by R. J. Lucas
Braam and I burst forward. He runs around the planter and I leap over it. Soaring above the shielded protectors, I let fly two knives in quick succession. Each one finds its intended target and they both fall to the ground, grasping their necks where my blades are wedged deep.
I land on both feet just in time to see Braam hammer one of the other heavies with his axe. The impact is so hard, his shield dents in as if being put through a crusher, and the heavy falls to his back, gasping for air from having the wind knocked out of him. I don’t give him time to catch his breath as I drive another knife into his left eye socket.
The remaining two heavies stand there dumbfounded, unsure of what to do. A shot echoes through the air and another one of them falls. As he hits the ground, I see Papa standing there, still pointing the blunderbuss at the spot where the protector’s head was a second ago.
The last one turns to his fallen comrade, taking his eyes off Braam. It’s the last mistake he’ll make in this life. Braam bull-rushes him and when he connects, I hear the protector’s spine crack. Braam lifts him in the air and tosses him to the ground like a bag of Fairebourne garbage being thrown into the Gehenna chute.
With all of the heavies dead in a matter of seconds, the remaining protectors take pause. Nervous eyes glance back and forth between me, Braam, Papa and each other. Unsure of what to do, they turn to Atwood and Solomon.
“Get them!” Atwood yells. “They can’t take you all at once.”
The next few moments dissolve into a dance for survival mixed with chaos. Braam and I weave and swerve around the cadre of protectors, doing our best to avoid any shocksticks or net cannons.
It’s like Arcmire all over again. Braam uses his prodigious strength and skill to pummel his opponents, keeping them off balance, while I use him as a launching pad, bouncing off his huge shoulders to land behind or on top of our opponents. I use my speed, my agility, and the deceptive power of my legs to take down protectors, one by one. The only thing missing is Isaiah’s shrewd maneuvering and his clever, calm assaults. I wish he were here.
From the corner of my eye, I notice Commander Atwood has moved closer to the fight. I stare at him. He stares back. This is my chance. I’m no longer thinking of escape. Atwood is close enough; I can take him down easily. As I move forward, a lashtail wraps around my legs and one of the protectors grabs me in a bear hug.
I twist and jerk, but the lashtail is too tight and the protector too strong. I have trouble breathing and my vision starts to blur. I’ve heard of snakes from the old world called “pythons” that were able to squeeze the life out of their prey, and I think this must be what it was like.
I look over to Braam and see he has been overrun. He still fights, but the weight of several protectors on him is more than he can bear, and I can see he is weakening.
I struggle more with my captor, but my vision turns grey, and my breath is weak. I try to think of a way out, but even my thoughts are fading.
Then, the sound of a blunderbuss rings out. My captor howls in pain and drops me to the ground. Another shot fills the air, and his body crumbles.
Papa has come to my rescue. I quickly remove the lashtail from my legs and jump to my feet.
I search for my Papa, but when my eyes finally meet his, he is grabbed by two protectors and Commander Atwood approaches him. Atwood turns to me and offers a deviant smile before punching Papa hard in the gut.
I scream out.
All I feel is fury. I leap into the air and land on top of Atwood, knocking him to the ground. I punch him in the face, and he laughs. In my rage, I forgot my arms do not have the same power as my legs. With that realization, I plunge my knee into his groin, and he squeals in pain. His whimpering is music to my ears, though, and I knee him again.
Several protectors reach down to grab me, and I begin my dance once again, going from high to low, cartwheeling, kicking heads and smashing knees. I have a renewed vigor and desire to take on Solomon’s entire army if I must. As I somersault into the air, snapping another neck, I notice Braam on the ground. He is no longer fighting. The chains that bind him are now also being wrapped around Papa and I realize there is no escape.
Then I see Solomon no more than twenty paces away. He is within striking distance.
If this is the end for us, I’m taking Solomon with me.
Years of pent-up rage burst forth as I leap toward the brutal tyrant.
37 - Thou Art Merciful
Solomon wears the same red tailcoat he wore when he banished us to the Dread Wastes. His brass buttons and buckles are shined and polished, no doubt by some unfortunate soul forced to grovel before him at all hours. The heavy tails of his coat are forked like a tongue and he looks like the devil himself, dressed for a ball.
Why can’t these people see what he really is?
As I glide over the heads of protectors toward Solomon, our eyes meet. He does not blink nor flinch in the least. I realize there is no fear in his eyes, and I instantly feel as if I have played into his hands somehow. I have been in this position many times, leaping through the air where time seems to slow somewhat for me, and fear is always the last thing I see in my victim’s eyes.
Understanding comes loud and clear as I hear Solomon’s salvation: the thud of a wadded ball of ambush netting leaving the cannon.
I am so close to exacting vengeance; I can feel it in my bones. But not close enough. The net entangles me midair, and I fall to the ground in a jumbled mess at Solomon’s feet. Several protectors rush in and clamp the net to the ground with huge spikes.
“There is my special child,” he says with a sickening smile. He squats and leans in close enough for me to smell the kiju on his breath and the sandalwood perfume he has bathed in. “If I had known you were so special, I would have never left you in the Dread Wastes. But then again, how could you make your way back to me had I never put you in a position to do so?”
I so desperately want to kick the look of triumph off his face. I’m pinned down though, with my back to the ground and no room to move. I contain the urge to struggle against the net, as I know my efforts would be fruitless and I refuse to give him that satisfaction.
An eerie quiet has settled over the courtyard. Dead protectors litter the green grass, leaving the manicured shrubbery not so perfect anymore. An injured protector cries out in pain from his place on the ground nearby, and Solomon demands his silence in such a cold quiet tone, that it leaves no doubt he is evil personified. Able-bodied protectors step forward, cover the dying man’s mouth to keep him quiet, and drag him away.
The silence is shattered by a battle cry that I recognize as Braam’s. He breaks free of his chains in a rush of strength and smashes the closest protector to the ground. In his exhausted state he is overtaken again, but not before ensuring some damage.
“Collar him,” Atwood yells, as he hobbles toward me. He isn’t walking tall and arrogant now! He is in obvious pain and has to stop every few steps to catch his breath. I don’t hold back my grin which catches his attention. He stares at me and without breaking eye contact, he shouts to his men, “Collar the old man too, and you dare not be gentle!”
I watch in horror as steel collars are placed around the necks of Papa and Braam.
“Why such a glum face?” Solomon asks me with mock sincerity.
He reaches out and pulls the net from my head and shoulders, slowly, as if he is undressing me. And though I am fully clothed, it feels like I am naked before him. The net pinches into my upper arms, but I believe I now have room to maneuver. So, I wait for my opportunity to strike out at him.
“You should be joyous,” he says. “Today is the day of your salvation, from the wretched life you have always known, to a life of purpose and meaning…by my side.”
Atwood makes his way to me and stands next to Solomon who is still kneeling near my head. He attempts to stand up straight but turns a pale shade of white and reaches back to his crotch. He takes another deep breath and I assume it is to keep himself from passing
out. I feel no pity and he knows it. Without warning, he stomps me hard in the stomach causing himself more pain by the sudden movement.
“You stupid little plugtail!” Spit runs down his chin as he yells at me. “How dare you…” He doesn’t even finish his sentence before he kicks me again.
I feel the wind leave me from the force of the impact, but he has my full attention. The sound of his pained voice sounds almost as if he wants to cry. He bends over again, grasping himself between the legs…and I seize the moment. I have enough room with the netting loosened, to reach down and grab the knife from my boot. I stab him in the foot, and he falls beside me, screaming out like an angered child having a fit. I quickly pull the knife out and drive it deep into his neck. He spits blood as his body goes limp.
Nothing more than a wasted piece of human flesh. I think to myself.
I turn to Solomon, “The only thing I will do by your side is put a knife in it.” I tell him with cold calm hatred filling my voice.
Solomon stands tall, unphased by the fact that his second in command has just been taken out for good. He turns his head up, as if looking to the stars, and clasps his hands behind his back. He begins to pace in front of me as if he is about to deliver an oratorical masterpiece.
“You will be welcomed into my loving and merciful arms,” he says. “You will be forgiven and bathed in the light of Lord Solomon, liaison of the Great Creator himself.” He smiles and strokes his chin. Then he adds, “You will, of course, have to understand the law. An eye for an eye. A hand for a hand. A life for a life.”
He turns to the protectors holding Braam. “Enlighten our giant friend, please.”
From somewhere near the back of their ranks, a protector holding a shockstick steps forward. At the tip of the weapon, two crystals are attached: one blue and one green. Sparks of electricity arc between the two gems, occasionally bouncing into the air as if the lightening is trying to escape an invisible prison.
The protector shoves the rod flush along the skin of Braam’s thick neck. Immediately his body stiffens and seizes up, causing him to fall to the ground like a felled tree. He continues to convulse even with the rod is no longer touching his skin. I watch horrified as the protector finds another easy location of uncovered skin and sends Braam into such severe convulsions it looks as if he will have serious head trauma.
I yell for the torture to stop, but Solomon simply holds his hand in my direction to silence me and watches the agonizing show of Braam’s demise with satisfaction.
After what seems like minutes, while in reality was only seconds, Solomon waves for the protector to move away from Braam. I am convinced he will be dead, but after a moment he moans and rolls over, struggling to catch his breath.
“You see, Neeka, your obedience, or lack thereof, will have a direct effect upon those you love.” Solomon turns and nods for the torture to continue. The torturer steps forward, pleased with the command. He smirks and thrusts the pole into Braam’s ribs which causes violent shaking once again. When he finally pulls the weapon back, I can see Braam is bleeding from both nostrils. It takes him longer to make a sound this time and I watch closely for his chest to rise and fall.
“What say you now, traitor?” the torturer hisses at Braam.
Braam huffs, which sends a flood of relief through me. I can see that his face is twisted in pain, but he gathers himself and stares at his tormentor. I think he might ask for mercy, and deep down I hope he does, so perhaps, Solomon will stop this awfulness.
“Are you sure you have that thing turned on?” Braam asks between heavy breaths. “Hit me again, but make sure you use full power this time.”
The torturer’s face scrunches in anger and his teeth clench tight as he lunges the pole at Braam again. I know Braam is tough, but I’m starting to worry for his life. I’m not sure how much of this his body can handle. His strength and bravery have always inspired me, but I don’t want to lose him over his own stubbornness.
“Now, as you already know, your friend here is a strong man and can take a lot of abuse.” Solomon raises his hand, signaling for the torture to stop. “Your Papa on the other hand…well, I don’t know if his body can handle the same brutality Braam just endured. Shall we test it out and see what your precious Papa is made of?”
Solomon raises his hand and I cry out before he can complete his command.
“It’s fine, Neeka,” Papa says, trying to be as brave as Braam.
“No,” I cry out, begging Solomon which is something I never imagined I would do.
The torturer creeps over to Papa like a spider about to consume a trapped fly. Papa closes his eyes and grunts when the stones touch his skin. The scream he makes comes from deep down and he falls flat to the ground jerking and moaning. It takes him far too long to move of his own free will once the shockstick is no longer touching his skin.
“Please,” I whisper to Solomon, not able to stop myself. “Not my Papa.”
“Toss the knife,” he says as one would say to a defiant child.
I quickly toss it away as Solomon kneels and takes my chin in his hand.
“You see my dear, I can be merciful indeed, but let me hear you say it. Am I not merciful?”
I grit my teeth and avert my eyes from his, nodding my head yet unable to form the words.
“Am I not merciful!” he yells as spit flies from his mouth and spatters my cheeks and forehead.
“Yes!” I yell, feeling bile rise into the back of my throat as my body revolts at the words. “Thou are merciful!”
Solomon smiles and calmly stands as if the outburst never happened. He looks down at me as if I am a dungfly he could have squashed under his foot yet rendered mercy upon it instead. He has beaten me…we both know it. His arrogance in the face of victory seems to shine like a beacon for all to see.
“Lock away the old man and the brute,” he says with a flip of his hand.
Looking down at me, with a revolting smile on his face, he says, “Escort my prize to one of the empty maiden chambers. She shouldn’t give you any more trouble but if she does, put a bullet in her Papa’s head.”
38 - Royal Treatment
The rising sun shines through the large windows, illuminating my room. My eyes blink open and at first, I am unsure of my surroundings. Then I remember being brought to these bedchambers where I was locked inside, most assuredly with protectors posted outside. I also remember climbing into the bed and crying myself to sleep.
I must have slept hard as I am in the same position now as last night, curled up at the foot of the bed. Anger fills me as I sit up, thinking of the events of last night. And although I feel rested from sleeping comfortably, I can’t help but think about Papa and Braam, who are probably suffering in a cold, dank prison cell. If Solomon wants my cooperation, maybe I can negotiate better arrangements for them.
Startled by the unexpected sound of someone clearing their throat, I turn to see a plump woman with short, brown hair sitting in a chair nearby. Her dress is a plain, gray frock that appears too clean and stiff to be comfortable. As she smiles at me, I realize she is holding bathing materials in her lap.
“Who are you?” I ask rather rudely.
“My name is Minerva. Minerva Salway.” Her voice is soft and soothing. “I am your caretaker. I’m here to get you cleaned up for the ceremony.”
“What ceremony?”
“Let’s get you cleaned up first so the Royal Healer can take a look at you.”
“I can clean myself. I’m not a child.” I feel irritated and do not want to be bothered.
Minerva stands and walks over to a large, clawfoot bathing tub. I notice it is full of water and steam floats across the surface. Beside the tub is a table full of more cleansing tonics than I have ever seen. They are in various shaped containers, different colors and some are liquid while others look like sand.
“Please,” Minerva says waving her arm toward the tub. “Neither of us have a choice here. We must do as we are told.”
I und
erstand the concern I see in her eyes and I wonder how much of her life is dictated by Solomon and his rules. She seems nice enough. So, I step over to the tub, undress and climb in. The water is warm and feels amazing as I sink in allowing it to fully surround me up to my neck. I bathe with the provided bath oils and tonics and let Minerva scrub my back. I could get used to this…if the circumstances were different.
I scan the room as my body soaks in the warmth. The walls are smooth and white. Light blue curtains made of silk fabric fall to the side of the windows. The wooden floors shine as if they have been buffed. Several fur rugs are scattered about. It is definitely the most beautiful room I have ever been in. If this is a room for one of his maidens, I can only imagine how nice Solomon’s palace must be.
After I am thoroughly cleaned. I climb out and Minerva wraps me in a bathing towel and tells me she’ll help me dress as soon as the Royal Healer checks me over. I try to object, but she reminds me once again, it isn’t my choice.
The main door opens, and a young man enters. He is fit and tall with golden hair that falls to his shoulders. He holds a bag in one hand and a plate of food in the other. He walks over to me and offers me the plate. It is filled with berries and breads and I accept it without hesitation.
“Hello, Miss. My name is Kephrym Dubois. I’m here to examine you and be sure you are healthy. Do you mind?”
I shake my head in response as I devour a strawberry.
Minerva removes my towel, and the young man begins to examine my body. Normally, I would be hesitant, feeling exposed like this, but I am starving, and the food seems to hold my attention with ease. When he gets to my pelvis and upper legs, he lingers. I feel his fingers slide across the area where my flesh meets metal.
“Fascinating!” he whispers with excitement in his voice. “I’ve never seen proths like these. It’s as if the proths blend with your muscles as one, especially where they run all the way up to your lower back. How is this possible?”
“Because my Papa is a genius,” I say, cramming a piece of bread into my mouth.
