The Rise of the Fallen (The Rotting Empire Book 1)

by Peter Fugazzotto

  “You’re an idiot! I didn’t rescue you so you could go back down there and die. Khirtan will kill you! He’ll kill me! Do you remember nothing from the Eye of the East?”

  “He’s going to kill the boy!”

  Hanu spat to the ground. “I don’t care. Better him than me.”

  “Are you so cold-hearted?” asked Maja.

  Hanu slung the leaf from his head, sending it flying into the jungle. “I’m not stupid. Stupid is going back to where fiends are trying to kill us. Don’t you see that the only way back to the God-Emperor is through death. One of ours most likely. I thought I wanted it but now with the mad Khirtan chasing us I realize it’s not worth it. Maja, the price to return is too high. The worms will feast on all the corpses leading back to the capital. Better to get away while we can. Salvage our lives and move on.”

  “The boy means something to the Duke. And if the Duke is trying to kill him, that means that the boy is a threat. And anything that is a threat to the Duke, I will preserve.”

  “You can’t get back what you lost,” said Hanu, his words nearly lost in the downpour.

  Maja touched her belly where the scars ran beneath her armor. She blinked against the steady rain. “But we can make sure that he can’t take anything else.”

  “Are you going to drag your bloody swords to the pits of hell to finally get your revenge? And the rest of us with you?”

  “Not asking anyone else to come along. The boy. I can’t let the Duke have him. There’s something more going on here. We have to do something.”

  “Maja, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but you have to realize that this is not going to end well. The Duke is mad. We steal the boy. We kill his men. It’ll be the end of us. We’ll have escaped his clutches for nothing. We’ll be back in his dungeon. Only this time the whispers of the God-Emperor won’t seep through his walls to free us. We’ll die there. We’ll give up our freedom, our lives, for this boy. You need to think clearly for a moment. There is a better way. We hide in the jungle. Even if they are looking for us, eventually they will leave. They’ve got the boy. They won’t stay. After a while, you’ll forget about the boy. He won’t mean a thing. Time heals all, and all that, you know. Slow down. Think about what is the right thing to do.”

  “I have,” said Maja. “The right thing to do is to save the boy.”

  “He’s only going to get us killed,” said Hanu, rolling his eyes.

  Maja stared up at the dark sky beyond the canopy. The rain had become numbing now. She could feel the drops exploding on her cheeks but they no longer hurt. “It’ll stay dark for a while. Let’s get the boy while the dogs sleep.”

  With those words, she slithered back into the jungle and towards the beach where they landed.

  11

  MAJA PERCHED AT the edge of the beach clearing, her swords drawn, the cold drops beating down on her hands. She glanced upwards. The rain roared out of the swirling sky. Palm fronds clung desperately but the ferocious wind ripped them from the trees and sent them thudding into the ground. To her left, the sea was a mess of froth and thunder. The Sea Eagle, a blotch in the distance, rose and crashed in the waves, held tenuously by the hard lines of anchors. No lantern lit the cabin now.

  The rain rolled across the sands in sudden blinding sheets, so thick that the opposite end of the beach blurred to a dark unrecognizable mass. A dozen shadows lay across the beach as if the sand had been furrowed. Black shapes planted like rocks or beached seals.

  Maja focused on the lean-tos were she had last seen her companions and the Duke’s men.

  “Did they leave?” Hanu huddled so close that he brushed against her. She welcomed the contact, anything to fight the chill of her rain-soaked body.

  She squinted, looking for movement in the structures. It was still. “More likely they couldn’t keep the fires going.”

  “Let’s turn back. Hide in the forest. Wait all this out.”

  She fought against the chattering of her teeth. “The storm will hide us. They won’t see us until we’re on them. We get the boy or we die trying.”

  Hanu grunted.

  Maja nodded and ran, crouching. The sand, wet and heavy, clung to her feet making each step more difficult, and it seemed as if the wind suddenly shifted and she ran into the full force of the wind.

  She was halfway to the lean-tos when she tripped over one of the shadowy shapes in the sand. She fell hard, arms splayed, her fists tearing into the sand, her cheek thudding against something cold and clammy.

  “Get up,” hissed Hanu from behind.

  She lifted herself to all fours. She could see what the shape was now. She shuddered. It was one of the pirates. He lay in the sands, stripped of his armor, and even in the gloom of the rain, Maja saw the marks on his skin where blades had plunged between ribs, through his belly, and into his throat. So many black cuts. They had stuck him like an animal with their spears.

  She turned the pirate’s face towards her. It was one of the cousins from the Gili Island. She stared at the death cuts. The way that his body was marked was unnatural. His arms were untouched. He had not raised his hands to defend himself. She scowled. He would have defended himself if he were able. He must have been unconscious, under the influence of the dream spore, when they had done this to him. More likely tied down. She choked back a sob.

  She turned her head left and right. She counted eleven others, nearly the entire crew, dark shapes in the sand. All murdered.

  “What is it?” whispered Hanu. “What is that?”

  She charged over the myriad corpses and into one of the lean-tos. It was empty.

  She raced to the next one.

  “They’re gone,” said Hanu. “What the hell? Where are they?” He ducked beneath the shelter of the lean-to and sniffed at one of the empty jugs of palm wine.

  “They’re not gone.” She pointed at the corpses on the beach.

  His shoulders dropped as he realized that his companions lay dead in the sands. “All of them?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She left Hanu in the lean-to and stumbled and crawled among the bodies, cradling their heads. One by one, she turned their faces towards hers. She wiped the tears from her eyes. Then she returned to the lean-to and the silent hunched form of Hanu. She stood outside in the full force of the rain.

  “All of them?”

  Her words came out ragged and short. “Captain Pak’s not among them. Not Garu. Not the boy.”

  Laughter bubble from Hanu’s lips. “The boy, the boy, you still give a shit about the boy. All of them slaughtered. Betrayed with poisoned palm wine.”

  “They killed them while they were unconscious. Stabbed them to death. They couldn’t fight back.”

  “We should go now,” said Hanu. “We can get to the Sea Eagle. Escape.” He started down the sands but then stopped as his gaze found the corpses littering the way to the water. “Or back into the forest. We go to the far side of the island. The jungle is deep. They won’t find us there. They’ll give up after a few days. We only need to survive a few days.”

  “We need to find the Captain. I can’t leave him to them.”

  “If they catch us, they’ll kill us. Khirtan will show no mercy. We need to go, Maja. We need to go now.”

  “Captain Pak would come for us.” Maja circled the lean-to. A trail of footsteps in the sand led towards the village. In the distance, she saw the flickering of light on the underbelly of the canopy.

  “I’m not going,” said Hanu. “I’m not a coward. I just can’t let Khirtan catch me again. I can’t.”

  “I need you.”

  Hanu moved his lips but no words formed, only a pitiful lowing like from an injured animal. Then he sprinted towards the dark line of trees.

  When Maja reached the village, flames from torches lit the interior of one of the longhouses. Half the building had been burned to blackened timbers but the rest was untouched. A man screamed from inside.

  Her stomach tightened. She tried to remember all
the corpses on the sand. Was it only Captain Pak and Garu not among the dead? Or were there others? She had only been focused on finding the Captain. With each head she had turned towards her, her sense of dread had grown. Her hands had trembled uncontrollably as she turned the last head, and she had let out a titter of laughter when she saw that it was not him. But now she could not remember who else lay dead.

  Because if they were all dead, Captain Pak’s screams pierced the night.

  Maja followed the edge of the jungle until she was behind the longhouse. The structure sat on stilts with bamboo-caged chickens and goats tied beneath. A muddy, exposed stretch separated her from the longhouse. She would be visible when she crossed that distance. She paused hidden in the cover of the trees, took several large breaths, and then sprinted to the side of the longhouse. She waited and listened. Only the sound of the rain. The screams had stopped for a moment.

  She stood on her toes and peered through a gap between the timbers of the wall. A man in fungal armor sat with his back to her and blocked her view. But she could still make out half the longhouse. The Duke’s men lounged around a brazier, laughing, cups of palm wine in their fists. In their midst, Garu sat cross-legged, laughter bubbling out of his lips, one hand on his big belly.

  Maja cursed the traitor. Hanu had been right. The man was not to be trusted.

  She crept to the left until she found a wide gap in the boards and looked through. She almost turned from what she saw.

  Captain Pak hung by his arms from the ceiling. They had stripped him of his armor and a glistening sheet of blood ran from a gash on his temple and down his left side. His face was still caked in the fungal spore from Khirtan’s staff. All of the Captain’s weight hung from his bound wrists, the thick rope purpling and swelling his fingers. They had suspended him so that his toes could not touch the ground. Slivers of bamboo, darts, poked out of his chest, belly, and legs.

  Maja heard a gush of air and another dart penetrated his cheek, nearly hitting him in the eye. Laughter burst from the drunken men, roaring laughter, and fists and heels pounded the floorboards.

  Then a voice cut through the laughter. “That’s enough. We can have our fun but if we kill him before Khirtan gets back, it’s going to be one of us hanging.”

  The laughter stopped and the blowgun was tossed into the center of the room.

  “Cut him down. He’s not going anywhere,” said another. Several of the soldiers plucked the darts from the Captain and untied the ropes. He hit the ground with a thud. He made no effort to rise. He panted, visibly glaring at Garu. Saliva bubbled from the Captain’s lips. One of the soldiers kicked him in the ribs and the laughter rose again.

  Maja touched the hilts of her swords. Energy surged through her hands and into her arms. She could slip her swords out and thrust the blades through the gaps in the walls. She could almost smell the blood dripping to the wet ground. She could slay two of the bastards before they even knew she was there. But then what? Maybe she could cut down another pair as they charged out of the longhouse, but then numbers would be on their side. The soldiers would swarm the village. She would be forced to run into the forest but then she would be no closer to rescuing Captain Pak and if anything the soldiers would be more vigilant.

  She looked away from the longhouse and stared into the tangle of the jungle. She let out several deep slow breaths and tried to slow the frantic racing of her heart and quell the rising heat of anger. She lowered her hands and counted to ten. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine a deep lake untouched by the winds. Drawing her swords now would be a mistake. She needed to relax. She needed to step away from the anger. She needed to figure out another solution. There had to be another way to rescue the Captain. She just needed to think.

  She crept beneath the longhouse. Through the gaps between the floorboards, she could see the sprawled shapes of the soldiers and the bulk of the traitor Garu. She clenched her fists, fighting the urge to draw her swords, drive them through the floorboards, and rip out Garu’s bowels. Instead she pushed on, past the skittish chickens, weaving among the stacks of bamboo, and stepping around the ceramic urns. She inched along, hands extended, not quite sure where she was. Then she felt warm drops on her hand and she smelled the metallic tang of blood, the Captain’s blood. Blood dripped steadily in her palms. She looked up through the spaces between the floor. He lay on the other side of the planks.

  She extended to her full height until her lips almost touched the boards.

  “Cap,” she whispered, “It’s me, Maja. I’ve come to save you.”

  He moaned.

  “Don’t talk,” she said. “Don’t let them know I’m here.”

  “Maja.” He whispered so softly that she could barely hear him.

  She trembled at the sound of her name. It was all she could do to not start weeping. “Can you move? Can you roll closer to the entrance?”

  She felt the heat of his breath through the gaps in the boards. She pressed closer. His blood dripped hot on her cheeks. “I’ll save you. We’ll get to that blue lagoon.”

  She wiped at the sudden tears.

  “Save … the … boy. He is … everything.”

  “I won’t leave you.”

  “Maja. The boy.”

  She lay her palms on the boards. “I can’t leave you,” she said. “I can’t leave you to Khirtan. I know what he does.”

  “Kill … me.”

  She covered her ears with her hands. She could not hear those words.

  “Slide your blade through the boards. Cheat them. Cheat Khirtan.”

  “It won’t work. They’ll come after me. I won’t be able to get away with the boy.”

  He panted. His breath gurgled, the liquid bubbling with his breath.

  She slid her fingers along the floorboards until she found a wide gap, one large enough for her to slip her fingers through. She poked his fingers until she touched the soft part of his belly. She could slide the tip of her sword through this space and cut the life out of him before Khirtan returned. She could cheat Khirtan out of torture and murder but she would be no closer to the boy. And how soon before they saw the gash in his flesh and realized what happened? And if he screamed while she killed him, would they swarm? But worse than that, she would be taking the life of the Captain. She could never do that.

  “You can … kill me,” the Captain whispered.

  She sobbed slightly. She wiped her nose and her eyes. She pressed her lips to the wood. “I can’t … I can’t do that to you.”

  “You can’t rescue me. You’ll die.”

  “I’ll figure something out.”

  “If you rescue me, you’ll never get the boy. The Duke will win.”

  “There’s nothing I can do,” said Maja.

  “Your knife,” he said. “Give me your knife.”

  “What?”

  A voice interrupted through the chatter of the Duke’s men. “He’s coming back. Hide the wine.”

  Footsteps pounded on the boards above. Dust seeped down through the cracks. The men settled themselves back to sitting.

  Maja peered past the stacks of bamboos and timber pilings to the village courtyard. Khirtan strode towards the longhouse, Sri in tow, dragged by a hand that clamped around his wrist. Despite the sheeting of rain, Maja could see the tears streaming from his eyes.

  “The knife,” hissed the Captain.

  She drew her knife and held it for a second. All was lost. The Captain was trapped. Khirtan was coming, and the boy in his grasp. She had no choice. She turned the knife around in her hand so that she held it by the blade and she slipped the handle through the crack. The Captain shifted on the creaking boards and then she felt his firm grip on the handle. He pulled the knife and Maja did not let go out quickly enough and the blade tore a fine line across her palm. She winced and then pressed it against the fungal patch on her side to stem the bleeding.

  “Captain,” she said.

  “You will only have a moment in the chaos,” he said. “Go to the s
teps.”

  “Pak…”

  She wanted to say more but he rolled from her. She wanted to tell him to hold on for the blue lagoon. She wanted to ask him to be patient. She wanted to sit with him on the deck of the Sea Eagle, content in the silence of each other, watching the sun sparkle on the surface of the sea.

  The longhouse shook beneath Khirtan’s feet. She wheeled about. The torturer was stomping up the stairs. Sri, dragged along behind him, stumbled on the steps and for a moment Maja caught his gaze. One of the boy’s eyes was nearly swollen shut and his hand bled from the fingertips. Sri’s fingernails had been pulled out. He collapsed on the top step.

  Khirtan cursed at the boy but continued into the longhouse, confident the boy would not escape. “Is my pirate captain ready to pay the price?”

  Maja ran beneath the longhouse, weaving among the barrels, and reaching the steps, where she crouched and stayed close to the shadows, careful to remain hidden from sight. “Sri,” she whispered. She extended her palm.

  Sri stared across the longhouse. “If I run, he will kill me,” he said. He retreated further up the steps.

  She tried to grab his hand but he had wrapped his arms around a pillar.

  Maja cursed. This was her chance. She needed to get the boy now while he was close. She would have to do this quickly. They would see her grab him and be on her. What had Captain Pak been thinking? How was she going to get away with the boy?

  A scream pierced the night. It was a primeval cry. The cry of a man who had seen death and welcomed it.

  She leapt up and grabbed Sri, tearing him from the pillar. His bloody fingers left five streaks on the wood.

  Bodies smashed against wood. Men grunted and cursed.

  She paused and glanced back into the longhouse. Captain Pak, screaming, had knocked Khirtan to the ground and managed to straddle him. He drove the knife down once and lifted it bloody, ready to plunge again.

  Maja did not wait. She ran with the boy in her arms towards the safety of the dark jungle. More screams. Feet shuffling. She wanted to turn back. She cursed herself. She should have leapt into the fray with the Captain. She should have stood by his side even if it meant falling to the blades of a dozen men. That was how heroes died. That should have been her destiny.