by Tabitha Vale
A few yards down the flower corridor, Braya encountered two large doors with many large locks nailed into its surface. All of them were unlatched, and, even though she had a feeling it wasn't the exit, Braya gently pushed them open.
She emerged in a chapel. That's what this underground place was, she realized. The vaulted space she tentatively stepped into was slightly narrow, but in no way small. Pews were lined up in front of her, stretching so far forward that she guessed more than five hundred people could attend service there. Hollowed archways as tall as the great entrance doors she'd just come through tapered off to a point and gathered beside the pews in a pattern all the way up to the front of the chapel. Elongated windows the same shape as the archways were deep set behind the arches, so far that shrouded walkways were formed under the indent of stone. Above the archways on both walls were another row of the same windows, and in the front of the chapel the entire wall was made up of stained glass. Its design was intricate and fascinating. The fact that it had windows made Braya realize this chapel must have been above ground at some point.
Braya moved forward, fully aware that this was wasting more time, and froze when something crunched under her feet. It was long, thin, and white. Was that a...bone?
She scurried away from it. With one hand leaning against the back of a pew, Braya clutched at her heart for a moment. Her eyes swept the entrance to make sure there weren't anymore bone fragments littering the ground—the only thing she saw was more packed soil and more flowers.
She passed through the pews. It was a mistake, she realized. Full-bodied skeletons, cracked skulls, and miscellaneous bones were arranged along each seat, as if someone had organized them that way. It seemed like with time, though, they had slouched over, fallen, or moved out of place. She hadn't seen any sign of them from the entrance....
Something moved behind Braya. She whirled around, eyes scanning the arches frantically, but there was nothing. Her heart was pounding in her ears and there was something like cold fear brushing across the delicate skin of her neck. She shivered, and decided to go back out to the corridor.
Her wandering became aimless. Braya knew she was rotten at direction, and being trapped underground in a maze of corridors and flickering lantern-light did not help that handicap one bit. Several times she got the feeling that someone was following her, but every time she turned around to inspect her surroundings, nothing was there. The presence would linger there, though, even if her eyes couldn't catch it.
She would be a fool to say she wasn't afraid now. She took frequent breaks in the middle of the halls to kick angrily at the pillars or knock away one of the lanterns. No matter what she chanted to herself she couldn't shake the feeling that something was following her. And no matter what hall she walked, she came no closer to finding a way out.
Braya slumped against a pillar, tired of walking. She reached down to rub her ankles, and from the corner of her eye she saw a flash of blue. She jolted up and stared in the direction it had come from. Was that the thing that was following her? She didn't care if it was a monster with eight arms and legs, she was going to ask that creepy stalker how to get out of this place.
Braya strode over to a small alcove to her right, where she'd seen the blue light. There was a chipped statue of worn marble—so worn that she couldn't discern what the statue was—tucked inside the small space that she hadn't noticed before. She was surprised to see a sliver of light emanating from a crack behind its back. Upon closer inspection, the crack was a lot wider than she would have expected. From the main corridor, it would have been hard to detect, but now that she was mere breaths away from it, the hole was large enough for someone to fit through.
Braya wiggled her way through it, grumbling to herself the whole while. Through the crack Braya found herself on a balcony. It was wide, rounded, and jutted out quite far from the outside of the church. It was peculiar, because she figured the entire balcony would have been buried under dirt, but for some reason a large dome-shaped space had been hollowed out so that the balcony was usable. The oddest thing, though, were the flowers and crystals. They were embedded into the dirt wall like ornaments.
Braya moved to the edge of the railing and leaned against it. With her arms outstretched, she could barely brush her fingers over the cool dirt surface and its twinkling decorations. The flowers were different hues of white, blue, and pink, and the crystals were the same colors, though glowing eerily bright in the enclosure. If she weren't so confused, Braya might have found it beautiful.
“I didn't expect you to find this,” a voice slid over her shoulder like a breeze. “You're quite the explorer.”
Braya felt every muscle in her body freeze. She turned around slowly, her neck craning up so her eyes could meet...
Blue eyes.
The man—whoever he was—was standing incredibly too close. Braya jumped away as if he'd touched her, and found herself backed up against the railing of the balcony. Her face was flushed, her neck was soaked in sweat, and her head was pounding with the sound of her frantic heartbeat. She couldn't remember a time she'd been more startled.
The man in front of her seemed to be around her age, if not a year or two older. He was very striking—she'd never seen anyone like him. His cheekbones were high and prominent, his jaw was angular and defined, though his chin was small. His shining blue eyes were like polished gems, glowing as brightly as the crystals behind her. Dark, elegant lashes framed his blue stare, adding to its intensity. His hair was dark brown—possibly black—and long enough to sweep over his ears and curl at the back of his neck.
Braya hadn't realized she had been staring at him—she inhaled sharply when he smiled. It was like a statue reaching forward and shaking your hand.
His smile did two things to her. First, it made her realize how handsome he was. She didn't like that. He was a foreigner—a creature as likely to exist as dragons—and he was a man. A Mud. Like his ancestors who had lived in mud huts however many thousands of years ago it was. She wasn't supposed to think he was handsome—dammit he wasn't, she told herself vehemently.
The second thing was...
She'd never been enraptured like this. She'd seen attractive males before—Aspen, Grooms—but they were nothing to fuss over. Why couldn't she look away from him?
“I guess I really shouldn't have followed you around like that,” the young man spoke again. He dragged his gaze away from her, and Braya let out a sigh of relief. When he looked at her with those unnerving eyes of his, she felt trapped. “I couldn't have very well let you wander around just yourself, though, could I? Nor could I say anything to you. I don't know why, it's just—”
“You were the one who was following me?” Braya interrupted, her voice returning to her. She didn't like the sound of it, though—scratchy, as if she hadn't used it in a while. She had wanted to sound accusatory, but it came out warped and pining. “How come I couldn't see you?”
“I was invisible.”
“Invisible?”
“That's right,” he grinned with a familiarity that suggested they were something more than perfect strangers.
“Are you...” she paused, hesitating. She couldn't believe she was about to ask this. “Are you human?”
He laughed. “Of course I am. What do you suspect?”
Braya blushed furiously. “You look different,” she insisted. “Your skin...your eyes...”
“My skin,” he mused. “It may look a little different because of the crystals behind you. Your skin also looks a little silvery right now, if you ask me. My eyes...well, they're quite normal, too. You're just not well acquainted to them yet.”
She shook her head. “No, they're definitely not normal. Only girls have those kinds of eyes.”
Why was she arguing with this man? She should be demanding him to take her to the exit. And where were those twins? Just how many foreigners were crawling around like ants down here, she wondered.
“Is that your way of telling me I have pretty eyes?”
The humor dancing in his expression faltered. He blinked a couple times, as if realizing something, and then sighed.
“Do you think I can just let you go like that? If I could, I would, but there's something rather important I was meant to inform you of,” he said, moving to perch against the railing. It was the first time she'd noticed what he was wearing. Black turtle-neck shirt beneath a finely cut white vest, which was nearly concealed by the large, tailored jacket he wore. It was of a durable white material, its collar so long it was folded and still reached his chin. It made him look broad and lean, though she suspected his frame was exaggerated by the jacket and vest. A red symbol was sewn into the creases and collar of the coat, something with a lot of intersecting circles and swirls. She didn't recognize it. Beneath the coat he wore plain black pants and black boots. The only peculiar thing about his appearance was the thick, brown circle hanging about his chest like a necklace.
“I don't want to hear anything from you except for where the exit is,” she snapped, slightly irritated that she'd got lost in her inspection of him again.
He gave a slight frown. “I'm sorry—”
“Then get on with whatever you had to tell me so I can leave,” she hissed. She'd pushed away from the rail now and advanced two steps. He saw this, and also moved closer. His lips were twitching at the corners, and that only infuriated Braya more. She took another step closer to him. He mimicked her.
Soon they were so close that she was overwhelmed by his scent. Soil and flowers.
“You don't have much patience, do you, Braya Vace?” His tone was silky, smug.
“Congrats, you know my name.”
“I know a little more than that,” he grinned. His blue eyes flashed, and Braya was pinned under that arctic gaze. “I know your tendency to kick walls when you're frustrated. You don't like skeletons. You mutter obscenities to yourself when you're lost—”
“All things easily observed when you're stalking me,” Braya said airily, despite the urge she had to kick him in the shin. She'd always wanted to do that to someone.
“That was a rather creepy way to approach—over the neck like that, wasn't it? I realize that now. I shouldn't have followed you around either, only that I had to, but no matter. I don't want you to have the wrong impression of me, so let me start over,” he insisted. The guy spun around and walked back over to the small crack in the wall and shimmied through it. A minute stretched by—a long minute where Braya wondered if he'd left her for good—before he came worming his way back onto the balcony.
His strange beauty was caught by the glow of the crystals and his eyes gleamed a brilliant blue. He approached her with a disarming smile and gave her a curt bow.
“My name's Asher Benedict,” he introduced. “I'm from Ephraim City and I'm a member of the Locer Sharks.”
Braya folded her arms over her chest. “Ephraim City? Locer Sharks? Never heard of any of it.”
“I was about to explain it all before you interrupted—”
“Nor do I want to know,” Braya sniffed.
“Your disdain wounds me,” he was sarcastic now. “But do refrain from any side commentary until I'm finished.”
“What's the point? I can just find my own way out of this God forsaken dump,” she huffed. She made for the crack in the wall, but he grasped her arm. His grip was strong, and she felt the soft pads of his fingertips firmly against her own skin. A shiver ran down her spine, but she decided it was disgust and nothing else.
She wrenched free of his grasp and glared viciously at him.
“You can listen dutifully,” he said nonchalantly, “or you can try to resist, in which case I'll have to keep you here by force.”
“Keep me here?”
“Just for a little bit. Listen to what I have to say and I'll set you free...well, as free as possible,” he amended.
Braya didn't pretend to know what he was talking about. “Sorry, I don't take orders from others very well. Maybe you should add that to your pathetic little list of yours. But I especially don't listen to Muds.”
His brows narrowed. “Muds?”
“You.”
“Am I missing something here? I was certain I bathed this morning—”
She didn't even want to know where he might have bathed in this underground hell.
“Never mind,” she groaned. “It's just—just an insult for people like you.”
“Like me? How do you mean?”
“Just never mind! I'm leaving.”
She made a move toward the crack again, and again he grabbed her. Asher dragged her back so that she was standing in front of him, and he peered closely into her face.
“Explain the insult,” he said seriously. “It's not really worth it if the person doesn't even understand it, right?”
Braya threw up her hands in frustration. “Muds. They're the guys. I don't know exactly, but the name caught on a while ago. It's like...it's insulting because all the men have the lowest jobs in the city. They have the mud jobs, work in the mud, see? I heard another one had to do with their ancestors living in mud huts thousands of years go.”
“What a creative insult,” he smirked. “Thank you for explaining it.”
Braya scoffed. Explaining the insult in detail—she'd never considered it before, but it stole something important from the insult, it stole the bite.
“And now to business,” he said, raising an index finger. Asher began pacing. “Ephraim City is far from here—a grand city—but I can tell you stories about that later. As for the Locer Sharks,” he looked up and snagged her in his gaze, “We're a highly trained combat and fighting group. We came to this city for...purposes I can't really discuss with you right now, but since your city bars all foreigners we had to sneak in.”
“I can't believe it,” Braya shook her head. “I never knew there was anyone else out there...”
He gave her a long look, as if he sympathized her, and then he resumed pacing. “You saw Junho and Jinho at the game today. They lured you here. We need your help—”
“Well you can forget it,” she said fiercely. “I'm not helping any rebels who sneaked into our city.”
For a moment she realized she sounded like Maydessa, and she hated herself for it.
Asher stopped pacing again, and moved closer to her so that his face was crowding hers. She was overwhelmed by his scent again, and an unbidden blush swept over her.
“This is the part I'm most regrettable for,” he breathed. It was like snow, the mixture of his tone and the freezing blue of his eyes. “You have no choice in the matter, Bray. You're a part of the Locers whether you like it or not.”
“I refuse, Muddy,” she sneered. “But thanks for the generous offer.”
She spun away from him—it took a frightening amount of effort to tear her face away from his—and walked to the crack. She posed herself at the mouth of it, and was in the midst of wiggling through when his voice crept over her.
“Braya,” he murmured. It was intimate and tender. He was several feet away from her, but his voice was echoing through her head. She threw him a panicked look. How was he doing that? “Braya...come back here. Come to me.”
Her body froze. There was something like a pair of cold hands coiling around her shoulders. It traced a frigid path down her back, and she shivered. Then she was moving. Stalking straight back to Asher, and no matter how hard she tried to stop it, she found herself standing where she had previously been, inches away from the foreigner.
He smirked. “I'm sorry. I had to prove it to you. You're part of us now...”
“What was that?” She screeched. “How did-how did you control me like that?”
“It's called a master-slave link,” he grimaced. “I'm not the one who came up with that name, so don't go blaming that part on me. Ness—our captain—he ordered it. He installed it in you. I volunteered to be your master, though, because the other guys would have been a lot
nastier with this kind of leverage over a pretty girl. So technically, none of this is my fault. If anything, I deserve some sort of thanks, wouldn't you think?”
“Then what can I blame on you, huh?” She hissed. “I don't suppose you're completely innocent in this whole thing? You have this horrid slave crap strapped into me some how—wait...that's why you knocked me out! You stupid Mud-scums were wiring me with your messed up magic—”
“I actually wasn't the one who hit you over the head, if that matters,” he interjected indignantly. “I caught you. Don't I get thanks for that?”
“Ugh! No. No. That doesn't matter!” She howled. “Get me out of here! Stop with this mind control!”
He glanced sideways, at the crystal and flower wall. “You're a bad listener. I'll add that to the list, too. Mind control has nothing to do with this.”
Braya wasn't listening anymore. She was trudging back to the crack in the wall, and when he called out to her again, she fought it. She fought the iron grip. She fought the icy fingers that trailed across the slopes of her shoulder blades. She fought the mounting pain that struck her out of nowhere.
But it was useless. She was defenseless against it.
Braya's knees buckled and she caught herself against the stone wall, barely managing to keep herself up. She groaned out in pain as Asher's tantalizing voice brushed across her ear with the softness of a flower petal. “Braya, stop struggling. Come to me...” Her body was aching, nearly screaming in protest as she dug her fingers into the grooves along the exit crack. She was no longer in control of her body. Her movements were sharp and mechanic due to her efforts to resist him. Tremors shook her slender frame and she knew her body was only a moment away from collapsing.
And then it came.
A wave of agonizing pain, something like being impaled through every inch of her body, crushed her and she crumpled to the floor with one last cry.
~Chapter 6: Stepping Into the Haze~
