by K. A Knight
He collapses on to my body, and we both lay panting on the floor, him still inside of me.
“I love you,” he says softly into my shoulder. My heart stutters then bursts with love as I smile against the floor.
“I love you too,” I say just as softly. I turn my head and kiss him gently. His eyes are vulnerable once again, the side of him only I get to see. They fill up with love as I watch and he traces his eyes across my face.
“Whatever happens next, I will always be behind you, as will my brothers. We will fight your demons with you, angel.”
I close my eyes as a soft, sad smile twists my lips. How does he always know what is happening in my head?
“Together,” I breathe out, meaning it. I open my eyes as he nods and lays his forehead on mine.
“Together.”
I blow out a breath, déja vu hitting me as I face the white door to the cells. This time Jax has my back, although only from the viewing room. But it strengthens me and I slide my mask into place, the one I have used for most of my life. I step up to the door and it slides open, revealing the Berserker who is pacing his cell like a caged animal.
He snarls at me before he comes to a standstill in the middle of the room.
“You.” His voice is rough. It sounds like it has been burnt out at one point, which with Ivar’s men, could be true. Yet I sense no hate or malice, more like simple curiosity and maybe relief? The thought has me frowning as I watch him.
“You do not remember me?” he asks, his voice thick with a harsh accent. He doesn’t step closer, instead his hand forms a symbol I know well. I watch as he taps three fingers over his heart, a sign of respect, of friendship––of Noah.
I flick my eyes back to him as he nods. “So it is you, little queen.”
Now that I know he isn’t going to attack me, I focus on him fully. His hair is short––obviously hacked away, his honour braid lost––and that makes me curious. A dishonoured Berserker with the general? He has the markings of the clan, but also some I don’t know. His leather pants stick to his powerful thighs and his body is big. Not fat, just big, the type that will never have definition but is a pure powerhouse. He’s tall as well, taller than even Maxen or Thorn. The wrinkles around his aging face betray the years, as does the grey starting at his temples. His beard is a mix of brown and grey, and is long and untrimmed. Overall, he looks rough and hardened, like a true Berserker.
“Who are you?” I demand, my stance not loosening. It only makes him grin.
“Spoken like a true queen. I am Vasilisy. Noah’s uncle.”
A Berserker’s Word
“Noah’s dead,” I say coolly, watching as his eyes turn sad in memory.
“Aye, I do not blame you. He was not made for this world.”
I start at his words, his words so like my own thinking that I don’t know how to respond.
“But he did love you,” he carries on.
It’s like a hammer to my heart and I find myself looking over his shoulder so he doesn’t see the emotion in my eyes.
“Why were you with Dreven?” I demand, quickly changing the subject.
“It wa’ the best way to find you. Me and Noah’s da split up, him searching the other side of The Ring and me this side. Dreven found me and a few other loyal men, and decimated them all. He tied them to posts, cut off their cocks and burnt them alive with it in their mouths.” He spits on the floor in disgust at the memory, I wish I could say it would be the worst thing I have ever heard, but that would be a lie.
“Why didn’t he kill you?” I cock my head, watching his movements carefully. Body language will tell me more than his words ever will.
“He wanted me alive. A present for our fucking king.” He sneers the word king and I find myself smiling.
“Did he dishonour you?” I ask, nodding at his hair. His hand comes up self-consciously before dropping again.
“Aye. Fucking animal,” he snarls.
“Well you found me, sort of, so why did you attack my men?” I bring my arms in close at the chill in the room and his eyes automatically drop to the movement, a fighter’s habit.
“I didn’t, I was tied to a bike when the pale ones found us.” His voice is rough, and reminds me of the harsh life I lived before.
“Pale ones?” I arch my eyebrow and start to feel silly for my fighting stance, I relax and lean against the wall instead.
“Aye, they lie down here like rats. No sun, so pale ones.” I bite my lip to hide my smile at the description.
“What do you want with me?” I finally ask.
“The same thing you want. To kill Ivar. Our people were once great, we were about brotherhood and family. Warriors fighting to protect, not to kill. He twisted that when his mind warped, and we were helpless to stop it. You, little queen, were the catalyst. If a slave girl at sixteen can win her freedom and fight his tyranny, so can we.” He makes my life sound like a fucking musical, not the horror show it was.
“So you and his ‘da’, two people, are trying to bring down his whole clan?” I scoff.
“No. There are more of us, loyal brothers. Warriors who see the wrong, who hate the torture. Some you saved, some you befriended even when you didn’t know.” His eyes beg me to believe him.
“What the fuck are you talking about. I had no friends there,” I snarl.
“No? What about Tren, who snuck you food? Or Cole, who accepted watch with you every time so that you wouldn’t have to fight off your partner. Or the men who refused to take part in your torture, refused to fight you. They may not have stopped it, but they weren’t accepting it either. All it took was one look in them deep soulful eyes of yours, girl, and they were lost. They say, stare too long you will see your soul, your destiny, and your death.” His voice is harsh, like he is unused to staying that much but it holds steady enough. I don’t say anything and he spreads his hands wide in a pleading gesture.
“You don’t have to trust me, little queen, but work with me. Help me kill Ivar.”
I leave the cell confused and thoughtful. I didn’t agree to anything, but I didn’t reject his idea either. It would be good to have a Berserker loyal, to inform me of changes, but it’s a big risk, he could turn around and betray us. That symbol however, the one when I first walked in, it was a secret, one me and Noah made. I know he taught his father, who I would trust if he was here. So, for him to teach Vasilisy…
“What are you going to do?” Jax asks as he steps into the hallway. I rub my head where yet again another headache is forming.
“I don’t know yet. I need to speak to my father though, to plan for us leaving tomorrow. Why don’t you go check on the others and make sure they are packed and ready to leave at first light?” It’s easy to lose track of time down here, but from the sky, I would say it is night. I’m getting comfortable, and I can’t afford to. That means it’s time to leave.
“Okay, angel.” He kisses me quickly, offering me a smug smile when I try to chase his lips, and then leaves me alone with my thoughts.
I walk slowly to my father’s office, trying to sort through everything and give myself time to breathe as well. By the time I reach the door, I feel more organised and a rough plan is forming in my head. I knock and wait for the door to open. When it does, I step inside to find the fire roaring and flickering around the darkened room, with my father hunched over his desk, pouring over papers.
“I need my weapons back,” I blurt out. He lifts his head and blinks at me.
“Okay?” He seems confused and I don’t blame him. Biting my lip, I make my way over to the chairs near the fire, sinking into the one with the view of the door, because old habits die hard. My eyes are automatically drawn to the fire, watching as it twists and dances in the hearth.
“Tazanna?” His voice brings me back to see him watching me from the other chair. Sands below.
“What did you say?” I ask gruffly, keeping my eyes on him and not the flames. He looks from it to me with a question in his eyes that I don’t bothe
r answering.
“I heard you are leaving in the morning.” He holds his hand up to still whatever I was going to say. “I am not asking you to stay. But I would ask you take a few of my people with you. If this Summit is really a meeting of leaders, we need representation.”
I groan. Sands below, he is too smart sometimes. Obviously wording it in a way I can’t deny, even though I know he is sending them to watch me.
“Fine, but I am taking the Berserker in the cell with us. I want weapons and food as well. Oh, and if your men get in my way, if they betray me, or fall behind, I will leave them for dead. Understand?” I keep my eyes cold, and my voice emotionless. He searches my eyes obviously trying to figure out if I am being honest.
“Understood.” He sighs. “Tazanna, we have things to talk about. We need to work through this.” He throws his hand up and gestures between us.
“We don’t. Talking won’t fix anything. I trust in actions, not words. But for now I need to leave, to get back before another war breaks out.” I watch his face fall. “Maybe after…” I trail off unsure why I even offered that. His face breaks into a wide smile.
“After. Go, get some sleep. I will have everything prepared for your departure tomorrow morning.”
I nod and stand, leaving him there alone lost in his thoughts. Every step I take is filled with regret and pain. I just hope I am making the right choice.
I groan when I see who my father has picked to go with us. We are in a hanger on the edge of the property, filled with vehicles and a gas tanker. There, packing a bag into a jeep, is that fucking pretty boy doctor. Vasilisy is next to him, ripping into a piece of meat as he watches the men scurry around like ants. He seems amused as they give him a wide berth.
Maxen squeezes my shoulder as he walks past, the others on his heels to pack our stuff. As promised, my weapons were delivered to our room this morning, but I have yet to see my father. Maybe that’s a good thing. I’m not good at goodbyes.
“Tazanna.”
I wince and turn to see my father there, watching me as if my thoughts summoned him.
“Here, take this.” He holds out a bit of paper to me which I accept, but raise my eyebrow in question.
“It’s a map, so you can always find your way back to me.” His voice breaks on the last word, and I see the strain on his face at having to lose me again. The difference this time is I am walking away, I am choosing my own path, and I know it’s the right choice. I could stay here, with him and pretend I don’t know what’s going on out there. I could bury my head in the sand again, but I am done running. It’s time I faced my past, it’s time I made use of my skills and if it was the last thing I do, at least I will die trying. It’s strange that I don’t fear death as I feared living.
“Thank you,” I say uncomfortably, putting it in my pack. The others near him retreat to give us space to say goodbye.
“Dad–”
“Prince–”
We look at each other and share a small smile, more emotion in that then we could ever convey with words.
“I’m going to miss you. I know I don’t have to right to say that, but I will, you will always be my little girl, Tazzy. But I am so proud of you, for what you have become. You’re a lot like your mother and I know when she set her mind to it, she didn’t walk away or give up and I respect that. I just hope one day that path will bring you back to me.” Tears drip from his eyes as he grabs the back of my head gently and lays a soft kiss on my forehead.
“I love you, princess,” he whispers against my skin, before turning and striding back to his people. My heart clenches at the familiar words.
“Goodbye, Dad,” I whisper to his hunched, retreating back. When I can’t stand to watch him anymore, when the pain and guilt become too much, I turn and face my men. Who are waiting with smiles and open arms at the car. One look at them is all the reassurance I need.
My time here has been nice, a retreat, an escape from reality to let me heal both physically and mentally, but it’s time to return to the real world, my world filled with blood and death, the things I do best. If I learnt anything here, it’s that paradise doesn’t have to be a place, it can be people, and with my men at my back, I know what that means for the first time.
Trapped
The steel bunker door rolls up with a siren and a flashing orange light at each corner. The door, which is more like a building, stretches from floor to ceiling and is a mixture of steel and concrete. An old-world method to protect against radiation and nuclear bombs, and I guess they had the right idea––just the wrong way the world would end. The big black truck from pre-scorch days is a tight squeeze with all my men, but they refused to be separated, which I can’t say I am sad about. My father insisted on letting us take the vehicle, weapons, and food. I explained it would make us a bigger target, but when he argued the point that it would make it faster to get back to the Summit, I could hardly refuse. So, now I’m waiting for the sand to be revealed beyond the door to paradise.
I thought I would be sad to leave, but I guess once you live a certain way you get used to it. The glare of the sun hits us first, making me grin. Once I can see the open sand-covered stretch of land, something in my chest loosens, and I instantly become more primal. Dr. Perfect Face, my new name for him, insisted on driving and now he throws me a look through the rearview mirror as if seeing the glee in my eyes.
“You ready to head into the Wastes?” he asks everyone.
“More ready than you are,” I taunt.
His hands are tight on the wheel and his eyes tense, I’m betting he has never been out of the bunker. Does it make me a bad person to enjoy his discomfort?
Vasilisy smiles at me from the car next to us, filled with a few guards. We drive out, side by side heading to The Summit. I grab the shades out of my bag and kick my feet up on Dr. Perfect’s seat and tilt my head to watch the scenery go by. The sand blurs together as we drive until I find myself nodding off.
“Think she wull mak' it thro' this one?”
Through the slit in my ballooning eyes, I see the Berserker turn to look at me, it was a bad fight. Real bad, no better than the first time, except this time I managed to stay conscious long enough for Ivar to beat me. Now, his little minions are driving me back to the castle in their pikers. Modded out versions of old vehicles. This one being a bus. My broken body was carelessly tossed on to one of the only seats remaining; the rest of the bus was stripped and filled with weapons. The side was even cut out to install flamethrowers and pikes.
“Who knows, tough bitch though, I will give her that.” He says before turning back around.
“Aye. Wonder how many fights she will live thro’?” He flicks me another look, filled with pity before dragging his eyes back to the road and the waning light.
“Or how long until Ivar kills her.” His friend scoffs from beside him.
The flippant way they are discussing my death has me focusing on the landscape out of the window. The rough, ripped seat I am on pushes into my cheek as I curl up and face the big piece of glass. I watch the world pass by as they take me back to my cage.
I must fall asleep because the next thing I know my hair is pulled, used as a handle. I whimper as I am yanked up and thrown into the open area of the bus, the man who isn’t driving standing over me leering.
“Looks like we are camping for the night, slave. Why don’t you keep us entertained?”
My eyes fall from him to meet the driver’s. He quickly looks away, obviously unable to watch me be tortured. I make sure to keep my eyes on him the whole time, if I have to live through it. If he won’t do anything to stop it, then he damn well has to live with that choice and at least live through it with me.
I can feel someone’s hand in mine, squeezing and offering me comfort, and I know it must be Jax, I smile and go to close my eyes again when I spot something through the window. Frowning, I blink to clear the nightmare and sleep away.
I watch as a wall of wind and sand crawls towards us, cove
ring the land and broken buildings. Until the orange blots out the sky, Dr. Perfect Face keeps looking from the road to his side window as he tries to out drive it. Sand storms are common, there’s only one way to deal with them. Get the fuck out of their way and lay low.
“FUCK!” he yells.
A sand twister forms in front of us, reaching at least a hundred metres high and ten metres wide. We swerve and drive in the opposite direction as the sandstorm starts to catch up with us. I spot a building up ahead.
“We need to get off the road,” I say casually, using the knife to clean my nails. Dr. Perfect Face throws me a glare as he white knuckles the steering wheel. The front window is now completely covered, and we can’t see in front of us. We are driving blind.
“Pull over, we can wait it out in here. Or there was a building not too far.”
He finally listens to me and yanks the wheel and stops the car. The sand completely covers us, but I can just about spot the outline of the building in front of us. I pull up my neck scarves and hood before reaching between my legs and grabbing my bags. I shimmy forward in my seat and strap on my swords before facing the guys. The material covering my nose and mouth hides my smile, but I wink before slipping out of the car door. I hear swearing as they scramble to pack up and come after me, but I don’t bother waiting, I stride through the wind, my face to the floor and my hand outstretched until it meets the outside of the building. Running it along, I grin when I hit a door, it would seem luck is on our side. I shove it, but it doesn’t budge. Sands below.
Stepping back, I kick it and the steel groans before slamming inwards, announcing our presence to anyone inside. When nothing comes sprinting out of the darkness, I take shelter in the doorway and wait for the others. One by one, they trickle in until all that’s left is the Doc. When I don’t see him, I frown.
