Amara said nothing. She simply watched the murky, shadowed hands dish out what could only be Chinese take-out from plastic containers onto her plate. For a moment, she nearly laughed at the idea of one of the Apollumi, or even Cronus, doing something as mundane as ordering food. Her short lived humor ended when she made the mistake of looking into the shade’s face. The two faded orbs were still bright with consciousness inside their deep set sockets, and the familiar color jarred her to the bones.
It’s not Marcus! It’s not. I know this. The color is right, but it’s not him. Breathe. Breathe. Pick up the fork. Take a bite. Smile. The shade will leave if I just get through this. Then I can be alone. I don’t want to be alone.
Amara forced herself to meticulously chew and swallow each morsel of food as her thoughts rampaged, switching from panicked attempts to calm herself to wild fear. The shade turned away, but the sight of his sapphire eyes were burned into her brain as if they were a branding iron. All the while, she ate to give herself the strength she would need to carry out her plan.
When she had finished, the creature cleared away the dishes and left her to rest, but sleep came slowly. Amara drifted in and out of nightmares as she tossed and turned in the luxurious bedding. She dreamed of being locked away in a gilded bird cage and hung above a fiery pit. The creatures of Sheol came to throw hot stones through the bars, both bruising and burning her exposed skin. The dream shifted and the cage melted away, leaving her hovering as if she were a shade drifting through Sheol. The accusing eyes of the hidden Keepers glared out of the stone at her.
On and on the visions went as she sank in and out of consciousness. In every scenario, she was tortured, lost, and hurting. In the final nightmare, she found herself chained to the wall of a dark place. In the distance, the screams and wails of souls echoed in agony. Amara pleaded to be released, but her only answer was Cronus’s evil laughter.
She broke, weeping like a child as she called out for Marcus. In her most fragile moment, his strength and love was her only desire. In that instant, Amara knew she would die in peace if she only knew he was safe. She would give her life for his if she could, no matter the terrors she might face.
Amara looked up into the inky blackness, raising her chin from where it had drooped to her chest. Two sapphire eyes watch her from the shadows, and her heart filled with a melancholy joy.
“Marcus?” her voice quavered in the deafening silence.
The figure silently moved closer, the cobalt illuminated eyes dancing in the darkness.
“Marcus, answer me. Are you okay?” her voice filled with panicked.
The outline of his body became clear, and Amara wanted to break the chains, so she could leap into his arms. She whispered to herself, “Marcus is here. Everything will be okay.”
Somewhere beyond the endless midnight, a dim light began to glow, casting the room in a purplish glow. The figure before her drifted ever closer, not Marcus, not her hero. The shade held its hands out, as if it meant to embrace her, sadness bleeding from its eyes.
Horror filled her mind as images of death and longing pushed their way up through her mind. She couldn’t back away, she couldn’t flee. Chained like animal, she had nowhere to go. Amara tried to scream, but the darkness swallowed her voice like a hungry beast.
The shade moved slowly, each step a deliberate act of terror. The small slash of its mouth opened, stretching until the lower jaw extended beyond any physical possibility. The wraith came to a halt inches away from her, cocking its head from side to side in short jerking motions. Its hand rose as if it meant to stroke the side of her fear rigid face.
Amara couldn’t move; she couldn’t even blink. Her eyes refused to look away from the gaping hole that had opened below the cerulean eyes. Toothless, tongueless, empty hole. The fissure seemed so deep that she thought it must surely go all the way to the center of the creature’s destroyed soul.
The fingers brushed her skin, the feel of them cold and wet like icy tentacles. The shade leaned in, the distant between them no more than a breath. It tilted its head to the right, another quick, jerking movement.
It means to kiss me. No! No! Please, someone, anyone hear me. Please help me. Help! Her mind vehemently protested and begged, but her mouth remained frozen in a never-ending silent scream. She could smell the fires of Sheol and hear the roaring flames in its deep, ragged breaths. Yet, a frigid air seemed to waft outward from its being, promising that no matter what hell she envisioned, it would give her worse.
She woke, a final scream still echoing in her ears. Swiping away the sweaty clumps of hair sticking to her skin, Amara stared into the shadows that hugged the corners of the room. Only after reassuring herself that there were no blue eyes watching her from their depths, she finally fell back against the pillows and drifted into a dreamless state.
Chapter 21
Heart Breaker
By the time Cronus returned, Amara had dressed in the Apollumi uniform the first servant had brought. She’d left off the face mask, but the rest of the form fitting black clothes hugged her like a finely tuned second skin. Her newly acquired curves and taut muscles were both exquisitely displayed, and discretely covered, but she still felt as if she were a child playing dress up.
“You look lovely, my dear,” Cronus crooned like a doting father.
“Thank you,” she mumbled the words as she unfolded herself from one of the red leather chairs. “Are you ready?” Amara tried to sound upbeat, but her voice fell flat—void of the emotions she should have had as a willing participant.
“First, I thought we should take a little field trip. Your friends are quite convinced that I have done something terrible to you. I thought a quick visit would settle things up nicely. Once you have handed over the hidden Keepers, then we can decide what to actually do with them.”
Her heart stopped.
“As you wish, Cronus. Though, I don’t see how wasting time on what the humans think is a priority.”
“You wouldn’t,” his eyes were cold and unrelenting as he watched her facial expression.
Though it was said without a change of tone, Amara wondered if parading her in front of Marcus, Desiree, and Anthony was not a test. Without a word, she followed him out of the room and accepted the offer of his arm as they strolled at a leisurely pace through the underworld.
Amara kept her face a blank mask, no matter what atrocities she was forced to witness. There were times, looking at a creature helplessly mewling for mercy, that she wanted to intervene. Everything good left inside her protested the tortures and agony that seemed to engulf her from every direction. Instead, she remained stoic and seemingly unimpressed as they wound their way through fire and brimstone.
At last, they reached a staircase carved from soot blackened marble. Small torches hung in sconces along the downward spiral, spreading a slight yellow glow across a few steps at a time. From the bottom, Amara heard nothing. There were no screams of pain or sorrow, no sobbing or pleading for compassion, only emptiness seemed to await her.
On the first step, she nearly turned to run, the atmosphere reminding her of a morgue. Pausing, her fear stricken eyes wide, she looked to Cronus, but was not brave enough to ask the questions scratching at the corners of her dark thoughts like a monster trying to find a way in.
Cronus gave her a puzzled look as he pressed on, nearly pulling her downward at his side. “Stop being so fidgety, Amara. Really, you act as if I’m dragging you into the gallows to await your own death.”
She could hear the impatience in his voice and that somehow got her moving again, but it did nothing to take away the feeling of cold breath on the back of her neck. The hidden Keepers were watching and waiting for her betrayal. Amara knew the moment she tried to hand them over, she would die. Her physical being would become no more than a faint shadow as they cleaved her soul from her.
At the bottom of the stairs, an endless row of cell doors lined a narrow hallway. The click of their boot heels on the stones awakened the pris
oners, bringing them from their beds of straw to look outward. Grimy and bloodied hands hung limp over the iron crossbars and pale faces, gaunt with starvation, stared out of the shadows.
As she walked, Amara looked straight ahead, afraid to meet the eyes of those who rotted away inside Sheol’s prison. The injustice of such filth ridden conditions nagged at the back of her mind, but Cronus’s presence forced her to move forward. Showing no weakness or compassion to the pitiful creatures on either side of their path, Amara raised her head.
Near the end, she saw his face. Marcus looked pained and ill, confusion marring his strong features into a mask of fear. She gave him a moment to rake his eyes over her body and absorb the shock of the changes that had taken place. Choking down her body’s desire to hold him and her heart’s desire to free him, she leveled her gaze and smiled.
“Amara, why?” Tears filled his eyes and hung trembling on dark lashes like morning dew.
“Dear, sweet, Marcus. You can’t possibly understand what it is I have done. Let this be a lesson to you, since I have so kindly decided to let you live. Do not put your trust in love, desire is a fickle thing.”
“All the blood that was shed, all the things you believed in…I don’t believe it. You’re not this person. He’s trapped you or tricked you. Amara, baby, please.”
She rolled her eyes as she popped one hand up on her hip and leaned casually against the rough stone. Boredom with his behavior laced her words, “Don’t pretend to know me. We were strangers only a few days ago. You know nothing.”
“I love you, Amara. I don’t care what you say. You love me, too! You can’t do this. Whatever the reasoning, whatever the deal, you mustn’t do this!”
Amara turned her back on his pleading words. “Cronus, where are the others? If we must do this, may we please not dawdle about it? We have more pressing matters.”
“Spoken as the true queen of Sheol,” Cronus laughed and led her to the other side of the hall. Gesturing to one of the horned guards standing at attention near the doorway they had entered, he waited patiently.
The guard carried over a lantern and opened the cell door with a large set of keys. Striking a match against one of large horns, he lit the wick and extended the lantern inside the cell with the aid of a long sheppard’s hook.
Amara bit down on her tongue until it bled to keep herself from gasping. The two figures helplessly chained and wrapped in bondage stood side-by-side, nothing below their eyes free from the cruel straps and heavy shackles. At the sight of her, they struggled, squirming helplessly against their restraints and mumbling behind the material wrapped around their mouths.
Arching an eyebrow, Amara looked somewhat amused. “Cronus, what is this about?”
“The art of torture, my dear. You see, you do not have to cause a person physical harm in order to break them, especially when it comes to lovers. Imagine, being them. Picture knowing the person you love with your entire being is only inches away. They are scared, hurting, hungry, and miserable in every mentally and physically form of the word. Yet, you are unable to help them. Your hands are bound, your ability to speak is stripped away, and you can offer no comfort. That is the purest form of pain.”
Amara fought the urge to look back at Marcus as she nodded. “A lesson learned. Now, may we go? I am bored of this. I am not as refined as you, my tastes for such dreary things has never been cultivated.” She feared her expression might show the slightest bit of the horrified desperation she felt boiling near the surface of her emotions, but Cronus didn’t seem to notice.
“Do you feel pity for them, Amara? Your humans are in pain. Don’t you care?” His wicked smile taunted her from its smug position beneath his upturned moustache.
“No. I feel…well, I feel nothing. They were play things of a bored soul. As a Keeper, I was desperate to feel alive. As a human, I was desperate to love. As your daughter, I no longer need anything. I don’t want them to die, but the pain and suffering they will experience here will not truly hurt them for such a short time.” The bit of truth in her words came through more clearly than anything she had said since reaching Sheol.
“Then we are done here.” Cronus nodded to the guard who pulled the lantern back and locked the door. He offered his arm to Amara, and they made the ascent back out of the dungeon.
She thought he would lead her back to the room she considered hers, but instead, he guided their path to another set of stairs. At the very top, Cronus opened a large set of wooden doors, revealing an apartment done in tasteful dark woods and deep blues.
“Your inner sanctum, I assume?”
Cronus shut the doors behind them and strode across the large room to an impressive and very masculine desk. As he placed a glass topped wooden box on the polished surface, he answered her question, “Yes, and you should feel very privileged. Not many have stepped over that threshold and lived to tell about it.”
“So, you are still guaranteeing my survival then? That’s good to know,” Amara couldn’t hide the sarcasm leaking into her tone, and she couldn’t care less.
Striding over to stand in front of him on the opposite side of the desk, she examined the contents of the display box. Eleven smallish black rocks rested side-by-side on the white velvet lining, and two indentions had been left empty, waiting for the rest of the collection. Their color was a dull and faded black, which covered their rough and porous heart-shaped surfaces.
“What are they?” curiosity bloomed in her voice.
“Don’t you recognize the shape of them? Here,” he said while taking her hand, “hold your fingers above them. Do you feel the residue of power that still lingers?”
The voices of the hidden Keepers rose up in protest as Amara felt the vibrations reach up from the lumps of dark rock and touch the nucleus of her being. The familiar sensation was muted by a tainted aura clinging to the air around them.
“They’re dead. All of them, they’re dead heart stones.” The absolute sorrow in her voice couldn’t be hidden. After all she had been through, and all she had seen in Sheol, the murdered Keeper’s hearts were simply too much to bear.
“Tears? Are you weeping for them, Amara? Remember why you are human and who made you that way. Do you think they wasted a single salty drop on the likes of you?”
She shook her head in silence, unable to form the words.
Cronus stood from his chair and came to stand beside her, casually draping a single arm over her shoulders. “Once you’ve had a taste of the power those stones can offer, you will weep no more.” Cronus waited until her tears dried and her mind settled before he captured her gaze with his fierce ebony eyes. “Now, the time has come. Tell me how we reach the hidden Keepers.”
Taking a deep breath, Amara steeled herself for what she was about to do. “I need Corinthia’s heart stone. She never had the chance to tell me the exact location. With it, I can force her to tell me where they are. As a human in possession of such a thing, I will hold a power over her that no other being can.”
Cronus mouth cut down into a scowl, so pronounced that it would have been funny if his hand wasn’t digging into her shoulder like an iron vice. “Is this some sort of trickery? I have never heard such nonsense!” Spinning her to fully face him he dug his painful hold into both shoulders. “Make no mistake, girl, I will make you desire death more than anything if you are trying to fool me.”
Her eyes went wide with fear and shock. “Cronus, no! It’s not a trick. Everything in the universe must have a balance. It’s the Creator’s way. Just like the Reapers are the answer to the violent death of a Keeper. This is the human’s only equilibrium with the Keepers. I never meant to return her heart stone when we went into the mists before. I was going to use it to become a Keeper once again. I was only using it to make her do my bidding, but then your guards showed up.”
He held her for a moment longer, weighing her words for truth or lies. Finally, after a long and silent pause, he released her. “Very well, then.” Cronus produced the shimmering jewel
from the breast pocket of his shirt and placed it carefully in Amara’s hand. His fingers bit into her wrist. “Remember, Amara, no tricks.”
She didn’t answer, there was no need. Nothing would convince him she was truly on his side. Instead, Amara shut her eyes and thrust herself into the transcendence that would lead her into the mists. She knew he would follow her, and she only hoped she wouldn’t fail.
She manifested into the fog, the heart stone pulsating and warm within her cupped hand. The familiar comfort wrapped itself around her, despite Cronus standing next to her with his chest out and a triumphant smile on his face. He must have not known that his hands were shaking, puncturing a hole in his façade of confidence.
Just as she had done before, Amara held the gem to her lips and summoned the Keeper. “Corinthia, come forward and claim your heart,” her voice was barely above a whisper, but she knew the spirit would hear her words.
Corinthia appeared in the distance, a black shrouded creature in the haze. Her wails drifted on the winds as if she were truly a banshee. She moved quickly at first, madness swirling about her. However, when she grew close enough to see Cronus standing at Amara’s side, the ghost of the Keeper paused. Through the parting gray tendrils, Amara watched as the woman’s eyes went wide with alarm and fury.
Cronus made his move, the exact thing Amara had hoped he would do. In fact, she had balanced her entire plan on his next move—praying he’d stay true to character. Ego would always be the downfall of man, just as vanity would be for women.
Stepping forward, he called out to his former victim, “Corinthia, come forward!”
Hissing like a steam kettle set on high, the spirit spewed curses, “You damnable, fiendish, murderer. How dare you! And…and…you!” Pointing her long, bony finger at Amara, “You are a traitorous and vile creature! I will kill you both and rip your heart stones from your chests with my bare hands.”
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