by Liv Daniels
She gave a little gasp when she stepped through the doors. She had never been in a room quite so big before. The lack of light only seemed to magnify the size of the gaping hall. She was aware of the cold glint of gold that seemed to press upon the room from every side, just beyond the reach of the dim light.
The monster shoved her past a paneled door into a posh office. Charts and maps and red satin curtains lined the walls, and displays of armor pervaded the room. At one end was a polished wooden desk. A skylight allowed a precious ray of sunlight from far above to filter in. She reached her hand out to it, but her escort shoved it down and forced her away to a plush chair in front of the desk.
She sat down before the monster could make her, and bowed her head on the desk. She struggled for a moment against the onset of tears, but regained her composure and lifted her head. To her surprise, she found a pair of eyes peering at her. A young man, probably 20, emerged from a shadowy corner of the room. He held a book open at his side, which he had evidently been studying.
"Do not despair," he said quickly, and then receded into the corner with his book.
Though he paid no further attention to her, she continued to watch him. Something had struck her about him—there was clarity in his eyes, and they were placid, holding none of the turmoil that can too often be seen in such a place. He was the kind of person that one could not help but respect. He had an air of purpose and peace. All of this was an impression; to herself she only thought, How can he look so happy here?
Her contemplation was interrupted by the entrance of Dangerman. She sat back in her chair and folded her arms as he took a seat opposite her with one haughty swoop.
"Okay," she said calmly, looking straight into his eyes. He had caught her off guard yesterday, perhaps, but now she was ready. "What is it?"
He took the challenge. "I'm questioning you."
"Very well, get on with it. I don't know anything that you would find valuable."
"We shall see about that. Why are you here?"
"Because you brought me here. I'd much rather not be."
He narrowed his keen, hawkish eyes. "You know what I mean. Why are you in my land?"
"I told you yesterday; I didn't know it was yours. Had I known, you can be sure that I would not so much have strayed within a mile of it. But I did not know, and my path was in this direction. And," she paused and sighed, "I wanted to find out if the stories were true."
"What stories?"
"About the monsters and rivers of fire and such things. Now I see that they are, and I don't want to know any more."
At this Dangerman seemed pleased. He smiled wickedly and chuckled to himself, seeming to forget her presence. "Yes, yes, they are true. My land strikes fear into the hearts of all people. They tremble at my very name!"
She scoffed. "You weren't in any of the stories."
He returned from his reverie and scowled. "I will be. Soon all will know me." He motioned for the man in the corner to come. He did, and Dangerman addressed him. “Make a note to tell public relations that if this situation is not improved, they are all dead.”
“Yes, Your Excellency.” He pulled out a pad of paper and scribbled the note. The girl thought she detected a hint of weariness in the man’s face. He promptly exited the room after shelving his book. The girl watched him go apprehensively. She wasn’t eager to be alone with Dangerman.
Dangerman turned back to her leisurely, his fingertips pressed together. “I don’t believe I’ve asked—what is your name?”
“Does it matter?”
Dangerman didn’t flinch. “What is your name?”
She hesitated. Grandmother had never called her by name much; she had always seemed to regard the name as important somehow. “Leina Skyvola.”
Dangerman’s eyes narrowed for a moment and he stared at her, hard. Then, unfazed, he flipped open a book on his desk and twirled a pen into his hand. It appeared that the book was filled with names, written in an ornate, showy script. He wrote hers on the next empty line.
“Age?”
“I already told you.”
He did not respond, but only stared at her condescendingly.
“Fine. Eighteen. Now let me ask you a question. How did you come to be emperor of this place?”
Dangerman closed the book, slammed it aside and looked her straight in the eye. “Questions will not serve you well here. Whatever world you’ve come from, you’re in mine now. Everyone here does what I want, including you. Especially you.”
Their eyes remained locked in mutual defiance. But Leina could not think of anything to say. Finally she broke eye contact and said to no one in particular, “I didn’t ask for this.”
Dangerman leaned back in his plush chair and chuckled wickedly, obviously convinced that he had won. “You’re just like the rest of them after all.”
Her eyes darted up from the ground where they had fallen, full of fire again. “Maybe someday you’ll learn otherwise.”
He laughed again. “See that I don't, and maybe you’ll come out of your first year here unscathed. But I wouldn't count on it.” He let the words sink in, a malicious smile on his face. “Now, what you’re really here for is to get assigned a job. Which would you say is worst: hauling stone or working in the kitchen?” He spoke the question slowly, with cruel enjoyment. It was clear that he was trying to trap her somehow.
“I would much rather cook.”
“You’re lying, obviously. You can’t trick me—I can see past tricks like that. You will cook, since you asked for it.” With a brisk motion of his hand, he pulled out a whistle and sounded it shrilly. Immediately, one of his skulking creatures appeared. “Take her to the kitchen,” he ordered with a dismissive wave.
As soon as Dangerman was out of sight, Leina couldn’t help but smile out of pure amusement. She had, in fact, told the truth about which job she would prefer. Just like the rest of them, eh? We’ll see about that.
Chapter 6
The kitchen was attached to a large outbuilding across from Dangerman’s palace. It was a dark and dingy place, crowded with people who worked quietly with their heads down. The monster that was escorting Leina shoved her to a place between two older women working at a counter where there really was not room. The women did their best to move aside given the lack of space, but they did not look at her. There was not so much as a stir in the room to acknowledge her arrival. The kitchen was a machine, and its gears rotated mechanically, fueled by fear. Monsters were pacing heavily up and down the rows of workers, their expressionless eyes observing all. There were whips at their sides, and Leina doubted that they were afraid to use them.
A pile of fruit had been dumped onto the counter in front of her (where it came from in this desolate land, she did not know), and she could only guess that she was supposed to peel them. She picked one up and fumbled to get her fingernail under its leathery skin. She managed to yank off one flake of it. Suddenly she was aware of a hot vaporous breath at her shoulder, and a warning grunt. Evidently she wasn’t working fast enough for the overseers’ liking.
As soon as the monster had moved on, the woman to Leina’s right gave her a nudge. Without looking up, she picked up one of the fruits and peeled it by snapping the stem at the top.
“Thank you,” Leina whispered.
“Shh,” the woman said, very quietly. She set the peeled fruit on the counter and the woman at Leina’s other side took it and began to chop it with a dull knife. It appeared that the kitchen worked as a well-oiled assembly line. Who they were cooking for, Leina could only guess. It wasn’t too hard to surmise that it wasn’t for themselves. More than likely it was all for Dangerman. It certainly wouldn’t have surprised her.
Further down the line, there was a pathetic yelp. Leina shifted her eyes enough to see a little girl hardly big enough to reach the top of the counter receiving the tail end of one of the monsters’ whips. When she recoiled and broke out in tears, the monster responded with another lash, and then dragged her off. Anger
boiled up within Leina, but she didn’t move. She peeled faster.
***
Up until now, everything that had happened to Leina in the past few days had borne for her some vague sense adventure, or novelty at the very least. Her life had never been mundane, but neither had she ever experienced such a big change. Amidst the uncertainty and fear, there had been some kind of enlivenment, however faint and unnoticed. Even in her moments of despair, she had not, perhaps, fully understood what it all meant beyond the principle.
But as the days, then the weeks, then the months, passed by, that feeling faded altogether. Life for Dangerman’s slaves had a grinding rhythm. They spent the entirety of the day in the kitchen, moving from one job to the next, somehow seamlessly maintaining the assembly line. Leina quickly learned to act like everyone else: quiet, seemingly oblivious of her surroundings. As Leina was working, she was always deep in thought. She thought to distract herself, letting ideas and images sweep through her mind in rapid succession. She feared that if she allowed them to stop, she would become a machine like everyone else. Often her mind was on escape, but she could never work out anything plausible. At all times she was under the keen eyes of the pacing monsters. Nonetheless, she tried to observe everything around her. Furtive darts of her eye observed every door, window, and vent. Someday her chance would come, whether it was tomorrow or next year, and when it did she would be ready.
The food, she learned, was made for Dangerman and his officials. It seemed that whatever they were making was very extravagant, though Leina never saw much more of it than her own link in the assembly line. It was certainly enough to keep them busy all day. The slaves themselves were fed as little as possible. After a while, the very food that Leina was handling became torture to look at. She was always hungry, but to eat even a morsel in the kitchen was an offense even greater than working too slowly. There were some who crumbled, and sneaked a desperate mouthful, but the monsters were always upon them in an instant. Most of these unfortunate souls disappeared for a great length of time, and some Leina never saw again.
Dangerman never appeared in the kitchen, and in fact Leina did not see him again for some time. But sometimes his officials would come in to see that the work was running smoothly. When one of them walked into the kitchen, all of the slaves would inadvertently stiffen, earning a harsh reprimand, of course. But they couldn’t help it. The monsters were cruel, but they had no feelings. The officials, on the other hand, were quite capable of enjoying cruelty. The worst of them all was Sam.
Sam. When he first walked into the kitchen, Leina had actually dared to look up. He was none other than the young man who had spoken to her in Dangerman’s office. For a moment upon seeing him, hope had coursed through Leina’s veins. But he only shot her a venomous gaze and yelled at everyone to work faster, and her hope was crushed. She quickly learned that his taste for malice was almost as insatiable as Dangerman’s. He came in to the kitchen as often as he pleased, a smoldering whip swinging at his side. Sometimes he would seek out the hungriest person in the room, snatch a generous portion of the food that they were preparing, and eat it in front of them, slowly, luxuriously. Other times he would knock over a bowl of flour and force the slaves to clean it up. And always he was yelling, scolding, brandishing the whip. Leina spent a great deal of time mulling over her confusion about this. At first she was convinced that he was not, in fact, the same person that had been in Dangerman’s office, but after he appeared a couple more times there was no doubt. She had been so sure that she had seen something good in him. And what about “Do not despair”? The words rang through her head, but they seemed only a cruel joke, and the peaceful look that she remembered in his eyes a mockery. Finally she gave up thinking about him. She had been wrong, that was all.
After each day’s work in the kitchen was completed, and all of the dishes were washed (usually very late at night), the slaves were herded to a hot, hard room where they slept. There was only one door, which was always guarded, but in general the slaves were not watched as closely here. Here Leina was able to sneak a few words to the other prisoners if she was careful and quiet. She gathered bits of information this way, and quickly gained a reputation among the other slaves. In the dark as she tried to sleep, sometimes she would hear them whisper, “She won’t last long.” But when no one was looking, they treated her kindly enough. There was a kind of grim unspoken fellowship that existed between them all. At every injustice against them, an invisible tremor ran on a link through their hearts, but they were silent. There was nothing they could do.
Chapter 7
Someone (Leina suspected it was Dangerman himself) had the brilliant idea of instituting a new peace prize and awarding it to Dangerman on his birthday. No one at Dangerman’s fortress thought it very strange; ludicrous things like that happened so often that most everyone had become immune to them. The main thing was to survive another day without feeling the end of a whip.
But even the few who still had enough strength of will to find the announcement slightly disconcerting were careful to keep their mouths shut this time, because along with the presentation of the award would come a holiday for Dangerman’s slaves, and extra food besides, something that to Leina’s knowledge had never happened before. Exhaustion, hunger, and the desire for some change in the daily redundancy were strong enough forces to cause nearly everyone to be enthusiastic about the idea. With a tang of displeasure, Leina noticed that the decree, read out loud to them by an official one day, caused the slaves’ faces to be filled with a life that they had long been missing. One would think that they thought Dangerman some kind of hero. Even she felt a smile come over her face, and she was unable to repress it. She wasn’t smiling inside.
They all looked forward to the day of the presentation of Dangerman’s award. Their work increased in preparation for the celebration, but none of them cared. For the moment, at least, there was a meaning for their work, a goal, a foreseeable end, and it gave them energy. Even the officials found less reason to yell at them in the days leading up to the celebration.
Then all the work ceased, and the day came. Leina woke up of her own accord. At first the silence startled her and she thought she was in a dream; since she had come here, the jab of a monster’s claw or the frantic shaking of a fellow slave had greeted her each morning. Then she remembered. Today was the day, and there was no work to do, and the celebration didn’t start until ten. She gave a long, contented sigh and rolled over leisurely on the thin mat where she slept. If that moment had been allowed to go on forever, she would have been perfectly happy.
The others began to stir before too long, and soon the monsters came in, brazenly yelling for them to get up. They were all herded outside. The lava cast its blistering heat upon them as usual, but Leina was endlessly glad for the fresh air and the light nonetheless.
Rows of chairs had been set up facing a raised podium between Dangerman’s residence and another building. Leina tried to take a seat near the back, but one of the monsters took hold of her and planted her dead in front. No, no, anywhere but the front! she moaned silently.
The clamor of voices was silenced by a warning screech. Then Dangerman appeared. Leina had not seen him since he questioned her in his office, nearly three months ago. At the sight of him, all the abhorrence that she had felt for him arose anew, boiling over inside of her. In the instant that she looked upon him, all of the excitement and relief of the past few days collapsed.
With bold strides, Dangerman approached the podium and gave a flourishing bow. And they all cheered. Why, they didn’t know. But it was the first outright expression of emotion that they had been allowed in some time, and they were filled with joy simply because it was allowed. Leina clapped along with them, but only out of fear for what would happen if she didn’t. Why did she have to be in the front? She had tolerated the work, the starvation, the yelling and jabbing, but this was too much. It was all she could do to keep a tolerably straight face.
After several more bo
ws, Dangerman began to address his audience (which consisted only of his slaves, a handful of officers, and a few monsters pacing up and down the rows of chairs):
“Thank you, thank you. I am deeply honored to be here before you all. I am here today to accept the great and illustrious Beacon of Peace Award!” Here he paused, expecting applause. When no one took the hint, he started clapping himself, and then everyone joined in with a frantic uproar of clapping. Dangerman smiled as one deeply humbled. “I firmly believe that this is the greatest prize in the world, because without peace we have nothing. I have been among you only four short years, but I am proud to say that this great land has experienced an unparalleled degree of peace in those years. I have brought civilization where there was none, created order, subdued all uprisings! That is peace. I can see it reflected in your eyes and deep within your souls. And well it should! Because you live among greatness, and every day you breathe it. I cannot begin to tell you of the toil and sacrifice that was spent on your behalf, but it was worth it. I would do it again, and again, all for the sake of peace. Every one of you lives in immeasurable debt to me for all that I have done for you, but speak not of it. Simply know that you live at the pinnacle of hope and prosperity, and that will be enough for me. I accept the award!”
There was another great cheer. Hardly anyone had even been listening to the speech, but their enthusiasm was uproarious nonetheless. A monster came up to the podium bearing a gargantuan golden trophy. Dangerman snatched it and held it aloft for all to see.
