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

by Peter Fugazzotto

  “You die. Slowly. Painfully. You die in the worst way possible. But not before watching every single one of your companions be pulled down to hell by their own fears and nightmares. In the end, you’ll beg for your own death and I will not give it to you. You will suffer for an eternity.”

  Maja thought about Wayan and Hanu and the others in the dungeon. She saw them hanging from the chains, their bodies bloody. She imagined them being dragged to the table, laid down on the cold bloodstained stone. She saw their bodies arching and buckling, heard screams erupting, felt fluids bubbling and spraying. The soldiers having no others left came for her. She heard the clanging of the metal instruments hidden in the cloak of Khirtan. He smiled his grim toothless smile. She winced at the bones of her companions, her lover, piercing Khirtan’s dark skin. The icy metal of his knife touched her belly and the blade burned as it slowly slit her pale skin, the edge tearing through old scars. Hot blood washed against her belly and legs. Then Khirtan reached into her and pulled something living, squirming, dying out of her. She heard a scream, a terrifying wail, and realized that it was her own voice, echoing against the walls of the Hellhole, with no one left to hear her, no one to burst free from their chains to rescue her, no one even to witness her death. She would cease to be and no one would even know. No one would look away aghast or even shed a tear.

  “So what do you choose?” asked the Duke.

  “I’ll kill you,” said Maja.

  The Duke shook his head slowly. “You write your own death sentence.”

  “For all that you have done you deserve to die. I will never give in to your schemes. You can drag me back to the Hellhole and I will escape. I will break free of my shackles and I will hunt you down. I will trap you in a corner like a mangy rat, and when you are on your knees begging for mercy, I will drive your own blade down your throat, slowly inch by inch, so you can feel the life draining out of you, choking on your own sword, not even able to beg for your own life.”

  The Duke sighed. He returned to Maja’s side and gently touched the side of her face. “I wish your life could have been different.”

  She bit at his fingers but he pulled them back in time.

  “Maja, can you not see that you are on the side of evil? Can you not see what the God-Emperor truly is?” He waved his hand back at the spears and shields on the wall. “Who do you think sent all these brave men and women to the Hellhole? Do you think I rounded them up myself? Do you not see who hides behind the screen and controls the puppets?”

  “I’ll kill you!” screamed Maja. “I’ll cut your black tongue from your mouth! I’ll feed your eyes to crows!”

  “Goodbye, Maja. May the next life be filled with happiness.”

  “Fuck you!”

  “I don’t need you anyway. All I needed was one of you. You would have been best because the Queen trusts you more above all others. One of your brothers has already accepted the mission.”

  Maja bucked in her chair. She wanted to scream to him that he lied, that none of the Demon Guard would ever give in to his scheme.

  The Duke bent to the side of the chair and put his hand into a small cloth bag on the floor. He pulled out a handful of white fungus. Maja arched away from him but he grabbed a clump of her hair and wiped the fungus across her face.

  Her lips tingled and a metallic taste filled her mouth. She ran her tongue against her teeth trying to scrape off the sensation but it was too late. The fungus tickled at her skin. Its toxin wormed its way into her blood.

  The Duke smiled. Did she see tears in his eyes? His fingertips were softer than she would have imagined, brushing against her skin, as he undid the coarse ropes that bound her. Cool air ran over her sweaty skin where the ropes had held her so tightly. Her arms were free. This was the moment to seize him by the throat, lift him from his feet, and hurl him out the window to the jagged rocks below.

  But she could not move. She could barely hold herself up in the chair and began slipping towards the floor, when suddenly she felt strong hands beneath her arms, and smelled the familiar sweat and must of the soldiers who had brought her out of the dungeon. She tried to stand but her knees buckled and she dropped heavily in the arms of her two escorts.

  The sour smell of the fungus filled each breath. She wanted to retch. She strained against the two men who held her but she could not even bring her hands to her face. She could not scrape the fungus away.

  She craned her head back towards the Duke but he was no longer watching her. He had turned and walked back towards the room in the rear of his tower. She peered past him through a gauzy curtain. She saw the small figure of Sri, balled up on the floor. While he still lived, she held out hope that she could free him from the clutches of the Duke and bring the child to the capital, back to his family, and restore balance to this world.

  Then she saw a figure beyond him. Hanu.

  He sat on a stool, head hung, arms in his lap. She called for him. He looked up. Tear streaks glistened down his cheeks. White dream spore coated his upper lip.

  His mouth moved silently, but she could read the words he would not say. “I’m sorry, Maja. I’m sorry. It’s the only way.”

  The men dragged her down the stairs, away from her swords, away from the light pouring through the window, and into the dark confines of the stairwell, dragging her back towards the Hellhole.

  36

  THE GUARDS STUMBLED down the smooth white steps. As strong as they were, the guards struggled with the weight of Maja. Her height unbalanced them. Their stumbling broke her fog. She remembered what was happening.

  They were bringing her back down to the Hellhole.

  A wave of panic washed across her skin, prickling her hair. Her stomach surged and she choked on bile in her mouth. She spat the acid taste from between her lips.

  Maja stiffened her legs and the men lost their hold on her for a second. She lurched out from their grips and with weakened legs, took a step forward but the fungus muddied her mind and what should have been a solid step on the stairs instead became Maja’s knees buckling and her falling.

  Her guards screamed and she felt their fingers grasping at her skin, trying to get a hold. But they found nothing. She tumbled hard. Her shoulder slammed into the wall. Her feet flew into the air. She somersaulted once over her shoulder, smooth as if she had practiced such a tumble, but then she lost all control and accelerated down the steps, gravity hurling her downwards. Her shoulder slammed against the wall again. The men shouted and she heard the slap of their feet against the stone. She tumbled over again and her head cracked hard against the steps. Then the rolling stopped and she slid head first down the steps.

  The soldiers cursed. Rough hands dragged her up to sitting.

  “Look at her head. She’s bleeding.”

  “Why’d you let go?”

  “A bloody fucking mess.”

  “Won’t make no difference where she going.”

  “Sick fucker.”

  “Keep your mouth shut. He’ll butcher you just the same. For pleasure.”

  Maja hunched forward and hot blood coursed down her face. It ran from a burning cut at her hairline over her eyes and down her cheeks. She bent forward watching the fast drip of blood from her chin to the growing pool on the floor.

  One of the soldiers took her chin in his hand and lifted her face. He shook his head. Then he reached into a pouch at his side and pulled out a handful of fungus. After mashing it around in his fingers until it became a pulp, he pressed it firmly against the cut on her forehead.

  He wiped the blood from her mouth and lips, and then shook his head.

  “Can’t fix this.”

  Maja winced.

  They lifted her arms and ducked beneath her and once again she was between the two guards staggering down the stairs.

  She and her captors finally emerged from the tower and into the courtyard. The sky glowed an unblemished vibrant blue, so pure and so bright that her eyes teared. She wondered if this would be the last time that she would
ever see the sky. She dragged her feet and tried to step backwards, knowing that she could not escape but at least wanting to spend a few more moments in the warm light before she was carried into the Hellhole.

  Surprisingly, she nearly broke free of the grip of the soldiers. Her strength was returning. She pulled again at the guards and their gait broke. The blood, she thought. The blood streaming down her face had washed away the stupefying fungus.

  Perhaps she could escape.

  They took a few more steps in the bright light and plunged into the building opposite, the door slamming behind them. Darkness swallowed them as they descended towards the Hellhole.

  Maja flexed her arms and clenched her fists. Her control returned. She did not have all her energy and strength back, but time was running out. This was her one shot, her one chance to go.

  She lowered her shoulder and slammed into the soldier on her right. He fell against the wall and lost his grip. Maja pivoted and punched the other captor in the throat. He dropped, hands clasping his neck. She grabbed his hair and slammed her knee into his head. Bone splintered and warm blood washed over her leg.

  A fist glanced off the back of her head, hard but not enough to stun her. She turned. The soldier had drawn his knife. She grabbed his wrist with both hands and scraped it against the wall, tearing off skin and flesh, and then twisting it so that the blade caught the stone and the weapon was wrenched out his hand. The knife clattered down the steps vanishing into the gloom.

  She threw an elbow across his chin and he dropped.

  Maja panted. As easily as that, she had dealt with both the soldiers. She struggled to catch her breath. Her legs trembled. She put her hand against the wall to steady herself. She wiped at the remnant, fungal drug on her face.

  The fog vanished. Her energy seeped back.

  She drew the sword from one of the soldiers. Her stomach tightened. She shoved the blade between the neck and shoulder of one of the soldiers, and then stabbed the heart of the other one. She choked back a sob. Murder. She wished she had another choice.

  She rummaged through their belt pouches and found dried meats and fruits. She tore at the leathers like an animal, her hunger overwhelming. Almost immediately her energy levels surged. She finished quickly and dug around the pouches but there was no more.

  She took off one of the men’s belts and strapped it around her waist. Neither wore a helmet or carried a shield, and the fungal armor attached to their skin would be of no use, though she did find a piece to further stem the bleeding from her head.

  She stared up the steps to where light streamed in. She might be able to sneak back into the courtyard but she feared she would be spotted by one of the many soldiers there before she could get to the tower or the walls. To run back up by herself would be a death sentence.

  She also could not wait in the stairway. Sooner or later, other soldiers would descend or Khirtan would finish with whatever mad business he was conducting and then come to taste air again. She needed more swords at her side.

  If she wanted to escape, she needed to descend into the Hellhole.

  37

  MAJA SMELLED BURNT flesh. The stench of charred skin flooded her nostrils and she gagged. Bile rose in the back of her throat and she fought the urge to vomit the little food that she had just eaten.

  She held the pilfered sword before her and descended the stairs. The tunnel was dimly lit with a faint fungal phosphorescence on the walls. Unable to differentiate the steps, she kept a hand on the wall.

  Soon she saw flickering lights further down the steps. The fires from the Hellhole.

  She paused at the landing to the torture chamber. Dark unlit steps descended further. A cool breeze wafted from below. She inhaled deeply. Behind the stench of piss and shit and blood, she smelled the salty sea. If she were lucky, she could slip past the Hellhole and into the sewers and follow the trickle of refuse towards the sea. The guard at the sewer gate was dead already. She could steal one of the villager’s boats and be back on the open sea. The Duke would not come for her. Not right away. Not while he had the boy. Not while he had the rest of the Fallen in his fortress. Not while Hanu had agreed to assassinate the God-Emperor.

  But then she thought about Wayan, and the others, all her former companions imprisoned in the Hellhole. Her breath shuddered at the memory of the oil being poured over Gima. Of the flames. The stench. The screams, and worse than all that the perverse pleasure of Khirtan.

  The cool wind touched her face. She could go. She could be free of this nightmare.

  She clenched her teeth. She would not leave them to that monster.

  Maja slid closer to the doorway to the Hellhole. She paused, listening for the clanging metal tools of Khirtan. But all she heard was her own ragged, hurried breath. She squeezed the hilt of the sword. A few more steps and then she would not be able to turn back. She stared at the steps leading towards the sewers and freedom. She shook her head. She could not leave her friends.

  She held at the edge of the door, gathering her breath and courage, when she heard the clanging of metal, not from the Hellhole but from the stairs above. She heard footsteps, measured, methodical, someone descending. The sound of the metal grew louder. It had to be Khirtan.

  Her heart raced. She stole one last glance over her shoulder. A shadowy figure emerged in the fungal-lit stair well, a long swaggering figure. Maja darted into the Hellhole.

  Khirtan was not there.

  Wayan, chained to the wall, looked up, eyes blinking in the gloom. “Maja! Free me.”

  She ran across the room to where he hung. “A key. I need a key.”

  “You don’t have a key? You didn’t kill Khirtan?”

  A whisper filled the Hellhole. “I have the key.”

  Maja whirled. Khirtan loomed in the doorway of the Hellhole, his dark cloak swaying.

  He held a bundle of rags in his arms.

  He clicked his tongue as he walked forward. “I’ve been thinking of you ever since I saw you in the village. Really I’ve never stopped thinking of you since you danced and moaned beneath my fingers. How I’ve longed to touch your soft white skin again. To get deep inside of you again.”

  “You fucking pervert!” shouted Wayan. “Unchain me! Let me face you, man to man.”

  The other Fallen howled cursed and rattled their chains, but their bonds were tight and they could do nothing to help Maja, only hurl curses.

  Khirtan crossed the floor. Maja circled away, keeping his murderous table between her and him. She grabbed one of his sharp pieces of metal from the wall, a jagged giant cleaver, almost too heavy to carry, but she hoisted it on her shoulder, ready to swing. She mirrored his steps, her stolen sword in one hand, the giant cleaver propped on her other shoulder.

  “We can dance as long as you’d like,” he said, shifting the bundle in his arms. “I could dance with you forever, my sweet flower. But you left the steps a bloody mess and others will find the bodies. Our time together will be short. A brief slow dance indeed.”

  Khirtan bolted forward. Maja jumped backwards and bumped into Wayan, his soft hands touching her bare shoulder. He whispered something. She did not realize how close she was to the wall, to being cornered.

  Khirtan lay the bundle on the table. The pile of rags dripped. But not with blood.

  “Brought something for you,” he said. He twirled one of the bone fragments in his cheeks and then retreated.

  “Whatever it is, I’m not interested,” said Maja.

  “I think you’re going to be very interested. Something special I’ve saved because deep down in my heart I knew that you’d come back.” He chuckled, continuing to back away, his hands waving towards the bundle among the charred remains on the table. “Go on. Take a look. It won’t bite. I promise.”

  Maja, holding the sword level, advanced.

  Wayan rattled his chains, struggling to escape. “Maja, forget it. Kill him and free us.”

  Khirtan’s teeth shone in the gloom. “One little peek and then we can
finish what we started so long ago.”

  She stared at the bundle on the table. It was the size of a head. She wondered if her plan to save Sri would end here. After all the suffering and struggle. But she saw no seep of blood. No coppery tang filling her nostrils.

  Wayan shouted at her to kill Khirtan.

  But she needed to know. She stepped towards the bundle. A sour odor assaulted her senses. Her stomach twisted and her knees weakened. She fought the urge to vomit. The rags wrapping the bundle hung gray and greasy, the loose ends tattered.

  Despite the screams of protest from the Fallen, she set the giant cleaver on the table, ready to seize it again if needed.

  Khirtan held a nervous smile that threatened to erode as she neared the bundle.

  “For you,” he said.

  With her free hand, Maja grasped the rags and began to peel them away. The inner rags were wet, soaked, and as she pulled back the layers, a sour stench, like that of a pickling juice, struck her.

  “Yes, yes, just open it.”

  “Maja!” Wayan yelled. “No, don’t. Forget it. Free us.”

  But it was too late. She peeled back the final layer and the small being in the rags was revealed to her. On the table before her lay a small wizened figure curled up in a ball, its skin gray from the preserving liquid. Her hands hovered above its bald head, its thumb tucked into its mouth, its eyes closed, never having opened.

  A sharp pain burned across Maja’s belly, along the lines where years before Khirtan had sliced with his blade, where the monster had cut her open, reached inside, and pulled her baby out.

  Maja reached out for her child but her vision dappled and her knees folded. She fell. Her arms smacked the table and the sword clattered across the floor. She collapsed to her hands and knees. Bui shouted obscenities. Wayan, encouragement. She crawled towards the sword.

  Her baby! The room constricted. Her breath roared. Her palms slid across the stained stone. The blade reflected the light of the room. It had not skittered far. She pushed forward. Her lips trembled. Her child!