The Truth About Alice

by Alta Hensley

  But when all is said and done, was it a victory? I thought. Women and children slaughtered as the fire fed upon their flesh. I had never witnessed it, of course. My father kept me training, saying I wasn’t ready. I was never ready in his eyes.

  After closing my eyes briefly, I painted a fake smile on my face and left my room to join the party.

  I took a pause when the strong scent of booze and sex wafted in my face. All those at the party were in the midst of imbibing rivers of red wine, dancing, and some were engaging in sex. Public displays of nudity were common at my father’s parties. Dark and eerie violin music played throughout the hollow corridor, adding a thick level of lust to the atmosphere. The erotic song of the violin almost seemed hypnotic. An empty seat, right next to my father, had been left for me. Beside my father’s chair sat Blaxton, his next in command. Not slowed by frost or ice, Blaxton was wholly terrifying.

  My father was a man of heft, with sunburned pink skin and a thick gray beard like that of aged sheep’s wool. It was only the two of us. My mother’s death, when it happened, was sudden.

  I remembered walking in and feeling her cold, dead fingers. When my father found me weeping at her side, he told me tears were not befitting of a Penna and I was never to cry again over someone’s death. He showed no sadness, no emotion, and absolutely no love. When my mother died, I noticed Blaxton’s face was cast with utter disgust. Blaxton eyed my father with rough glances. He didn’t even bother to conceal it. I knew my father had played a part in her death. Everything in my soul knew he was only surviving in a place of darkness and cold. My innocent mother was just another victim in his cruel rampage of power.

  I sat down next to my father and watched the grinding of bodies, the heavy drinking, and the laughter of the drunk—having started at dusk. As the hour grew late, their merry antics only grew sillier, almost as if they came down with a rising fever. Polished trays of silver lined a table from end to end. Smoked and spiced swine rested in the center of the table. Pastries made with blue-green algae were everywhere to display our great wealth.

  My father grabbed a fistful of dried blue-green algae used to season our food and crushed it between his fingers. He spoke, “Eat up, men! We need to keep our strength up. There are more Cyan to kill!”

  Overjoyed, a slump-shouldered soldier hollered with a swig of wine in his hand. “Under your leadership, we will kill every last one of them.”

  The grizzled looking Blaxton placed a gleaming knife on the side of his plate and raised his voice above the noise. “We celebrate a victory over innocent men, and for that we are proud? The last attack was on innocent villagers. They did not deserve to die.”

  My father slammed down his fist and glared at Blaxton with a flushed red face and wild eyes. He lurched slightly forward over the table. “You would be advised to keep your opinions to yourself.” I watched him bite a chunk out of the roasted meat.

  “What I mean—and so do many of my men— is that hacking down unarmed villagers who are already as good as dead from cold and starvation, is simply an easy target.”

  I knew Blaxton was no doubt loyal to the Penna, but I’d never seen him act so bold.

  My father’s jaw stiffened. “Their lives and their land became forfeit when they decided not to join the Penna. You are either with us, or against us.”

  Blaxton simply raised his glass with a haughty expression on his face. “If you say so, General.”

  My father seemed shocked, as if he could hardly believe what he’d heard. He looked to the other soldiers in attendance. “If I say so? If I say so, we will drink their boiled blood and dance on their bones. All non-Penna people will know their place.”

  I grabbed my father’s forearm—clenching it equally soft and hard— before trying to think of something to say. “Let’s enjoy the party. We won the last battle, and we should celebrate. Let’s not talk of death and killing right now.”

  Watching my father’s rigid posture relax made me feel relieved to drink. It was very warm inside the great hall, and the bray of drunken men and the madness had no end. Women continued to please the soldiers however they desired, late into the night.

  My father patted my hand with his blood-stained palm. Sweat glistened across his forehead. “What a fine daughter I’ve raised. You will breed strong boys.”

  “Why Father, I might want to at least finish my meal first,” I replied, forcing a smile.

  Very quickly, Blaxton’s silence came to an end. His voice was urgent. “There is another matter…” His voice boomed loudly throughout the room.

  Father looked away from me with a monstrous frustration building up inside. “What matter?” he asked.

  “Someone will betray you tonight.”

  The partiers in the great hall grew silent as the music was hushed. A chorus of panicked voices filled the room.

  A soldier screamed, “Don’t listen to him. Everyone in this room is loyal to the general.”

  My father slammed his balled, meaty fists on the table, asserting his ferocity, and roared at the top of his lungs. “Traitors, in my army? I’d never believe such a thing.” It was clear my father was highly intoxicated at this point and he just laughed. “You are a fool, Blaxton, or you have drunk too much.”

  “I speak the truth,” Blaxton said, with no worry on his face or in his voice whatsoever.

  My father laughed again, and in a mocking voice called out, “If there is a traitor in this room—show yourself. Show yourself!”

  “Your trust will get you killed,” Blaxton warned. “I know for a fact you will be betrayed tonight.”

  My father’s nostrils flared and his voice was hot. There would be nothing that could take us back to the moments before. Blaxton didn’t flinch even when my father looked directly into his black-ringed eyes. I did the same. It was almost like being hypnotized, no matter how much I wanted to tear away; I looked again and again.

  “By a Cyan? They don’t have the wit. My house is protected. What right have you to ruin our party with your wild and drunken imaginings? If anything goes wrong, you will be held accountable.”

  “The enemy is not planning to storm your walls,” Blaxton replied, lowering the glass he drank from. The wine wetting his mouth gave off the effect of blood-tinted lips. “The enemy is already here.”

  At once, my father gazed at everyone standing on the floor. Terror crept through the room and—by the looks on their faces—none of the party guests knew what might happen next. The revelry died to a whimper, and the players in the orchestra grew pale.

  My father looked out into the glittering event, his thoughts, no doubt, grotesque with the paranoia of a madman. The musicians started again at his behest. To and fro the guests danced, my father’s eyes scanning the densely packed floor with disgust.

  After a few moments, my father leaned over to one of his guards who stood by his side and whispered something into his ear. My father then took a large swallow of his wine and at a sudden wave of his hand, the guards seized the first guest with a violent carelessness.

  “Everyone in this party will have to meet with me and answer a few simple questions. I ask that you speak honestly. If an assassin is in this room, I will find him. If I suspect even the tiniest lie, you will be hanged from the gatehouse for all to see.” He took another large swig of his wine and gave an evil smile. “Now, until it is your turn to speak with me, pay no attention and dance and drink.”

  Wasting no time, the guards shuffled an unwitting guest to stand at my father’s feet.

  The first soldier, by the name of Denton Edwards, stood before my father. He had been a loyal fighter for years. He not only fought ruthlessly, but he had been to our house many times as a guest. “This is crazy, sir,” Edwards said, his voice echoing down the hall. “I have been nothing but a loyal and trustworthy soldier. Why are you questioning that?” He swallowed hard. “Would you like me to leave?”

  “Well, go on then,” my father said.

  I couldn’t believe my eyes, I look
ed around to the others watching with fear as they waited their turns. The orchestra still played without missing a note.

  “This is what they want. The Cyan want us at each other’s throats.”

  When the soldier was finished talking, my father replied, “That is not the answer I care to hear.”

  Edwards sighed. “General, please be reasonable.”

  “Hang him first thing in the morning,” my father commanded with zero emotion.

  At his guards’ shocked looks, my father nodded. His guards took the soldier through the entry doors and out to the cells to await hanging from the gatehouse at first light. My heart skipped, and what I saw did not feel quite real. I pulled on my father’s arm, praying he would heed my words. I offered him another glass of wine.

  “Drink, Father, please. What about the victory? We should be celebrating. Stop listening to Blaxton. He’s just a drunken idiot. No one standing before you plans to kill you. I assure you of this.”

  He only blinked and didn’t sip the wine. His fingers streaked down my face. “I will do what must be done, and I’ll hear no more of it.”

  Then the eldest son of a platoon leader was pushed forward in short order.

  “Have you lost your mind?” he asked, pulling away from the soldiers.

  “I don’t imagine I have…” my father replied with a wave.

  Just as quickly, he vanished to be hanged from the gatehouse along with the other soldier recently sentenced to death. Nevertheless, the music still rose off the limestone walls. In fear of reprisal, the guests who were dancing didn’t dare to stop. My father was clearly convinced that somehow, with the numbers now steadily dwindling, someone would eventually confess in order to stop this.

  He pointed to one of the women, who just shortly before had been riding the cock of a victorious archer. In my father’s eyes, she must have been the one seeking to betray him. His guards dragged her by the hair, begging for mercy.

  “I’ve done nothing wrong! Please,” she cried with tears in her eyes. She clasped her hands and trembled on her knees. “Spare me! Don’t be so cruel!”

  “I don’t know who to believe. Take her, like all of the rest.”

  And the woman, just as the others, was forced through the entry door to be imprisoned to await her death. Mewling howls whirled in the room as each guest was brought before my father and then summarily seized against their will. Trusted soldiers, commanders, high-ranking officials, women—all were sentenced to hang. The sounds began to soften as less guests leaped up to stand trial before the crazed general.

  If one simply stared at the flickering flames on the chandeliers, the dreamlike music, and the half-full glasses and plates on the table, it would appear as though a great bash had come to an end. No, instead my father had to prove a point no matter how many lives it took. Soon enough, the room only had five people left besides the orchestra who still barely played on. Two guards, Blaxton, me, and my father— the general of the Penna.

  Very quickly, my father honed in on Blaxton with narrowed eyes. Blaxton hadn’t said much since the witch hunt had begun. Not even a twinge of fear crossed his face. He’d led armies thousands of men strong, and facing a gruesome death was merely a fact of life. The man didn’t even bother to stand. Instead, he remained seated in his chair.

  “You are the one who did this. Your lies,” my father shouted. “Their blood will be on your hands.”

  Expressionless, Blaxton didn’t move. “You are nothing but a sick man. A heartless lunatic. I’d rather swing from a rope and be free of you once and for all.”

  My father craned his neck out further. “So you will…”

  My father’s words dropped like a hammer on my heart. From where I sat, the guards readied themselves to take Blaxton—their leader—to be hanged from the gatehouse. The orchestra stared into the empty room, afraid to say a word lest they’d be next.

  My father glanced at me before savoring a long sip from the glass I’d given him. He smiled at me with a promising, toothy grin. I watched him take another long drink of the wine and smiled back as my heart skipped a few beats.

  “You will make the most beautiful breeder, just like your mother.”

  “I want to be a fighter, not a breeder. I told you this,” I answered as I watched him drink the wine.

  Suddenly, I watched him stagger back in his chair, swiping something from under his nose. Blood dripped down his red face. My pulse rose as I leaned toward him underneath the gleaming candlelight. His mouth hung agape, and he could not find the words. His breath made flat sucking noises. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get air. He stared into my eyes, clutching at the sparkling silverware and knocking over the wine he’d just drunk.

  The wine…

  I smiled again. “Did the wine not settle well with you, Father? Or would you like some more poison… I mean… wine?” The evil laced in my voice surprised me.

  Realization of who the traitor truly was sank in as he struggled for his final breaths and fell to the floor.

  I kneeled, watching him like a cat does a rat. Helpless.

  “What would you like me to say, Father? You had it coming. Not only for what you just did—ordering the deaths of your own people—but I know the truth about how mother died. I did nothing but stand by your side during all of your pillaging and killing innocent Cyans, but you didn’t have to kill her,” I seethed through closed teeth. I slapped him so hard a red handprint marked his face. “And I told you that I refused to be a breeder and you didn’t listen. So I made a deal. I made a deal with your second in command. I kill you—the general—and I get to join the army. Seemed fitting for all you have done. You die, and I profit. Although I would have killed your ruthless ass for free.”

  He jerked wildly, and his grip softened until his rough hands flopped to his sides. A bitter astonishment spread over his face—he’d been murdered by his daughter. The gurgling sound in his throat made me cover my ears. He reached for me, panting, huffing and unable to cough. The tyrant looked so helpless—like a child who had fallen from a crib. I looked him in the eyes and inhaled a sweet breath of air. It would only be a few more minutes now. The poison seeped through his blood and deep into his bones.

  I poured myself a glass of wine, free from poison, as he writhed on the floor and snorted through his nose for air. A tart taste—thick, rich, and acidic—flowed onto my tongue. “Release the prisoners,” I commanded as I made eye contact with Blaxton. “And congratulations, Blaxton. You are now the new general.”

  He simply nodded with a small smile. “Welcome to the Penna army, Alice. I know you will make a great fighter someday.”

  I finished my story and took a deep breath. I closed my eyes, not wanting to face the condemnation on Rabbit’s face. “Not long after, I became a mercenary for the Penna. I believed it was what I was meant to do.” I took a deep breath. “So you see, I am a murderer.”

  Rabbit reached out and grabbed both of my hands in his. He raised them to his lips and kissed the top of each one. For the first time during the whole story, he finally spoke. “Each one of us who fights in battle is a murderer.”

  I opened my eyes in shock, and rather than seeing judgment, I saw compassion, understanding, and love. Emotions I was not prepared to see, not yet sure if they were truth or illusion.

  “No… that is different. I… I am guilty of one of the most evil sins… I am guilty of an awful crime. I murdered my own father.”

  “We all have killed, my warrior. All for different reasons. Not one of us can judge the actions of men and women in this dark time. You did what you were brought up to do. You were taught not to love, not to show mercy. It was the way of the Penna, and I will never hold that against you.”

  “Do you think I’m an awful person?” I looked at the feathers on my wrist. “I’m a Penna. I’m ruthless, heartless, cruel.”

  “Maybe you were. And maybe you still hold those traits deep inside of you. But I’m happy for that. It is what makes you strong. It is w
hat makes me know you can go to battle and come out alive. I don’t want you to lose that part of you.”

  “But you said I should find submission and softness.”

  “To me. And you have. I love that part of you as well, my dark feather. I love everything and all that you are.”

  “I killed my father,” I whispered.

  “Yes, but was he really your father? Did he love you?”

  I shook my head. “No, I told you. Penna aren’t allowed to love.”

  “Then he was nothing more than an enemy in battle. He was simply your first kill of many.” Rabbit leaned in and kissed me gently on the lips. “But I hope to end the killing soon. I want to give you so much more. You deserve so much more.”

  “Will that day ever come?”

  He sighed. “Maybe not in our lifetime, but someday. It has to. Humanity has to step in sometime and take over.”

  12

  War, death, and more death. It had been going on relentlessly for three weeks now. We had bodies piled up and no time to bury them. I hurried up the windward side of the ridge and felt a striking chill billow against my aching back. In the distance, the sun began to set, beginning the formation of the dark-dusk sky. Instinctively, I raised my arm across my face to shield the white-hot glare from blinding my eyes. Somewhere out there, Rabbit swung his sword into the hearts of our enemy. I drew my hands into my chest, clutching my fingers tightly to try to ease my nerves, wanting desperately to be out in the thick of it.

  I wanted to draw my bow and fire off arrows into the men who reveled in the slaughter of innocent people. I didn’t expect miracles. In fact, I was prepared for the worst, but secretly I hoped each of Rabbit’s men would return in one piece.

  The pain deep in my leg was not anywhere as debilitating as standing alone, helpless and far away from the war front. Only a few remained at camp. Most were fighting this war. There I stood; my fingers trembling with anticipation, each passing second stretching like a lifetime, further filling my terrified soul with dread. A small voice within me whispered that he was definitely alive, that he would come as he’d promised. But it would only be drowned out by the far louder one in my head shouting at me to leave and find him myself. Yet the memory of my last spanking and submission to him played heavily in my decision to stay.