And like that, my doubts faded like mist in the sun. I obeyed immediately and offered my wrists to the woman freely. I didn’t realize what I was doing until the cold, heavy chains clanked on me once again.
“I swear on my life there’s more to this than it looks like,” I said, staring at the shackles and wondering why on earth I had done that.
“You’ve given us reason to believe you don’t value it that much,” said the Commissar. “Perhaps another concept?”
Okay. That was fair.
She laughed at her own joke when I didn’t. Shiraz, Judia, and Rainer were led past me, but only the latter spared me a glance.
“Fine,” I said, staring her dead in her face. “So I’m a criminal. I said I was good, not that I was lawful.”
“How unfortunate for you. The Empire doesn’t ask you to be good, only lawful and obedient,” replied the Commissar, unmoved.
I turned to Kismet for help, but she offered none.
“What the hell is going on? We saved those people,” I said. “It’s not like anyone else at Inquisition Headquarters helped Carrera, so why am I taking the fall?”
“Konja Mia, you know I love that you follow the spirit of Gaia’s laws, but we must follow the letter of the Empire’s,” said Kismet quietly. Her voice took on an air of authority and her eyes glazed over as she recited what I suspected was an ingrained axiom of the Inquisition. “Those who are given the responsibility of maintaining the law should be held to it more stringently, not less, than the people they enforce it on.”
Yvonne scoffed. “Liset, can you not go two days without getting arrested?”
Commissar Cecilia chuckled. “Don’t act like you don’t know what’s going on, Auditor.”
Corvus, Kismet, and I turned to face Yvonne as one and stared at her.
Cecilia laughed and covered her mouth with the back of her hand. “I mean, you wrote the orders. Not that you need me to tell you that, though. Excusatio non petita, accusatio manifesta, and all.”
“Bitch, you what?” I screamed.
Two Jailers grasped my arms and forced me to my knees to protect what was apparently a high-ranking undercover member of the Inquisition. A woman I had once called friend.
“Yvonne, I don’t care if I can’t use blades,” I said. “When I get this knife out of my back, I am going to cut you with it.”
“Soror, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll shut up,” whispered Kismet.
“Were you in on this, too?” I called back.
The Commissar took two solid steps away from me and tilted Kismet’s chin with the end of a dagger. “Inquisitor Errant Yilmaz, you are also under arrest for desertion of your post.”
Kismet lowered her head silently. She untied her scabbard from her belt, knelt, and offered the sword to the Commissar.
Cecilia took it and tossed it to Yvonne as if it were trash.
Yvonne frowned. “It’s not every day an Inquisitor willingly hands over her sword.”
Two Jailers took Kismet in chains. Two more approached Corvus.
Corvus had been silent this whole time, but finally spoke up in a metallic whisper. “Carrera being the High Commander was a very unpopular choice within the Inquisition, pushed through by the Senate at Robert Osmark's direction. This is a setup.”
Everyone else looked at them quizzically.
“I heard things,” they said, offering their hands to be bound.
I felt a needle prick in my arm from behind. I remembered the feeling. I remembered the flush in my skin as the Affka made its way into my system. Goddammit. I was sober for once. I had just gotten that poison out of my veins and found God.
Once again, the world faded to black as I landed in the dirt.
Vox Clamantis
I wasn’t sure how long I’d been out when I finally came to. If I thought going through a portal was bad enough on its own, let alone drunk, going through it on Affka must have been a hell of an experience if I was still feeling the residual effects now. I felt like I had been personally punched in the gut by God herself.
I was being dragged along a cold, stone floor, which I knew because they stole my shoes and my raiments. The Inquisition kept a blindfold on me as they carted me through dark winding halls, but through the thin linen I could occasionally spot a yellow sconce that cast more shadows than it illuminated. Sometimes, it felt like the shadows were whispering to me, and I didn’t want Affka in my body ever again.
A man followed us. Through the threadbare fabric I could make out he was an impressive figure, broad-shouldered with a swath of short black hair peppered with silver. He kept his jaw clenched and stared ahead as I wriggled against my captors. He must’ve been in charge here. His silver breastplate was decked with flecks of gold filigree over a padded blue gambeson. A gold cloak trailed down his back.
He refused to look at me initially, but he finally broke down and addressed me. In a smooth, rich voice, he introduced himself as Ser Berrick, Seneschal of Harrowick’s Inquisitor Chapter Hall. He was acting as Guardian of the Taken, the keeper of the prisoners. Given how many Inquisition agents died in the battle over Rowanheath, their forces were stretched thin and the staff needed to assume more duties.
The Jailers removed my blindfold to reveal a reinforced double door. Ser Berrick pulled out a key, which used arcane power to fuel runic locks that became visible to the naked eye only when the magic activated. Inside was a dim, depressing circular room with no windows or a bed. At the center was a beefy wrought iron chair they slammed me into hard. Heavy iron restraints clamped around my wrists and ankles, thighs and arms, then Ser Berrick himself crossed chains over my chest. In my drugged haze, I spotted more magical runes etched into the rough stonework walls.
“Where am I?” I finally managed to say through parched lips.
Ser Berrick kept his professional, impassive expression as he explained that a dead bind room blocked all outside signals. No messaging. No quest logs. No magic. If I died here, I would now respawn here, as it was my bindpoint. If I left the chair, the room itself was a trap, and all would be alerted.
My jaw dropped. At most, I could move my fingers, so I reached as far as I could for his hand. “Ser Berrick,” I whispered, “I’ve heard about you. You’re a good man. Don’t do this to me,” I pleaded.
The Seneschal covered my hand with his and frowned. He refused to look at me again.
“After hearing about you, a servant of the Divine Word, a follower of the Light, I didn’t want to be your enemy,” he said. He removed his hand from mine as if touching me disgusted him. “But your actions have decided that for me.”
I felt my eyes tear up and I shook my head. His expression softened and he offered me the barest of tight-lipped smiles. “The righteous have nothing to fear,” he said, but I was not reassured as he closed the door behind him and locked me in.
“It’s fine,” I called out after him, though I knew no one could hear me scream. “I’ll just sit in this exact spot doing nothing until someone turns the lights back on.”
This had been a fitting punishment for Cian. Not for me. Doped up on Affka or not, I knew this was unfair, and even drugged as I was, if this was all that went into a dead bind room then I wanted to know who was on the inside to release Cian from it back in Rowanheath.
I imagine they did, too.
The room was dark and cold as a grave. The stark reality of my situation started to set in through my haze. They could leave me here forever. No food, no water, just slowly dying, only to wake up and do it all over again. Left alone to rot with only thoughts of violence to keep me company. This wasn’t rehabilitation, it was punishment, and if they truly were holding me responsible for Carrera’s death, I didn’t want to imagine what the Empire had in store for Grim Jack. I wondered if the gods could hear me in such a hell. It was already established that Gaia would let me die.
<<<>>>
Debuff Added
Bound: Movement rate reduced by 100%; duration, indefinitely.
> <<<>>>
This wasn’t anything I hadn’t weathered before though. I had to keep it together for at least one minute before embracing madness. Sleep, pray, wake. If Cian got through this, then eventually I would too.
No. No, that wasn’t true. Cian gave in to despair and surrendered to Serth-Rog, seeing no other option. Still. I wasn’t like him. I wasn’t going to be like him.
Time was impossible to track in the dead bind room. I didn’t even have a small window to check if it was morning or night. Oblivion would stretch into eternity. What seemed like a short time later though, an Imperial identifying themselves as a Familiar came in to interview me, and what I understood from him was that he wanted to know everything I knew while I was still under the influence of Affka. His name was Ailenus, and he had warm brown skin and kind eyes. There were two sets of cell doors to my room: the first the runed set, the second a standard metal grating. I couldn’t tell from where, but someone, somewhere, was watching me to make sure their man was safe.
When he opened the metal grate with a creak, he reminded me of a soldier pulling someone out of rubble. He draped a warm blanket around my shoulders to stave off the chill and tilted a goblet of wine to my lips with a promise that more would come if I complied. He had bread on him as well. I could smell it.
“You’re safe, friend. Trust me,” said Ailenus, gently patting my hand. “Tell me what you’re hiding. Point out what darkness festers in you, and the light of truth will set you free.”
At his command, I did trust him, though I wasn’t sure why. My gut told me something was wrong, but it still felt so right. I didn’t know what was happening to me. Maybe it was the Affka. He seemed genuine, as much as I logically knew what psychological tricks he was pulling. Something about him reminded me of Commissar Cecilia in all the best ways and made me want to confide in him. He felt warm, and comforting, like an old friend. As angry as I was at the Empire, God, and life in general, I spoke to him as if he were.
“Aren’t I supposed to be on a couch for this and tell you about my mother?” I asked, eying him.
“You’re free to tell me about anything you need to get off your chest,” he said softly.
“How much time do you have?” I scoffed.
Ailenus sat on the cold stone floor in front of me and crossed his legs as he pulled out a quill and a notepad. “Start from the beginning. Tell me everything,” he commanded.
Without thinking, without wanting to, I complied. The invitation to talk freely was a relief, and once I started speaking, everything flowed out of me effortlessly. My mother had always warned me not to talk to the police unless I had a lawyer present, so I didn’t know where this came from. I explained it to myself that, no matter what I did, I was wrong and couldn’t win, so I might as well tell my full unmitigated truth while I had the chance. I explained that to him, too, to my surprise. He confirmed my file did describe me as “paranoid,” and I asked him what else it said.
I told him about Earth. About Gaia. About Jericho and the Novus Ordo Seclorum. About the Black Temple and Cian and the Darklings. I told him about Serth-Rog and the dagger that killed Hector, and the Orb of Antishade, and how my class was held hostage, and the lich in the Tanglewoods, and my dreams of a café. I told him about the siege of Rowanheath and the tunnels.
True to his word, Ailenus listened and recorded silently without judgment or complaint until I told him about being slammed into this chair and when he showed up and how I felt about him, too.
He set his quill in the inkpot and crossed his arms. “You really have a habit of cutting off your nose to spite your face, don’t you?”
“No, that was the Murk Elf. Keep up, Familiar.”
Ailenus rewarded me with more wine and a small crust of bread, then cut the tip of his quill and picked up his notepad once more. “Let’s try another question and look at it from another angle. Why did you keep this ‘hospital’ open back in your old world?”
This, too, I answered immediately. “If we were going to be destroyed by the asteroid, and there was nothing we could do to change that, then I figured death should find us living. It should find us at humanity’s best: taking care of each other. Working, praying, singing, telling stories. Not stealing toilet paper or hurting one another needlessly. The asteroid could kill our bodies, but that doesn’t mean it needed to kill our spirits or souls.”
That wasn’t the answer he wanted, and the warmth he exuded disappeared at once as he sighed at his notes. “You need to cooperate with me,” he said, dropping the quill with a clatter and lacing his fingers.
“I am,” I said. Even if I didn’t want to, I felt compelled to.
“I am trying to help you do the right thing. I believe that you did not mean to betray the Empire, and you want to make it right, but to do that, you need to confess the truth to me.”
I was stunned. “That’s everything I know, Familiar.”
Ailenus drew in a deep breath and shook his head. “We know that you’re a Darkling, Liset. You need to admit it to yourself sooner or later, for your own sake.”
“I am not!” I yelled at him, pulling at my chains.
Ailenus didn’t flinch. “So you keep telling me,” he muttered. “Listen, I am going to call in a Receiver, and I pray you won’t lie to her, too.”
“Is Kismet with a Receiver as well?” I asked. I had nothing else to do but worry for my friends.
Ailenus didn’t answer as he collected his things.
“Surely I’ve given you something useful. You can answer this for me,” I said.
Ailenus turned his back to me and opened the first set of cell doors. “Everyone needs to be held accountable for their actions. Inquisitors most of all,” he recited as he left.
True to his word, a Receiver came in some time after, once the Affka wore off and the withdrawal effects made me nauseated and my head spin. I didn’t get a good look at the woman beyond the fact she was an Accipiter, because she immediately blindfolded me. When she clamped her fingers around my arm and silently dug her nails into my flesh, I understood why he had waited so long. She extracted information physically. And everything already hurt from the withdrawals.
“Poor thing, you’re sweating,” said the Receiver as she removed the blanket from me.
Without the compulsion to speak, I didn’t. I kept my lips shut tight as a chill breeze froze the sweat on my skin.
The Receiver chuckled. “Rumor is you like singing?”
I had nothing more to offer except a pound of flesh. When I didn’t offer it, she took it by tightening her grip on my arm and sinking her nails deeper in.
“Let’s try this again,” she whispered, leaning close enough I could feel her breath on my neck.
I told her the same story about how Jericho rigged the system by setting the priests up to fail through poor guidance that emphasized the number of heals over efficiency to maximize the money he made off the Empire and its people, and how it risked the lives of the priests, and how it sent many to work gangs to pay off the impossible debt. I had nothing to lose, and I felt like crap in a gutter, so I yelled it at her. I was telling the truth, so why not make the pain stop? I explained that to her, too.
“And can you blame Cian’s Darklings for joining him?” I yelled. “After Jericho made us drink poison to prove our healing abilities—”
“Is that why you joined him?” she asked coolly, the pressure on my arm lightening.
“No,” I said. I regretted it. That question was more loaded than the guns I had pointed at me back in the raid on the hospital in New York. Immediately I felt her snatch my ear and I cried out.
“Don’t worry, sister,” said the Receiver, letting me go and petting my hair gently. “I won’t touch you. Physical torture is outlawed. The Empire is not barbaric.”
I didn’t feel reassured.
She chuckled. “The laws on magic, however, are open to interpretation.”
True to her word, the Receiver didn’t have to lay a finger on me to tortur
e me. She didn’t even leave a mark. But after what felt like hours, I still wasn’t giving her the answer she wanted.
“We can stop anytime you like, sister,” said the Receiver.
“So soon?” I joked, my skin prickling as the magic wore off. “I haven’t even said my safeword yet.”
“Please don’t make me call in the Inquisitor—”
“It’s teacup, by the way,” I interrupted.
“—He’s a busy man, and he will ruin your life.”
I had to laugh. Between the Death’s Curse, the Affka withdrawal, and being left alone in a dead bind room to be tortured at an Inquisition black site, I was almost curious about how it could be worse.
“If you can find anything in my life worth ruining, you are welcome to do so,” I said, making myself cackle to ignore how much everything hurt. “You can’t do any worse than I already have.”
“That may be the truest thing you’ve said to me,” replied the Receiver, lightly slapping my shoulder as if to say “well done.” She took me by the cheeks with cold hands. “But sister, if you don’t lay your guilt at my feet, I can’t help you pick it up,” she whispered.
“Sure, I got plenty to be guilty of,” I scoffed. “I’m a criminal by your standards, but I’m not a Darkling.”
She let me go. She wasn’t getting where she wanted with me. She must’ve lit up a cigarette because I heard a match strike and smelled a whiff of smoke. For a second, I was back in Rowanheath surrounded by screaming people and charred bodies reaching for the sky. I shivered and missed the blanket Ailenus gave me. How had Gaia answered their prayers? She sent me, the poor bastards. Same as she sent me for Rholle and Tyler in the lich’s crypt, and look what happened to them.
I braced for a burn on my skin, or some sort of fire at my feet, but none came.
“Maybe there is something worth salvaging in you,” said the Receiver, letting out a slow exhale of smoke. “The Familiar told me you were interested in your friends...”
Viridian Gate Online: Schism: A litRPG Adventure (The Heartfire Healer Series Book 2) Page 26
