by S E Turner
'Don't you get tired of this, answering to a mad Emperor? The gods will pay you back for your sickening crimes.' Lyall was drunk on words as blood poured from his wounds.
More guards had been summoned and laid into Dainn and Lyall. They kicked and beat them senseless.
A wry smile crossed Scowler's face as he took delight in proclaiming their punishment. 'Your stupidity has cost your clans their lives. You two will live to tell the tale and will be forced to watch every second of the flaying. Because, by the orders of the Emperor, tomorrow, instead of the arranged game, the rest of you will be strung up on stilts and burned alive.'
Lyall put his hands over his ears to drown out the sobs of the whimpering children. Six guards dragged the young boys from Namir's grasp. Dainn was beaten over the head until he passed out. The guards spat on them as they dragged away Rufus and Wyn.
That morning, Roma turned up with Skyrah's breakfast of scrambled eggs on toast, and her usual bright frame of mind shimmered around her.
'Good morning, Skyrah. It's going to be a strange day today. I can feel it in the air.'
'Well it's my birthday today, Roma, so that's not strange,' she lied.
'Is it really? Well, happy birthday, Skyrah.'
'Thank you, Roma. In fact I was wondering if you could come a little earlier today, and maybe partake in a special herbal drink that I have made as a celebration for us.'
'A herbal drink?'
'Yes, it's one I have with my mother and sisters every birthday. It's a tradition that has been passed down for centuries. My mother credits it to the beautiful hair and porcelain skin, that run in our family.'
'You have made it for us? '
'Yes, Roma, of course. You mean a lot to me. We have talked so much over the past few months. You have kept my spirits up when I was so low. We have become very close, and I wanted to share this with you.'
Roma looked at the reflection in the mirror and saw a plain girl with thin mousy hair and a pale complexion staring back at her. The thought of taking something to help her look more like Skyrah was just too irresistible to ignore. 'I would love to. I am so excited. Thank you so much for sharing your family secret with me.' the maid went to the door and turned around. 'But I don't have a present for you.'
'Don't worry about that. Your presence is all I need.'
The young girl smiled back and added. 'There's not many guards and servants about today. They have all gone down with a dreadful sickness. They have been ushered out to the stables away from the guests, but it means I should be able to slip up here early without anyone noticing.' She turned and locked the door as she went out.
Success! That was the first stage of the plan under way. She just had one last thing to do while she waited for the return of Roma. She took the eggs and rubbed them into the bread to make a dough, she then added some camomile herb to make sleep cakes. She rolled them out into several balls and concealed them with the rest of her produce. Her mother had told her often of how parents would give sleep cakes to their children at bedtime so they could have a peaceful night's rest. They were harmless enough, but a quick remedy that worked many times for worn out couples .
She changed into the most exquisite gown in her wardrobe, the most recent one from the General, and waited for her unsuspecting accomplice to arrive.
The two young boys were sobbing uncontrollably. They had to be trussed up to keep them still. All morning they sat shaking with fear.
'You, young savages. Here, take this.' A cruel barbarian tried to pour a concoction down their throats.
They spat out the forced contents.
'It's the only thing that will help you now,' goaded the guard. 'Take it.'
The boys were defiant. They remembered what the older boys had told them—that it was bad, and made you do things that you didn't really want to do. But a fragment lingered on their lips, and as they moistened their dry mouths with a cracked tongue, some particles managed to slide down into their small stomachs. Pain jabbed into their heads as the drugs began to work and twisted their rational thoughts into a flurry of the demon kingdom. Everything was distorted, rushing past in a blur of colour. Black, green, grey, brown, all congealed in a haze of darkness.
A deathly tone plagued their ears, and they held their hands up to stop the sickening sensation. The youngsters tried to fight it, tried to control it, and screamed in agony as the stimulant took hold. It was useless, though. The powerful drugs were doing their very worst inside the young malnourished bodies. The effects happened so fast. Violent thoughts consumed them, power roared through their veins and stayed there, swirling in their tiny cores. By the time the guards came back to start the initiation process, the boys were in a traumatic trance, consumed by thoughts of killing their opponent.
By midday, the sun's ferocious heat had thickened the air in the arena and penetrated harshly into everything around it. Two young boys who didn't recognise each other were standing in front of an audience, cooling themselves with arched silk fans and hungry for blood.
They began to move about very slowly, copying each other's stances. They had been drilled and trained for this: focus, aim, and don't delay, for delay means death. Day after day, they had practised their moves, but this time they were drugged and not in control as they paced around the arena. Through unfocused eyes they vied each other and toyed with each other. They stumbled as they lurched forward and retreated, spreading themselves like bats with huge wings round the wide-open space.
Both boys felt incredibly strong and powerful, and it wouldn't be long before one drew blood. Rufus thrashed out first and punched Wyn full on in the face. He was surprised at his own strength and studied his small fist for longer than he should have. Wyn swayed backwards but steadied himself on his right foot and struck out with his left knee. Rufus threw up the entire contents of his stomach on impact and fell, clutching his groin. The shouting around him urged him to get up.
Wyn was still dazed by the strike to the head and toppled ridiculously around the arena. Rufus followed him with unsteady feet and threw himself at his opponent—he wanted to break both of his legs in two. He imagined that he was a giant and that his huge stature would outwit his challenger. He dived at Wyn, but the bigger boy was too quick—he retreated quickly and reached for the dagger tied to his calf. Wyn started to thrust and swing at Rufus, desperate to pierce the unprotected skin. Rufus stumbled back, and his wild chaotic limbs flew around in defence. He was confused and panicking. He didn't have time or the space to get to his knife. The tip of Wyn's blade edged ever closer to its victim. Suddenly, Wyn launched forward like a spring, and caught Rufus on the arm. The knife split the skin and blood trickled from the wound. Rufus shrieked. Glory was in sight. Wyn hounded him and drove down on him. He could win this fight. Just a few more jabs and victory was his.
The crowd were screaming and bellowing now, holding their hands up to hoarse throats. Rufus looked at them, and then back at Wyn in horror, and staggered back. He fell on to his rump, scrambled backwards to the rear of the arena, searching for a way out. His frantic legs accidentally kicked sand in Wyn's face. The bigger boy staggered back, and he dropped his dagger as his hands flew up to his eyes. He was blinded. Rufus realised this was his advantage. He grabbed more sand, and frantically started throwing handfuls of it to thwart the pursuit of death. Then he saw the knife on the floor—glinting, inviting, beckoning him to take it. This was his opportunity. He would be the victor now. Everyone would be scared of him. He didn't see Wyn in front of him anymore—all he saw was the face of the General trying to kill him. He had to slay the General; he had to do it. He stood up and ran to get the knife. He was screaming as he rushed towards Wyn. Through grit-covered eyes, Wyn saw the figure coming towards him, wielding the glint of a blade. He screamed out loud; 'No, don't! I beg you. Please don't!'
Chapter Twenty-Four
The maid had dutifully turned up as arranged, earlier than her usual time. 'Well, here I am, as promised. May I say, you look radiant, Skyrah
. That is such an elegant dress.'
'Thank you, I am so glad you are here. I would be celebrating on my own, otherwise. And to be honest, Roma, there is no one I would rather be sharing this special drink with than you.'
The maid couldn't take her eyes off the dress or the clan girl who looked particularly exquisite today.
Skyrah offered the drink. 'To us, to beauty, to long life.'
Roma took the offering, and they chinked the glasses. 'I echo that, Skyrah, thank you and I hope you will have a good day, despite spending most of it on your own.' She knocked back the glassful in a single swallow.
'I will do, thank you,' assured Skyrah. And wanting the moment to last, raised her glass to Roma and gave her a sweet smile. The maid noticed her friend's delay in drinking, but rather than be suspicious, she made an impromptu suggestion.
'May I have yours if you are not drinking it?'
'Of course, you can. Here you are.'
Roma sipped on her second drink more slowly, absorbing the powerful benefits of the herb. She swilled the contents in the glass and smelled the aroma. She took a sip and washed it round her mouth. 'I can feel it working already. This is really very good.'
'I know, it's a wonderful recipe. It's all thanks to you, for bringing me the flowers, that I am able to share this with you.'
Skyrah could see Roma swaying—her legs were giving way—so she guided her to the bed. 'Maybe it's a little strong for the first time. Perhaps you should sit down and drink it.'
'Yes, maybe I should ... but it means it's working, doesn't it?'
'Yes, you are experiencing the signs,' assured the young clan girl.
The maid's head began to swim, and she began to feel faint. She didn't feel very well at all. She reached to her swelling throat, gagging, mouthing to Skyrah for help. The struggle didn't last long—soon she was unconscious and immobile. Skyrah had little time. Nimble fingers undressed herself, then undressed the maid. She quickly exchanged their clothes.
'I am so sorry, but my friends’ lives mean more to me than yours. I hope the General is lenient with you. For you did nothing to assist me or encourage me. If he is not, then I hope your death is swift. Just as I hope mine will be if I am caught.' She ran her finger along the energy field on her arm for strength. Nothing could go wrong now. It was imperative that she remained calm. She had rehearsed this so many times in her head, just like the previous night. It would work.
She put her hair up into the braided knot of a maid and hid it under the cap that Roma wore. That would be the certain give away, she thought to herself—long, black, lustrous hair instead of thin mousy strands. The General would notice straight away. She even whitened her face and hands with the ground eggshells and white paint that she had been saving.
She knew the effects of the fermented laburnum would last a long time. The potion was definitely strong enough, but she didn't know if it was fatal. She really didn't care now, anyway. The primary concern was her friends. They were depending on her.
Skyrah reached into her hiding place under the floorboards, and carefully removed the stored glasses. She filled them with the powerful laburnum nectar and put them on a tray. Then, carefully and slowly, she eased the key from Roma's apron pocket, unlocked the door, and slid downstairs. She manoeuvred her way to the front terraces, dressed as a kitchen maid. Her powdered face and hands concealed the sticky sweat of excursion and terror. Thank goodness she didn't have to speak to anyone. Roma had always complained that hardly anyone spoke to the female servants. No one would bat an eyelid at a servant girl handing out drinks on a hot summer day. It would be considered a good idea by those in attendance. The drinks were offered to Poxface and Scowler. They were standing at the entrance to the palace and obviously didn't have porridge or tea that morning. Parched dry mouths took the inviting drink on this stifling afternoon in June. They were slumped down unconscious as she went past them on her second run.
Her heart quickened as she pirouetted back along the sun-drenched terrace and saw the General sitting there. She remained calm and focused; her head was bowed low the whole time. She didn't make eye contact with anyone as she passed the bright yellow cocktail to the unsuspecting guests. The General was more interested in the sickening torture unfolding in the arena before him than a maid handing out beverages. More thirst-quenching drinks were knocked back in appreciation, finally getting to the blissfully unaware Emperor and his General. They weren't distracted as the tray appeared in front of them—they didn't want to miss the crack of a crushed rib, or the spine-chilling snap of a broken vertebrae.
She had to go back to the room one more time to get the clothes. She glided effortlessly on nimble feet past the slumped guards, taking the haul of keys from them as she did so. She had to thank the gods that those in attendance were a bloodthirsty lot. No one took their eyes off the battle in front of them: two wretched little boys, drugged and fighting for their lives. Not one person noticed, or took a double take, at the dowdy servant girl moving quickly about the grounds.
Most of the staff were in the kitchens, preparing the huge supper that would follow the day's games. It was to be served in the grand dining room later. Not many would be attending that celebration, she thought to herself. She retrieved the skilfully-made clothes and stuffed the cakes into her apron. She then rolled up the map and tucked it down the back of her white blouse. Before she locked the door for the last time, she looked at the sleeping girl. 'Thank you for everything, I hope you find love and peace, wherever you are.'
She turned the key to continue with her mission, and hurriedly trod the well-worn path to the terraced gardens. At the arena's edge, the poison had begun to affect the audience. Some were shouting and screaming, reaching to their throats as their windpipes swelled and blocked their air supply. Others just sat rigid with bulbous eyes protruding from purple sockets and voiceless mouths gagged for oxygen. She didn't show any emotion as she moved swiftly about; instead, she smiled as she thought how the women's faces now resembled their puffed-up purple dresses and the crimson britches of the men were the exact shade of their swollen cheeks. She moved briskly past the stricken crowd, avoiding desperate hands reaching out for help and ignoring pitiful groans for assistance. Did they ever think about the plight of those captives? No, they didn't, not once. Their mere presence threatened the lives of so many clans as the Emperor strived to amass total rule and power. So, with an easy heart, she clutched her massive pile of shirts and britches tighter and quickened her pace to stop the murderous boys.
Rufus threw down his weapon as Skyrah approached them. His focus was broken; his aim interrupted. The delay made him think. She picked up the dagger and approached the panic stricken Wyn .
'No, don't! I beg you. Please don't!'
'They are hallucinating from extremely powerful herbs.' Her thoughts immediately broke into soothing words of kindness. 'It's all right, boys. I have come to help you. I am going to take you home.' She coerced with the youngsters as she put the discarded dagger in to her apron pocket.
The effects of the herbs were already beginning to wear off now, and her tones of comfort gradually brought them out of their trance. She led them to the dormitories, unlocked the doors, and fell in. Rufus immediately ran to Dainn for safety. A bleary line of gaunt faces looked up from their desperate thoughts and took a while to register what was going on as Skyrah stood in the open door. A quivering Wyn hung on to her for dear life.
Lyall recognised her straight away under the disguise. Nothing could hide that beautiful face. 'Skyrah! You're safe. You're alive. I knew you would come.' He rushed over and grabbed his friend and spun her round in the air, laughing and crying at the same time. But he winced with pain and gently put her down.
'You’re hurt, Lyall. What have they done to you?'
'We've all taken a beating today ... but you should see the other guys.'
She hugged him, wishing that he really could see the other guys. 'Is everyone here?' Her voice was more than anxious as she looked for h
er clan.
'Yes, we are all here,' he replied. 'Thank the gods you got here before they hoisted us up onto stilts.' Lyall shivered at the thought.
Skyrah looked puzzled .
'I will tell you later,' he assured her. 'But for now, let's rejoice.'
She turned to face the captives. Her lifelong friends she saw first followed by the ones she recognised from the clan games and others she couldn't place. But although they looked wretched and pitifully thin, they were all crying with happiness and relief.
'I never gave up hope, Skyrah. I knew you would save us.' Namir was next to hug her, rivers of joy streaming down his face.'
'My friends,' she said with tears in her eyes. 'I am so glad you are all safe. I have worried about you day and night.'
They were all standing around her by now.
'I looked up to the window every night,' cried Lyall, 'willing you to save us.'
'I was working on my plan from day one, but it took so much time. I could not risk one mistake. For the slightest whim of impatience would have meant certain death for all of us.'
Clebe held out trembling arms and held her shoulders, 'I will never underestimate the power of a woman again; you have surpassed all expectations when we had all but given up hope.'
'You have shown such strength and resourcefulness,' championed Ronu, and kissed her hands.
Her clan clambered around, hugging her and bestowing all sorts of accolades as they held each other close. The words were like music to her ears.
'I want to thank you, dear lady, from the bottom of my heart, and from all of us, we owe you our lives,' intercepted an anxious voice. 'But please, we are not safe yet. We still face certain death while we stay here. We must go now.'
