Morgan Rice: 5 Beginnings (Turned, Arena one, A Quest of Heroes, Rise of the Dragons, and Slave, Warrior, Queen)

by Morgan Rice

  Some of girls in the wagon had climbed up the sides of the wall, rattling the cage, screaming for Ceres to let them out. Others cheered Ceres on, chanting for her to kill their captors.

  “Give up your sword, or the girl dies,” Lord Blaku yelled behind her.

  Ceres whirled around to see Anka held at knifepoint by the slaver. Anka’s bottom lip trembled, her eyes wide open, and the slaver pressed the blade into her throat, cutting her a little.

  Should she try and save Anka? Ceres could just make a run for it and she would be free. But Anka’s eyes pleaded with such desperation that Ceres couldn’t find it in her heart to leave her to such a horrid fate. She glanced over at the girls in the wagon, who had turned quiet, realizing she could free them, too.

  Ceres leaned back and threw her sword, praying her aim was true.

  She watched as it spun end over end, then finally landed in Lord Blaku’s face, the blade stabbing him in the eye. He fell backwards, landing flat in the mud.

  Dead.

  With a whimper, Anka crawled away from him, sobbing.

  Ceres, breathing hard, walked forward in the quiet, pulled her sword out from the slaver’s skull, and then walked over and slashed the lock off the wagon, opening the door. Shouting and sighing in delight, the women and girls streamed out of the cart one after another. A few thanked Ceres as they passed her, and the mother with her daughters embraced Ceres before turning back toward Delos.

  With arms and legs feeling like they weighed a hundred pounds each, and her eyes heavy from sleeplessness, Ceres walked to the front of the wagon and cut the reins to the horses. She took a blanket, a bag of food, and a leather flask filled with wine from atop the wagon and attached it to one of the horses.

  After she had removed the scabbard from Lord Blaku’s carcass and secured her sword around her waist, she mounted the stout brown mare and steered it southward toward Delos. Just as she passed Anka, she stopped.

  “You saved my life,” Anka said. “I am indebted to you.”

  “You saved me first,” Ceres replied. “You owe me nothing.”

  “Let me join you. Please. I have nowhere to go.”

  Ceres considered Anka’s suggestion and thought it might be nice to have company on the cold, dark road back.

  “Very well, Anka. We shall travel together,” Ceres said with a soft smile.

  She reached out her hand and pulled Anka up behind her, Anka clinging to Ceres’s back as if for dear life. As lightning struck in the distance, the clouds rolling in again, Ceres prodded the horse to gallop. She would have time to spare before she needed to be at the palace, and she knew where she needed to go: to Rexus and her brothers.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The night remained brutally cold, the wind a roaring tempest, but that didn’t prevent Ceres from compelling the horse forward at a furious pace, determined to reach Rexus if there was enough time. For hours, rain whipped against her like shards of ice, leaving her clothes sopping wet and her fingers frozen stiff, anger toward her mother and Lord Blaku driving her.

  Finally, she sighted the capital’s outer wall, and, as the rain ended, she slowed the horse to a trot. The sun crested the Alva Mountains, sparkling through dissipating clouds, and kissed the white buildings of the capital golden, and with about an hour to spare until she needed to be at the palace, Ceres hopped down from the horse and led the mare down the gently sloping gorge to the river. After she had escorted the horse to water, she unwrapped the bread and meat she had taken from Lord Blaku and portioned equal parts for Anka and herself.

  She sat down on a rock and glanced at Anka, who was scarfing down the food like a ravenous animal.

  “Would you like for me to take you home?” she asked Anka.

  Anka paused and looked up, her eyes suddenly weary, but she said nothing.

  “Perhaps now that the slaver is dead, your family—”

  “My parents sold me to save their farm. Twenty pieces of gold,” Anka said bitterly. “They are no longer my family.”

  Ceres understood. Oh, how she understood. She looked toward the Alva Mountains and thought for a moment.

  “I know where you might find a new home,” she said.

  “Where?” Anka asked, taking a sip of the wine.

  “My brothers and friends are part of the revolution.”

  Anka squinted her eyes, and then she nodded.

  “You are my sister now and they shall be my family and friends. I shall fight by your side and belong to the revolution, too,” she said.

  Once they finished their meal, Ceres led the mare back onto the road and rode with Anka down the sloping hillside toward the capital’s main entrance—a heavily guarded drawbridge made of thick oak. Getting in line behind other travelers and merchants, Ceres and Anka rode slowly past a soldier and onto the bridge.

  They rode through the cobblestone streets, past houses and wooden shacks, and down cramped alleyways. The city began to rise, the inhabitants lining up at the living wells with buckets and vessels. Children played in the streets, their laughter filling the air, reminding Ceres of much happier, much simpler times.

  Beyond acres and acres of wilted, brown plants, they arrived at the bottom of the Alva Mountains. Humble houses rested on the gently sloping hill, sheltered by jutting peaks, and a waterfall cascaded down the mountainside. From the outside, the small settlement looked like any ordinary one on the outskirts of Delos, with houses, wagons, animals, and peasants working the fields. But it was nothing but a façade to keep Empire soldiers from growing suspicious. Inside every abode, a rebellion was brewing.

  Ceres had been here once before: two years ago when Rexus had shown her the growing collection of weapons stored in the cave behind the waterfall.

  Outside the settlement, bordering on the sea, stood the old abandoned castle: the revolution’s headquarters. Two of three towers had collapsed, and a few of the walls had been patched up with driftwood and rocks. Ceres’s destination.

  They dismounted and walked down the sandy pathway, the breeze from the sea tugging on Ceres’s clothes. Once they arrived at the arching entryway, five heavily armored men wearing civilian clothes stopped them.

  “My name is Ceres. I am here for Rexus, my friend, and Nesos and Sartes, my brothers,” she said, staying the horse. “This is Anka, my friend. We want to join the rebellion.”

  One of the men’s eyes flared a tad, as if her name held some significance. He nodded and headed into the courtyard while the other men studied the girls with distrustful glances.

  Inside the courtyard, Ceres could see men and women working in a rushed, almost frantic manner. Some were training others in sword fighting; some were fashioning armor; some were making bows and whittling sticks into arrows; and yet others were sewing clothes.

  A few minutes passed, and then a few more. Were Rexus and her brothers not here? Ceres wondered. Would she have to leave without seeing them? She had to see them before she left for the palace.

  All of a sudden, Rexus burst around the corner.

  “Ciri!” he yelled, running toward her.

  Seeing his face again, Ceres felt her strength leave her, and when he wrapped eager arms around her, she broke down and sobbed. She had been strong for so long, and now standing wrapped in his safe embrace, she finally let her weakness surface.

  “I thought you were dead,” he said, stroking her back, squeezing her tight.

  He rained kisses on her face, drying up her tears, and then he pressed his soft warm mouth to hers. But his lips were gone even before she had a chance to enjoy their first kiss.

  “I was worried sick about you,” he said, clutching her tightly. “Sartes said he saw you outside your father’s shed, but that you vanished after that.”

  “Are my brothers here?” she asked.

  “Not at the moment,” Rexus replied. ‘They are on an assignment.”

  Ceres felt her heart sink, but she nodded and took a step back.

  “This is my friend Anka,” she said, placing a ha
nd on her new friend’s shoulder. “She was also in the slaver wagon. She needs a place to stay.”

  “In a slaver wagon? That’s why you look the way you do,” Rexus said, playful eyes running up and down her body.

  Ceres socked him in the shoulder.

  “You certainly don’t look any better than me,” she said with a smirk, causing Rexus to laugh.

  “Please get Fausta for me,” Rexus said to a guard. He turned to Ceres, a conflicted look on his face. “Are you not staying?”

  Ceres was torn. Part of her wanted to stay here with Rexus and her brothers, but a huge part of her wanted to work as a weapon-keeper.

  “I have been hired by Prince Thanos as his weapon-keeper.”

  Rexus’s eyes flared, and then he nodded.

  An elderly woman waddled toward them with the guard, her crinkly skin white as snow, her eyes filled with years of suffering and wisdom.

  “Fausta,” Rexus said. “Please see to it that Anka is given a place to stay. And make sure she has food and dry clothes.”

  The old woman opened her frail arms and embraced the newcomer.

  “You have a new home now, and we will see each other often,” Ceres said to Anka. “I owe you my life and I shall never forget you.”

  Anka smiled softly and nodded. She gave Ceres a hug, and then she followed Fausta into the courtyard.

  Taking Ceres’s hand in his, Rexus grabbed the horse’s reins and escorted them toward the stable. Once there, he let go of Ceres and led the horse to the water trough.

  “You have a new sword,” he said, not looking back, stroking the horse’s mane.

  The mare whinnied in approval.

  “Yes. A gift from my father,” she said, her hand automatically feeling for it, a pang of sadness overwhelming her.

  But she didn’t want to talk about sad things.

  “The rebellion seems to have grown,” she said.

  “Since I last brought you here, our supporters have tripled in number,” he said.

  It made Ceres happy to see wonderment in his eyes.

  They walked outside and sat down on a wooden bench, Rexus facing her. He gently stroked her hair, and then caressed her face.

  A void opened within her chest when she thought of saying goodbye, and again she entertained the idea of remaining here.

  “Perhaps I will stay with you,” she said.

  Rexus pressed his lips together.

  “I would love that, but I think the best thing is if you keep your appointment at the palace,” he said.

  Ceres knew he was right, but still, it hurt to hear him say she should go.

  “Here, we have many supporters,” Rexus continued. “But we have no one working within the palace walls.”

  “I don’t know how much access I would have to the inside or the other royals,” she said.

  “If you gain Prince Thanos’s trust, I’m certain he would give you access to all the rebellion needs. When the moment is right, you could lead us inside the palace, securing our victory,” he said.

  Ceres’s stomach churned at the thought of gaining Prince Thanos’s trust only to betray him. But why? Perhaps it was because he did trust her and had given her a chance where others would not. Or perhaps it was because he despised his family and what they stood for just as much as any commoner.

  Either way, Rexus was right: by doing this, she could help the rebellion like no one else. In fact, her presence inside the castle walls was just what the rebellion needed, and could very well play a significant part in the downfall of the Empire.

  She nodded, and for a brief moment, they held each other’s eyes.

  Not wanting to drag out the farewell, the sadness already overwhelming her, Ceres rose to her feet and walked into the barn. Just as she was about to mount the horse, she heard Rexus enter behind her. While securing the saddle, she glanced back.

  “I must go so I am not late for the palace. Please take care of my brothers, and Anka,” she said.

  Rexus placed a hand on her shoulder and tingles spread through Ceres’s body. Ceres thought about the kiss they had shared earlier. Had he meant to kiss her as a friend, or something more? She wanted it to be more. She knew if she turned around, she would find his eyes and his lips would meet hers. And then she wouldn’t be able to tear herself away.

  So without another word she mounted her horse and kicked, galloping away, far from this place, and toward the palace—determined not to look back for anything.

  CHAPTER NINE

  As the sun broke over the horizon and with hardly a second to spare, Ceres galloped through the palace gates, dropped off the horse at the royal stables, and darted toward the palace training ground. When she was almost halfway, she noticed her sword brushing against her leg, and she stopped. Would someone see her sword and perhaps even steal it from her if she brought it? She knew there was no time, and she could be fired for being late, but under no circumstances could she afford to lose this sword.

  As fast as her feet could carry her, she sprinted back to the blacksmith’s chalet, and finding the place empty, she climbed up the ladder to the loft. There, behind a pile of old planks and crooked twigs, she hid her sword before tearing toward the palace training ground.

  When she arrived—breathless, heart thumping wildly— to her surprise, she saw that the entire court had gathered around the practice arena. The king and queen sat on their thrones, princes and princesses on chairs beneath the willow trees, fanning themselves, and the advisors and dignitaries sat on benches, whispering to each other.

  In the practice arena, combatlords sparred against royals, and weapon-keepers were watching their masters, handing off swords, daggers, tridents, shields, and floggers. Since she could remember, Ceres had yearned for an opportunity like this, but now that the moment was here, she felt empty inside.

  “Ceres!” Thanos yelled, waving to her.

  She didn’t know why, but when she saw him again, her heart stirred. Then she reprimanded herself. She had to remember why she was here, which was to befriend her enemies and gain their trust, not be amused by a handsome prince who somehow seemed to put her under his spell.

  Ceres ran over to Thanos.

  “Right on time,” he said with a nod.

  “Of course,” she said as if getting here hadn’t been a miracle and a half.

  An Empire soldier marched to the center of the arena.

  “All royal warriors, hastily line up before King Claudius, your weapon-keepers behind you,” he said.

  The royals stopped what they were doing and Ceres followed Thanos, taking her place behind him. She noticed that Lucious was back. Had he reconsidered? Been forced to return?

  “You’re wondering about Lucious?” Thanos asked, glancing back at her.

  “Yes.”

  Ceres wasn’t sure whether she hated it or liked it that he was so in tune with her thoughts.

  “One doesn’t say no to the king,” Thanos whispered.

  She wanted to ask why, but the king rose, holding a golden bowl up, and the gathering hushed.

  “This dish is filled with the names of each of our royal warriors,” the king said. “Today I will select three names who will fight in the Killings at noon.”

  The crowd gasped, each royal warrior and their weapon-keepers included.

  But the Killings weren’t supposed to be until next month, Ceres thought. Had the king just on a whim scheduled the Killings for today?

  She glanced at Thanos, but he stood rigid as a board, his face forward so she couldn’t see his expression. They weren’t ready to fight in the Killings, Ceres knew. None of them were. They hadn’t been given enough time to train together, to get to know each other’s fighting styles.

  Winding her hands tightly into fists, she focused on keeping her breathing steady. Only three of twelve would be selected, so there was still a chance they didn’t have to fight today.

  The king reached his chubby hand into the bowl and pulled out a slip.

  “Lucious!” he
yelled, an evil grin emerging on his lips.

  Ceres exhaled and glanced over at Lucious, seeing that his face had turned as red as a beet. The onlookers clapped, although their applause was far from enthusiastic. Did they think this was unfair, too? Ceres wondered.

  The king reached into the bowl again and drew a name.

  “Georgio!” he hollered, his eyes slithering to the end of the line where Georgio waited.

  A woman who looked old enough to be Georgio’s mother stood up began to sob, yelling obscenities toward the king, but when she stepped onto the practice arena, she was escorted away by Empire soldiers.

  Ceres huffed and kept her eyes trained on Thanos’s broad back. Only one name left, she told herself. The chances of Thanos being selected were slim.

  Reaching his hand into the bowl a third time, the king glanced at Thanos and the right side of his lip rose.

  Ceres saw Thanos’s shoulders tense, and immediately she knew something wasn’t quite right. Had the king planned this? Rigged this?

  Her heart nearly stopped.

  “And last but not least, Thanos!” the king exclaimed with a smug smile.

  The crowd went silent for a moment, but when the queen started to applaud with fervent enthusiasm, the others followed.

  “The risk of death is great, my chosen ones. May you each represent your sovereign and Empire with honor and strength,” the king continued.

  The king sat down and an Empire soldier explained the rules of the Killings, but Ceres could hardly listen to a word he said, she was so shocked.

  “Weapon-keepers who assist in the battle will be put to death…no more than three weapons on any one warrior at one time…no helping other combatlords…thumbs-up means the defeated lives, thumbs-down means the defeated must be slayed…” the Empire soldier said.

  When he finished, Ceres stood frozen, staring out into thin air.

  She vaguely registered that Thanos had turned around and was facing her. He grabbed her arm and shook it.

  “Ceres!” he said.

  Disoriented, she looked up into his face.

  “Bartholomew is back. If you would like, I can have him be my weapon-keeper today,” Thanos said.