by L M Feldt
“Ok, good eve.”
I let her go before the poor girl starts to regret spending time with me. As the door closes I consider the bracelet, turning it over in my hands. Why did Aito suddenly decide to give me this? What is he about? By doing so he acknowledges his attempts at mind control. He is admitting to me that he has a twist, the worst kind of all, the kind that strikes fear in all other twists. He is admitting to me that he is a monster. Aito is worried or he would never have taken the risk of exposing himself, of exposing his twist. Something about this bracelet is terribly important but I have no idea what it is.
I sleep fitfully, tossing off the smothering covers, dreaming of the arena back at the compound. In the dream I loose fight after fight because someone else is controlling my body and they are too slow and too unfamiliar with responding to an opponent. I wake suddenly, bathed in a cold sweat and a pale light. The light from the bracelet. I grab it and rub it, not really sure what I am doing. The color changes to blue and a small voice comes from it.
“Aito? Are you there?” The soft voice pauses. I say nothing. “I’ll just leave this message for you then. There is a class of twist we call ‘the mavros’, it means ‘all black’ in some ancient language. They have a shell of sorts, more like interlocking shells down their backs and front, protecting their vitals. There is one protecting the Queen and they are nearly impossible to kill. I hope you aren’t thinking of taking one on.……I’d better hurry. Someone is coming. Shit! Aim for the sun, beneath is a gland that produces extreme qualities of adrenaline. Once punctured the mavros will have the strength of a normal man. Next, go for the temple….crap. Sorry, got to go….I’ll…..”
The voice stops. The glow dies.
I think back to some of the conversations I had overheard. I had gotten the impression that the person on the other side held some power over Aito…..but it seems now that he has a friend there too. Wherever ‘there’ is. I consider the message itself. The guard captain had already told me about the sun tattoo, now I know why. The last bit, though. I pondered that. Traditionally, a kill strike was through the eye and into the brain or across the jugular artery. Why had the voice mentioned the temple? A soft spot in the skull, sure, but trickier to drive a knife sideways rather than directly forward, especially in the heat of battle.
I lay back on the soft covers and immediately sleep through the rest of the night like a baby.
I wake refreshed and alert and do some stretches to loosen any tight muscles and get the blood flowing. It feels strange to be by myself, here in this small room. It reminds me a little of my room at the compound. It isn’t a feeling of nostalgia that sweeps me, I am not homesick for that place. I do miss my morning ritual of embellishing my tat with fresh ink. The heat of freshly scored skin, the welling of my own blood as I stare into my orange eyes….. I trace the swirls and lines, slightly raised from years of scoring, that reach up into my hairline. The memory will have to do.
Zara arrives with my breakfast and bruises on her arm and face.
“What happened?” I ask astonished.
“The King’s guard happened.” She answers in a monotone. Suddenly a piece of the puzzle clicks into place. I sensed a sickness here, I just hadn’t put a name to it.
“I’m sorry.”
“He knows my feelings for….he knows I don’t want him and he likes that.” Zara shrugs as though we are discussing the weather.
“Don’t you have a say?”
“No.” She huffs an incredulous snort. “Where are you from?” Curiosity lights her eyes and washes some of the gray from her face. “If someone of a higher caste than you had demanded your obedience, demanded you in their bed, would you have been able to say no without loosing your head?”
“I don’t know. It never came up.” It is the truth, though to be totally honest I think the guards stayed away from all twists for fear of ‘catching something ugly’. They were a superstitious lot and even though I am sure they understood the basics of genetics, they avoided our touch. Unless it was to dish out a beating, of course.
“But you are attractive.” Zara tries to understand but she cannot.
There is nothing of the twist about her other than her delicate beauty. I grunt into my food and shrug. I’ll take strength over beauty any day.
The captain of the guard, Elhier, is ready for me when we arrive but starts badly when he sees the discolorations on Zara’s arms and face. His face reddens and his hands clench. Touching Zara lightly on the shoulder, I steer her back into the building. Elhier looks ready to explode and do something rash. I want to help her too but first I need his help to defeat this mavros twist.
“Focus on today. If I’m still around tomorrow I’ll help. I know who you really want dead.” I look him in the eye, challenging him, daring him to protest what I can plainly see in his heart.
He nods after studying me for a moment, all business now.
“I wish I could tell you more but no one has seen him train, only when he comes out for battle do we see him at all and then not for long. The thing I mentioned before I am not even sure of, just a rumor from the dungeons.”
I spend the remainder of the day ‘sparring’ with Elhier which mostly consists of long breaks and short bursts of weak, inept play fighting. My plan is to conserve my energy and appear a sure thing for whatever spies are watching for the mavros. I eat my dinner in the yard, back braced against the wall where I’d theatrically collapsed a short while ago. The sun will set in an hour and then the fun will begin.
Thirty Seven
The mavros is entirely black. Not a rich, healthy color like Ash but a dark, malignant ebony with hints of green and eggplant, the colors of bruising and poison. He is huge, taller than Khane by at least two heads, and he is heavily muscled. The hexagonal plates cover his torso down to his armored legs…..at least I think it is armor, we are at opposite ends of the arena and the distance is too far to make out details.
My gut tingles with the first stirrings of fear.
The horn sounds and cheering rises up from the stands that surround us. I am on an island of death ringed by party goers. Bright colors and wild outfits adorn the King’s crowd as they celebrate the fact it is not them down here in the dirt. They are not the meat today.
My friends are near the arena, surrounded by guards. It is the first time I have seen them since the dungeons and they appear whole and healthy. Micha, however, is notably absent.
I tense. There are supposed to be three horns to signal the start of the battle but according to Elhier, the mavros likes to cheat. I refocus, drawing a breath in through my nose and releasing through my mouth. The warriors code number ten; ‘Never show fear. Conquer the fear inside by focusing on battles won.’ I think of the time I’d fought Khane. The time he’d put me in the infirmary with a broken rib….only to find out later that he had felt every strike he had inflicted upon me and managed to fight through it. I forgive you Khane, now, as I draw strength from your lesson. I forgive you for letting me down as a friend by pressuring me for an intimacy I wasn’t ready for. I forgive you for not living up to my expectations of you.
Resentment and hurt fall away. I wish, though, that I had been able to set things right with him before this moment…..
The second horn sounds and I realize the mavros is already moving There is a heat building between my shoulders….
I wish I’d had a chance to say goodbye to Aito….
The mavros draws closer, swinging a long, bone white blade. My feet are mired in clay and I stand frozen for a moment as I realize….It is not a blade he swings at all. It is far worse. The exposed bone is a part of it’s arm, starting from the elbow and reaching past a stunted hand, tiny fingers curled and twisted…just like the abomination in the labs. The King’s Champion is moving still but not in a headlong rush. It is blind. My heart skips a beat and I sternly remind myself not to underestimate it. It cocks it’s head and I realize that without eyes it must rely on it’s other senses. It’s sniffs the air and
a long snake like tongue flicks out. It is used to prey that smells of the dungeons and runs screaming. I have had two baths and haven’t made a sound.
It doesn’t know where I am.
I cannot just stand here and wait for it to bump into me, however. Very carefully, I lift my right foot and gently place it down again on the hard packed earth. Then the other. I have taken five steps this way when the King catches on. He yells and everyone in the stands is forced into silence. Now I don’t have any background noise for cover. The mavros edges closer and is about to turn in my direction when Aito coughs. The great black head whips toward the sound.
“The next person to make a sound will be stabbed.” Calls out the King.
A snuffling sound comes from the creature. It is laughing. For a moment I had almost made the mistake of thinking of it as an animal. I had very nearly made the fatal mistake of underestimating my opponent. Very quietly I edge further away. I have not seen the sun tattoo yet. My plan is to circle the mavros until I find the tattoo and close in.
“Aito? Are you there? The Queen is insistent that you test her daughter for the imperial aura twist. Now that you have befriended her, watch for the glittering shards. Do not let her be killed!”
I gape down at my wrist where the bracelet glows. It had not occurred to me to take it off. I run. Frantically, I grab it from my wrist and rub the face to activate my end. The mavros has reached the spot I’d been standing moments ago but I am long gone. The stands have erupted despite the King’s orders. Even the King is screaming.
“Hello?! Hello!” I screech.
“Aito! Thank goodness! The Queen…….”
I don’t hear the rest but fling the bracelet as far from me as I can. I run, keeping the mavros on my right, circling around behind it. Where is the sun tattoo? I know I don’t have a chance if I can’t puncture the gland beneath.
The noise from the stands is deafening and I use the momentary chaos to mask the sound of my approach. Stealth has never been my talent but I am now a mere twenty paces away. It has found the bracelet, questing for the source of the sound with it’s normal hand.
“Aito? What is happening….”
I flinch as the bone sword connects.
“…..the Queen……”
There are distinctive crunching sounds.
“…..do not allow her to die!”
The last swing does it and the bracelet is silent, smashed to oblivion. I am ten steps from the massive abomination. It’s back is to me still. I can hear people in the stands cheering and yelling. The King is waving his scepter, his crown dislodged in his frantic jumping.
“Silence! Silence! Stop the fight!”
Slowly the mavros turns. How it knows I am here I cannot imagine.
“Guards! Stop the fight!”
The mavros is facing me now, it’s great shoulders hunched, the bone sword hanging loose by it’s thigh. It hears the King’s orders, I know it must. Yet the smooth head tips lazily from side to side. It is thinking. Then it’s thin slit of a mouth slides wider and it hisses. It is the only warning I get.
Fear and adrenaline surge, coldfire flashes through me and there is a now familiar wetness sliding from my back. I dive low as the mavros comes at me.
I twist.
My metal wings snap out and beat the air, curving protectively as I hit the dirt and roll. I see the tattoo! It is discreetly located at the joint of the upper thigh, something I would have never seen from a fighting stance. Screaming I plunge one of the knives from my thigh into the tattoo as hard as I can. It is a direct hit and the mavros bellows in pain. I may have punctured it’s gland but at a cost. It now knows exactly where I am.
Springing up I feel the thrumming power again, the strange shimmering shards haze the air around me. I hadn’t been quite fast enough, however. A line of fire stings my thigh. The cut is relatively shallow but the strap to my knife holder has been cut clean through. The mavros is fast, even with it’s extra speed seeping away. If it hadn’t paused to pull my blade from it’s groin I would be dead by now. With one of my knives in the mavros’s hand and the other lying in the dirt at my feet, I have none to fight with.
I sense the guards headed our way but I know they won’t get here in time. I spring. It is a leap of faith to rely on an untested skill. I reach deep inside, remembering the the feeling of the twist when it had first manifested, when Aito lay pinned down in a lab that wasn’t supposed to exist. My anger, ever my closest friend, leads the way and I twist……
I am flying, arching up impossibly high, aiming for the mavros’s head. The shards of my aura merge, plating the blades of my steel wings. With everything I have I drive one of my glimmering wings directly into the mavros’s temple, splitting the skull. Gray matter pulses wetly. It would have been a kill strike for any other creature but the mavros is growling deeply and flings me from my perch on it’s shoulder. The guards close in, ready with long wands that spark with power. While I watch the guards subdue the mavros and I don’t notice the King sliding up behind me. He grabs me by the upper arm, red fingers digging into my flesh, and drives his scepter high into the air.
“The winner’s wish is granted! A house and riches!” He screams to the people in the stands.
I haven’t said a word but the King leaves everyone to assume I have chosen glory and to ignore my friends’ plight. I struggle in the King’s iron grasp as the roar of the crowd drowns out my shouts. I need to let my friends know I haven’t made this wish but people are everywhere and I can't find them.
Numb, still struggling, I am led away, escorted by the King and a retinue of his personal guards. I turn to look over my shoulder, searching for them. My last view of my friends is of their faces….and the looks of betrayal I see there.
Thirty Eight
The gash on my thigh burns and I am pissed. I desperately want my knives back so I can stab someone. The King sits across from me, coolly sipping from his glass of wine. We are in his personal tower, the very place I would have asked to see if I’d been given the chance. I sit on a wide, cushioned bench before a decorative fireplace with the King’s right hand man behind me. An iron manacle runs a chain from my left foot to the wall behind me, just short enough that I cannot reach the King.
The red King considers me, eyes lit with avarice. Now that he knows I am the Queen’s daughter his plans concerning me have changed. He is naked still, his flaccid member lying like a dead snake across his muscled thigh.
“So, tell me how the Queen’s own offspring finds it’s way to my doorstep.”
I pretend to consider the question while I scope out the windows in the circular tower. It is well past sunset but I have no sense of direction. I had been a little busy while the sun had gone down.
“Answer!” Demands the King’s guard. I remember, as he jabs me with the point of a knife, that I have a score to settle with him. I barely know Zara, the serving girl, so it isn’t retribution for a friend I crave….well, maybe a little. More than that, I really hate bullys. I stoically ignore both the King’s guard and the new pain.
“I escaped.”
The King and his guard snort in disbelief.
“I’m sure. With your special mutations I very much doubt her Highness would just let you go.”
His questions make me wonder. He obviously knows of the Queen and that our city exists, yet it seemed his knowledge is not well informed. How does he not know I am an outcast?
“She holds no love for me.” I reply honestly. Secretly though, I remember those early moments, a babe held in my mother’s arms. Hadn’t she loved me then?
“But the reward?”
“What makes you think there really is a reward? Why would you believe anything you’ve heard?” The King may look like a lazy oaf but he is a crafty one. I see the wheels turning as he tries to figure out how best to use me.
“I could turn you in and risk it.”
“Risk exposing your city’s existence and location?” I ask pointedly. He is smart enough to know
that he could never win against a city established before the Wars. I haven’t seen much of this city in the jungle but I am willing to bet it is much smaller that the one I’d escaped from. Only a fool provokes a bigger, stronger opponent. The King may be greedy but he is not a fool.
“Perhaps I will keep you for myself. I’ve been thinking of starting a breeding program.” The King’s eyes spark with more than just greed now and I shudder inwardly.
“Well, I’ve seen the sad excuses for watch dogs you have roaming the jungle. Still have to feed them yourself? I’d think you’d cut your losses and scrap anything to do with DNA manipulation.” The darkness of full night is visible through the three windows but I am too far away to see anything, no stars, only darkness.
“You are a frustrating, ungrateful whelp! Here I stopped your execution and I have yet to hear a thank you.” The King flings his wine glass into the fake fireplace with a flourish. “Maybe I’ll just keep you locked up for a while, see if your attitude gets better.” Angrily, the Kings opens the door and pauses. “Swarez, make sure she doesn’t wander off.”
