has Overseer Hayne ever failed us before?" One of the Twelve said.
"Do you have any real proof to back up your belief that something could go wrong?" Another said.
They want proof from you for doubting them. They never demanded proof from Riffolk. They never demanded proof from you when you gave them what they wanted.
Arthor's head dropped; he knew then there was nothing more he could say. These hidden men, ruling from the shadows, were utterly out of touch with Ermoor. It just made no sense to him. Their refusal to even consider the potential consequences was baffling. And their demand for proof pushed him over the edge, from anger to rage.
"Proof?" He yelled. "You demand proof that something could go wrong?"
More stunned silence met his sudden outrage.
They would never demand proof for their own beliefs. Where is their God in all this?
The thought was quick, quiet, and deadly. It left his mouth before his brain had fully processed it.
"You've never asked for proof when it suits you. What if I demand proof from you? Prove you're doing God's work. Prove to me that what we're doing is right."
This time, after he spoke, the atmosphere of the entire room changed instantly. He saw the posture of every one of the Crowns straighten, becoming aggressive and combative. Their faces were hidden under deep, thick hoods, but their hands either balled into fists or drew back into claw-like shapes. He'd done it now; Arthor wouldn't survive to see next month. The Twelve wouldn't care if it slowed Ermoor's invasion down by ten years, they would kill him for questioning them as surely as they'd kill some low-born drug addict.
"Lord Commander Arthor Symond," One of them said, "You are found to be in contempt of the Twelve Crowns of Ermoor, and will submit yourself for retirement in two week's time."
Without a word, Arthor strode from the dark, echoing chamber, battling the urge to scream at them again. Under his rage, an overwhelming terror was growing. Not only was he an enemy of the Twelve Crowns now; he'd also failed the being that spoke directly into his mind. He had no idea what it was or what it was capable of, but he supposed now he would find out. His heart didn't slow down until he reached his home, surprising his wife with a tight, long embrace. He held her until his emotions calmed; it took a long while.
Sleep eluded him even more now. After the meeting, he'd officially shut down Riffolk's lab. He knew it meant effectively signing his own death warrant, but he had to heal his own conscience, as well as obey the thing that spoke to him. He couldn't keep the secret from his wife, although he'd wanted to protect her from it. So they lay next to each other each night, terrified and motionless, waiting for some professional assassin, or an explosion, or something worse. Although Arthor hated himself for telling Ellie and putting that burden on her, sharing their fear and finding comfort in each other made him feel even closer to her. A couple of weeks passed, and Arthor heard nothing more from the Twelve.
Riffolk had more or less dropped off the face of Pandeia. Arthor, like many others who'd dealt with him for a long period of time, suspected that he had a secret lab somewhere in Ermoor. There was no way to find it, let alone stop him from using it, but at least he couldn't use the city's resources for his sick work any longer. Despite his fear of disobeying the Twelve Crowns, Arthor was glad he'd been able to stop such a monster from working, even if it was a temporary obstacle.
The idea of a secret lab, and Riffolk working even now, unsupervised and completely free of morals, terrified Arthor even more than whatever punishment the Twelve had in store for him. He tried to convince himself that the rumours of a secret lab were just hearsay and speculation. He almost succeeded, but a small part of himself was certain Riffolk had a hidden facility somewhere. He was full of back up plans and secrets.
After another week, he awoke to a servant knocking desperately on his door. His eyes shot open, sore and tired, and he groaned as he got up. Glancing over at Ellie to make sure she was covered, he called for the servant to enter. The moment he saw the expression on the man's face, he knew something terrible had happened. His heart stopped, his face growing cold. The Twelve have done something awful, he thought. But when the servant started talking, even his thoughts stopped cold.
Elana
Elana stared in shock. She was expecting weapons; terrible weapons, granted, but nothing like what hung behind the massive glass case in the centre of Hayne's secret laboratory. It's alive, she thought, for the love of Amalus, it's alive! Living flesh melded with metal and wire, creating a hulking beast unlike anything she'd ever seen. Even the most horrific animals sneaking through the depths of the forests of Shanaken were less terrifying than this monstrous creature.
A deep humming sound filled the room; Elana wasn't sure if it came directly from the creature itself or from the machinery all around the room, but she had an awful feeling it was the former. The creature twitched occasionally, startling her each time. Its glassy, half-closed eyes stared lifelessly straight ahead, at a point just next to her head. Each twitch moved its eyes slightly, and for the barest second, the thing stared directly at her. Chills ran down her spine, and the cold stark room around her suddenly felt like the most dangerous place in the world.
It's alive, she thought again. Its arms ended with horrible, jagged metal claws which looked like pieces of some exploded machine. As she stared, its claws closed partway, forming a loose fist. It relaxed again after a few seconds, but it seemed more than just a twitch. She frowned, looking for more signs of consciousness, but the creature remained in its horrifying state of twitching sleep.
She scanned the room, her eyes never too far from the creature, her back never totally facing it. She was utterly on edge in this room; she had a hunch that Hayne suspected her presence, and she knew there would be security measures in place. She'd kept her shadow spell up when she first entered the room, and luckily it seemed to work against whatever device he'd planted next to the vents in the roof. When she first opened the vent, the small machine had beeped and whirred right in front of her face. She'd stared, terrified, waiting for some awful attack. But the machine had calmed once more, and she dropped silently to the floor.
Nothing else looked like a weapon or security device. The room was silent. Elana didn't believe it at all; didn't trust this room or the man who spent his time here. Turning her attention back to the creature, she examined its cage and the equipment around it. There had to be some way to sabotage it.
The thought made her sick; she'd expected some machine, a weapon she could tamper with. But a living creature? Taranos lives. She remembered the words Hayne wrote in his journal, and her stomach heaved. She should have known what to expect. Her mission couldn't change, however; the Duulshen would tell her that it didn't matter what the Ermoori were using as a weapon. Stop them at all costs, the elders had said, and if you can't stop them, slow them down, put up as many obstacles as you can.
Ermoor had invaded Shanaken countless times, as far back as recorded history could stretch. The vast majority of the time they used a relatively small force, though combat still dragged on, sometimes for years. Lately, in Elana's lifetime, the attacks had grown far more serious; more soldiers, deadlier weapons, and better armour. Invasions lasted longer, and the Shenza lost more warriors each time.
The Duulshen had been sneaking Kaizeluun into Ermoor for years, but now they were truly worried. At the rate the weapons and armour of Ermoor were improving, it wouldn't be long before the Shenza would be unable to defend themselves.
The creature, whatever it was, had to be stopped. It hunched inside the transparent walls of its cage, lifeless yet somehow pulsing with energy, as though it was simply waiting for the right moment to strike. What was it? What would it do when it woke? Elana took a few tentative steps towards it, alternating her gaze between the creature and the machines attached to it. There were consoles built into the cage on every side, facing outward at waist height and brimming with complicated buttons, dials and gauges.
She sto
pped a step from the creature's cage. Within arm's reach of the closest console. A small light blinked in steady pulses, its bright green glow bouncing off the glass and the creature's skin. A gauge measured some mysterious thing, the needle wavering nervously on the high end of whatever scale it used. Buttons lined one gleaming section. Nothing was labelled.
Elana drew her Kaizuun. The shadow blade filled her with energy and magic, responding to her body and mind like an intuitive lover, and she saw the creature in a new light; through the filter of magic. Most animals gave off a gentle, passive aura, clear in shape but low in magic. Predators and powerful mages gave off a much deeper, more lively aura; as though magic and danger danced together in their souls, setting sparks flying. Her breath caught in her throat as she looked at the thing in the cage.
Its aura was raging, formless and terrifying; a pale but powerful crackling yellow energy which screamed wordless fury in her mind. For a moment, she was utterly overwhelmed. The stark, dangerous laboratory around her disappeared. Thoughts of her mission, her home, everything was washed away by the chaotic energy filling her head. Even the creature itself ceased to matter; it was simply a shell for this gargantuan soul.
Elana was more confused than ever. She sheathed her blade, grateful for the silence which returned. This was no mere creature; and certainly the aura surrounding it was something completely new. She stared into its glazed eyes, her mouth dry, her heart pounding. She'd been anxious before, anxious that it might wake; now she was absolutely terrified. What are you? She thought.
The creature's pale yellow eyes opened wide, then swivelled and caught her own. It stared directly at her; not the coincidental eye contact resulting from a lifeless twitch, but a conscious stare. Elana saw pain, and madness, and terror. A sudden wave of excruciating noise filled her mind, forcing her to her knees and drawing a scream from her unfeeling lips.
There were voices spouting gibberish, crashing, thumping, and an intense buzzing which throbbed through her entire body. Her eyes had been screwed shut, and a sharp blade of horror sliced through the cacophony as she realised her guard was down. Forcing her eyes open again, she looked up at the creature. It was still in its cage, but its eyes were boring into her, wide and mad and questioning. Through the unbearable noise, a tiny voice whispered, clear despite the chaos:
What am I?
Mara
Next time she woke, it was the sound of the door closing that pulled her from sleep. The feeling of having something in her head was gone, and she was left feeling alone, confused and terrified. The man who'd entered the room was of indeterminate age and utterly nondescript. The only word that came to her mind looking at him was normal. He had the air of a teacher; someone who knew much but didn't use their knowledge to advance in the world, instead simply holding it for those who would. He was impossible to read, his expression totally blank.
He stood in the centre of the room, and watched her. She had no idea what to say, but out of habit she sat upright, legs crossed at the calf, knees together, one hand over the other in her lap. Her left thigh was bandaged where she'd been shot, though the pain was still there, now a dull ache. She realised she was still wearing the dark clothing she'd worn to sneak into the lab, and felt painfully self conscious. He stared at her, unmoving. Finally, just as Mara was about to break into confused and mortified tears, he spoke.
"You're Mara Hayne."
His voice was soft and caring. But the room, and the fact she'd been found outside without a man, and Riffolk... And dear God, I killed Ermoori soldiers! No matter how gently this man spoke to her, she knew she was in a huge amount of trouble. Tears slid down her cheeks, and she couldn't bear to look at him any longer. She lowered her head, staring at his boots.
"Yes."
She could barely speak. Silence pressed into her. He didn't move and she was too terrified to look at him.
"My name is Commander Mathys Corby. I'm investigating the incident that occurred yesterday at Overseer Hayne's lab."
He settled once more into silence. Mara didn't know what to say. She was in the centre of the creature's escape, and was seen walking through its path of destruction when she was captured; she couldn't deny her involvement, even though she knew almost nothing. She tried to think of something to respond with, and opened her mouth before anything real had come to her mind.
"Oh. Am I in trouble?"
He seemed to hesitate; his perfectly still demeanour gave way to an awkward shuffling of feet.
"Not as yet. At least, not for your involvement with the creature's escape and Overseer Hayne's hidden lab. Evidence may surface, but for now we're simply asking some questions. You were wandering the city without an escort though."
The last part he added with a sympathetic tone, gentler than his previous words. She looked up at him then, and found a caring face, the face of someone who wasn't trying to blame or break her, but to understand her. Despite the stark, cold room she sat in, and the fact that she was being held and questioned, she trusted Commander Corby.
"I don't know what it was," she said quietly, "but Riffolk was using it for power, or energy, or something. He was going to kill all of her people... all of Tyra."
Her voice faltered. Pera's face swam into her mind, clear and painful. The ruin of her body was stamped into her memories like a detailed oil painting. Commander Corby shifted again, tense now. The gentle face was gone, and a much more intense expression fell into place.
"What do you know about Tyra?"
"I'm – nothing, only what Pera told me. They've been turning those giant wheels for ages. Riffolk said a thousand years. And then Ermoor uses the power from them for the city. He said he'll kill them all, sir, but that's not true... Is it?"
She couldn't stop the words once they started. The look in Commander Corby's eyes became colder and colder as she spoke, but she still couldn't stop. She knew she was in terrible danger before he replied.
"I see. And what do you think of all this?"
He looked as if he was ready to kill her; the coldness in his eyes was almost as intense as Riffolk's stare.
"I don't know," she said in a rush, "it's not my place. I trust in God and in Ermoor, and I -"
"Enough."
He didn't yell, but she flinched as though he had; his tone was cold enough to chill her heart.
"Did you see where the creature went?"
She shook her head, looking at his boots again.
"Why were you following it?"
She shook her head again, and then realised he hadn't asked a yes or no question.
"I don't know."
"Did it attack you directly?"
"Umm. Yes."
"Show me."
She glanced at him, shocked. It was an oddly personal request, but he'd asked with such casual coldness that she felt exposed already.
"I... It scratched my shoulder, I'd have to take this off..."
Her left hand came up to her right shoulder, rubbing the black cloth gently. The buzzing was still present, and she winced as her hand brushed over the point where the creature had grabbed her.
"Show me," he repeated.
She felt herself blushing, and she was suddenly both terrified and thrilled that a man was asking her to remove her clothing. What if he saw her body, and wanted her the way Riffolk did? Although she didn't want it to happen, she found herself excited by the thought. She imagined herself half naked in front of him in the cold room, and him suddenly taking her as roughly as Riffolk did, and her blush deepened. Her cheeks were hot and tingling as she stood, both hoping and fearing that he would have his way with her. She unbuttoned the dark blouse, her heart fluttering. Unable to look at him, she found herself hoping that his eyes followed her hands as they slowly undid each button. She dropped it to the ground at her feet.
She'd been wearing a coat when she arrived at the lab, but when she woke in Riffolk's restraints it had been taken off her. Under the blouse she wore a camisole, and under that her brassiere. Excited now, and odd
ly emboldened, she grasped the bottom of the camisole with her arms crossed, and brought it up.
"Stop, that's enough." Commander Corby said.
Her hands were at the height of her chest; she hadn't yet taken the camisole off. She glanced at him, then lowered her hands, letting go of the undergarment. He stared directly into her eyes, unbothered by her partially exposed body. The intensity of her disappointment shocked her. Do I really want him to want me that badly? Suddenly she was disgusted with herself, and her body felt shameful. She crossed her arms over her chest, lowering her eyes back to Commander Corby's boots.
"Turn around," he said gently, "I'm going to approach you but I won't touch you."
She turned instantly. Somehow, the ability to follow orders, to have control in the hands of a man with authority, made her feel excited and scared and relieved all at the same time. Even a strange man she didn't know could make her feel these confusing things. Standing, facing the wall, his footsteps approaching, she felt a sickening but exhilarating thrill. He might still take me, she thought. She thought of Riffolk, and the way he treated her behind closed doors, and she found herself wet under her skirt.
His steps stopped close. A slight touch of air on her neck raised her skin into goose-pimples as he exhaled. He leaned in, and his second breath touched her shoulder, the gentle sensation mixing with the constant buzzing she felt. Gasping slightly, she turned to look at him. His face was so close. She bit her lower lip, looking up into his eyes. He glanced at her, then back to the wound on her shoulder.
She hadn't properly looked at it, or at least couldn't remember doing so, and followed his gaze. Her shoulder was a colourful mess of bruising and scratches, vivid and fascinating to look at. Staring at it at first made the buzzing more intense, and she flinched. But she eventually grew used to the sight. It felt like looking at a painting, like it was separate from her body. But knowing it was her own shoulder, and that she was so damaged and injured, excited her in a dark, indefinable way.
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