by G. R. Lyons
Benash groaned, sent up another prayer, and tightened his hand on her arm, shoving her roughly forward before she could stir up any more mischief.
Keeping the woman ahead of him, Benash pushed her across the cavern, a chorus of hollers and lewd comments rising up from the confines of the cells all around them. With his hand firmly clamped around her arm, he held her closer to his side, feeling an usual sense of jealous possessiveness—despite her apparent lack of concern for the unlucky threes—and wanting to keep her out of reach of both officers and prisoners.
The chorus of voices followed them as they passed through a low archway at the end of the cell cavern. Benash had to bend down to fit inside the low, narrow tunnel, feeling his way as it wound deeper into darkness and curved toward the backside of the hill under which the prison was hidden. The tunnel finally curved around to the left and opened up into a washing chamber: a rather small space, but the lofty ceiling allowed Benash to stand up straight and breathe more easily.
The dirt floor of the tunnel gave way to paving stones, with a drain in the middle of the slate grey floor and a pipe protruding from one wall. A small shelf near the pipe held a pile of soap bars in various stages of use, and along the wall near the tunnel was a series of shelves cut into the rock, containing towels and prisoner uniforms in a dull brown color. Opposite the shelf wall, high up near the ceiling and just out of reach, were three holes cut through the rock to the outside, allowing the only illumination for the room in the form of whatever natural daylight found its way down there.
Benash stared up at those holes for a long moment, taking a deep, relaxing breath. Though the holes were too small for a man to fit through—a moot point, really, considering they were so high up as it was—to Benash they looked blessedly enormous after the cramped, dark tunnel behind him.
The prisoner glanced over her shoulder at him, raising an eyebrow at his sudden stillness.
“Wash,” Benash ordered, shoving Vorena toward the ancient, rusty pipes. “And be quick about it.”
Vorena eyed him questioningly, so Benash stepped back toward the wall and leaned casually against the inset shelves with his arms crossed, showing her quite pointedly that he wasn't going anywhere. The damned wench just shrugged and stripped back out of her clothes, tossing them aside and cranking on the water.
Benash squeezed his eyes shut.
Inadra, spare me, please, and allow your twin to get me through this, he prayed. Inaria, make me as you are. Make me blind, for the sake of my sanity.
Benash scowled down at his feet, trying to convince himself that the shape of his boots was the most fascinating thing in the world at that moment, but it seemed his prayers went unanswered. Temptation shot through him, and he glanced up from under his eyelashes.
Vorena tilted her head back under the shower pipe, the water spilling over her curves and washing away all traces of dirt, leaving her radiant and full of lush promise.
Benash felt it like a punch to the gut. His breath whooshed out as he stared at her, feeling his body harden with desire at the sight of her hands slipping down her legs and up over her breasts as she worked the soap over her skin.
Why, Inadra? Why?
An all-consuming ache welled up in his chest and quickly spread to every inch of his body, tightening his muscles and rushing all his blood away from his extremities and toward his core, where it pooled with heat and made him throb with desire, leaving him lightheaded and dry-mouthed. Never had he felt such an intense need for release, and he knew that never again would he find the kind of sweet satisfaction that only came in his dreams and his imagination. His wives would certainly never inspire such need, and as for Vorena…
By all the gods, he wanted her, but he knew perfectly well, even though he would have more than ample opportunity, he would never have her.
He just couldn't bring her that low.
Benash frowned, wondering why that thought had come to him in that way. He ranked above her—far above her—yet just one look at her told him that she was worth so much more. Somehow, being near her, his rank suddenly felt worthless, and he found himself in the odd position of looking up at someone who was not an Elder.
And was a woman! No woman could ever rank above any man—women even ranked below prisoners, for all that—but somehow, in Benash's mind, Vorena stood above them all, the Elders be damned.
And by the gods, he wanted to climb up and possess her.
Benash groaned to himself, wondering why this strange woman affected him so deeply. It went against everything he knew about interaction between the sexes, but he wanted this woman in every way possible. Not just her body, but everything else.
He wanted to know her. He wanted everything.
He wanted to hear that delicious voice of hers, telling stories or spouting jokes or simply whispering his name. He wanted to know what she loved in life, what she wanted—and the law be damned for claiming a woman could have no wants outside what her father or husband dictated. He wanted to worship her body and then lie in her arms, listening to the sound of her voice, drinking in her thoughts and her vibrancy.
He wanted to share whatever light it was that sparkled behind her eyes, making her seem so much more alive than anyone he'd ever encountered.
He wanted to experience that sparkle for himself.
He wanted to break through the lifeless routine the Elders had set down, and just live.
And somehow, he knew, the only way he could achieve that would be through her.
My thoughts are sinful, he told himself, half-heartedly sending up the prayer. Yet, they feel so right. Praise to the blind goddess of truth, they feel so right! Why? What is happening to me?
Tearing his eyes away from the tempting sight before him, Benash grabbed a clean set of prisoner garb and a towel and held them ready as Vorena shut off the water and wrung out her hair. He tossed the clothes onto a bench along the wall, halfway between them, and folded his arms, trying with all his might to keep his eyes focused on the holes in the wall while the woman dried and dressed herself.
Even attired, it wasn't entirely safe for him to look at her, since her skin was rosy and glowing from the cleansing, making the sparkle in her eyes flare up to even greater prominence. Benash made a great show of bundling up her old clothes for disposal while she pulled on her boots, then grabbed her roughly by the arm again and dragged her back out to the cell chamber, holding his breath the entire time he was hunched over in the long, dark tunnel.
The other prisoners renewed their ruckus at the reappearance of the newest addition, their lewd comments even more vile now that she was clean. Clenching his jaw so tight it became painful, Benash opened the one empty cell and shoved Vorena inside, slamming the cell door shut and turning a key in the lock.
Even though he was on the outside, as the lock snapped into place, Benash got the strangest feeling that he was the one being locked in.
Vorena—Damn the wench!—must have guessed at his thought, considering the superior, knowing smile she gave him when he looked down at her through the bars. She watched him for a moment, an odd display of mirth in her eyes, then casually turned and went to the small cot, sat down with her back against the wall, and loosely hugged her knees while she smiled to herself.
The cacophony around the room carried on while Vorena sat there, looking perfectly at leisure and not the least perturbed by the vile comments being thrown her way. Benash had a feeling the noise would take much longer to die down now that the locked-up rats had something new to ogle.
Benash took his time replacing his key ring on his belt, all the while staring at Vorena and trying to drown out the noise behind him. He saw her lean her head back and close her eyes, a slight smile playing on her lips, and for one moment all his senses dropped away while his mind conjured up another image of himself and this enigmatic woman, alone in the clearing…
A cold, hard sensation against his hand snapped him out of his reverie, and Benash realized he'd reached out and grabbed the ba
rs of her cell, wanting to rip them apart and run away with her, duty and law be damned.
Seven hells, Benash, he berated himself as he stormed away to his seat at the guard desk. You'll get yourself beaten or worse for thoughts like that.
Benash sat down, leaned back in his chair, and squeezed his eyes shut while he rubbed his temples.
The gods are testing me, he told himself. That's all this is. Just a test. Now do you see what misbehaving has done to you, you thrice-damned fool? You should never have gone down that right fork. If you'd been properly obedient, this never would have happened.
He took a deep breath and huffed it out through his nose. The temptation of the forbidden path had been bad enough. Now he'd have a new temptation right in front of him all day, calling him away from his goal.
She will not keep me from getting out of this place. Benash clenched his jaw and crossed his arms over his chest. She will not.
A few minutes later, he tried not to question the fact that he suddenly found it necessary to make another circuit of the room, even though he had no reason to do so.
Chapter 11
IT WAS full dark when Jevon finally sensed another presence in the forest.
“Almost there,” he whispered to Asenna, who clung tightly to him.
He crept forward until he was just within firing range, and stopped.
Greetings, the watch, he projected. I come in the name of freedom.
Jevon! one of the sentries replied, and Jevon could just make out the movement of a bow being lowered. We'd all but given up on you.
Jevon approached the watch and clasped arms all around. One of the sentries escorted him to the camp, which was still so far away that even the light of the campfires wasn't visible from the circle of the watch surrounding it.
“Jevon!” some of the rebels called as he approached the campfire and set Asenna on her feet. “Gladly met, friend.”
Jevon clasped arms with several men and women, while others took turns hugging Asenna and helping them with their packs and handing over plates of food.
“And where's the storyteller?” one of the rebels asked.
Jevon's hint of a smile faded, and the camp went eerily silent.
“She was taken,” he muttered, “just this morning. We ran into a Hawk, who wasn't where he was supposed to be. I saw her marched into Sonekha prison.”
The rebels stared at him, flabbergasted, and one asked, “And you just left her there?”
“I did what I could!” Jevon barked. “I got Asenna hidden and went back for Vorena, but we were outnumbered–”
“You could have shot them,” another protested.
“Right. One bow against three guns. Don't you remember what happened the last time one of us tried something like that?” Some of the rebels muttered, but no one had a response. “Besides, I was down to my last arrow. What was I to do? Get us both killed and leave Asenna unprotected in the forest, far from camp?”
The rebels were silent, looking to one another, and Jevon continued, “I wanted to try, believe me, but Vorena made me see reason. I couldn't risk my daughter's life that way. It was hard enough leaving her hidden for the short time I was gone.”
Those who had children hugged them closer, and many of the rebels nodded agreement, though frowns and tears graced almost every face around the campfire.
“Daddy?”
Jevon looked down to see Asenna tugging on the hem of his coat.
“Is Vori ever coming back?” she asked.
With a sigh, Jevon crouched down to be more on a level with his daughter, and shook his head. “No, dearheart. I'm sorry.”
The little lip quivered, and Asenna ran off in tears. Jevon saw her get scooped up by one of the women and carried into a tent, his daughter hugging the woman fiercely in her grief.
Jevon sighed again and sat back against a log with his plate, picking at his food.
“We could send a force back to rescue her,” one of the rebels suggested. “If we got enough of our archers together…”
Several rebels shook their heads.
“Just a thought,” the man muttered, shrugging.
“Vorena wouldn't want us to risk it,” Jevon said. “She'd want us to find that Gate and get away from this thrice-damned Isle.”
“And just leave her behind to rot?” someone spat, though there was hopelessness in his voice.
“Vorena knew she was a weak link in our camp,” Jevon began. “She always knew there was a possibility she would fall behind. She knew what she was doing when she told me to run for my daughter's sake. For all our sakes. Right now, we need to focus on the goal, and that's getting up that mountain, and hoping to the gods there's a Gate up there somewhere. Maybe…” He paused, thinking. “Maybe, once we're sure there's a way off the Isle, we can gather more forces and try to figure out a way to get her out of there, but for now, we need to keep moving forward.”
After a brief hesitation, the rebels all nodded agreement, and individual conversations eventually rose up again around the campfire.
Jevon picked idly at his food, not really paying attention to what he was eating.
“Daddy!”
He looked up and saw Asenna race around the fire, holding out her jacket, her cheeks still streaming with tears.
“Daddy, I lost the special story!”
Jevon tilted his head to one side, watching as Asenna frantically turned out the pockets of her coat, all of them empty.
“Are you sure Vorena gave it back to you after your bath?”
The little girl paused, frowning in thought, but then her tears flowed anew. “She always does. She always gives it back. I lost it when I was hiding. We have to go back!”
Jevon sighed and set his plate on the ground. “I'm sorry, little one. We can't go back.”
“But we have to! Daddy, it's the special story!” Her lip quivered, and she looked up at him with huge, watery eyes. “It's all we have left of her.”
Jevon gathered his daughter up in his arms and held her while she sobbed.
* * *
AS HE undressed for the night in the privacy of his bedroom, Benash found the oilcloth wrapping that he'd confiscated from Vorena that morning. In all the distractions of the day, he'd entirely forgotten about the forbidden material she'd been carrying.
Put her out of your mind, he ordered himself, but curiosity got the better of him and he sat down on the edge of his bed, opening the wrapping and carefully lifting the worn page.
What in the gods' names is a woman doing carrying around printed material? And what bloody fool ever taught her to read?
He turned the page over in his hands, scrutinizing the edges and margins for any signs of the page being used to sneak information. There had been a pathetic attempt, long ago, by a few prisoners who were now long-since dead, to pass information about officer rotations in the capitol city, but never since had he heard any similar stories. And nowhere on this page could he find any markings other than the printed words and the smudges of ash and dirt.
Moving closer to the light, he read through the passage, wondering if Vorena was carrying some sort of forbidden information encoded in the text itself:
…brought an end to the patent laws [see also: Vol. 4, Ch. 7, Sec. 12: History of Deregulation on Agoran], innovation boomed, thus securing Agoran's place as the most advanced civilization in the world.
With the cessation of government protection and control over innovation, research and development teams expanded rapidly across the Isle, generating fierce competition. New and better devices hit the market every day, flooding the Isle with time-saving machines that rapidly dropped in price as new and better versions came to be developed.
By the winter of 3063, not fifty years from the time all government was disbanded on Agoran, technology had advanced from combustion-powered automotive vehicles to self-sustaining and solar-powered hover cars. The smaller and more powerful solar chips, primarily developed by Mathur Jens of Jens Enterprises, paved the way for h
uge advancements in eliminating the use of petroleum-based fuels and coal-driven electricity. That, combined with the lighter body materials—often attributed to the developers at Zenton Coatings—and the more secure, enduring electronics and computer systems designed by Eastern Electronics, JSC Computers, and AutoTech, led to the emissions-free, accident-secure models being sold on Agoran at the time of this writing.
Compare that to the archaic modes of transportation still being used on other Isles—foot traffic on Tanas and Falsin, horse and carriage on Andria, ox and cart on Ceynes [see also: Vol. 3, Ch. 2, Sec. 4: History of Animal Husbandry and Transportation; Vol. 8, Ch. 19, Sec. 1: From Beykana to Renkana—The Flying Horse of Falsin and Its Use on Jadu'n]—and the conclusions are clear…
Benash turned over the page, but the top few lines were so smeared with ash that he couldn't read them. He found the first legible line and continued on:
…tried to develop, but when Agoran struck the southwest corner of Ceynes in the Great Collision of 26 Partri 3097 [see also: Vol. 1, Ch. 5, Sec. 8: List of Collisions, Past and Predicted, Since the Breaking of the World], the devastation on Ceynes stood out in stark contrast to the lack of damage on Agoran. While structures on Agoran suffered not at all—not even on their soaring skyscrapers with their enormous glass windows—the comparatively poorer construction methods and materials used on Ceynes led to extensive loss of life and property. Despite the Ceynesian Emperor's mandatory census that was conducted every ten years, a count of lives lost in that Collision was never accurately calculated, while on Agoran, which has no centralized government nor census requirement, it was accurately reported that only two people lost their lives (though, as they were both elderly and found otherwise unharmed, their deaths were attributed to natural causes, such as a weakness of the heart).
By comparison, when we look at the construction industry on Tanas, and the history of destruction that Isle has endured in each of its Collisions, we find that…
