Pulse: Book One of the Zoya Chronicles

by Kate Sander

  The excitement he felt was almost too much to endure.

  Armend turned to his right where an oak desk stoode fastened to the wall. The proprietor of the brothel, a dark, well dressed, greasy man named Mud stood behind the desk.

  “Ah Master Armend,” he said silkily with a Carabesh accent, running a hand through his greased back hair. His bright green, custom suit contrasted his dark skin, “I was beginning to worry. It has been so long since your visit.”

  “I am sorry, Mud, it has been very busy at the castle.”

  Mud nodded gravely, as if he understood the toils of work that would keep one from pleasure, but did not agree. “The usual for you, sir? I have recently returned from Carabesh, and have a girl in mind for you” he said.

  “Yes Mud, please. But a little older and more… excitable than the last one if you would. She was a bore,” Armend paused, and smiled while he watched the soldier and the blonde from the corner of his eye. “Oh! And before I forget, send a more experienced one out to the alley over. Sebastian is looking for some head.”

  Mud nodded and snapped his fingers twice. A girl, around twenty, rushed to his side. Her voluptuous breasts spilled over the top of her red corset, nipples poking through some sheer lace on top and a short skirt that just begged to be ripped off. Armend felt a twitch in his pants and calmed himself. This one was not for him, what he had in store greatly eclipsed a blowjob in an alley. Mud whispered into the girl’s ear. She nodded and made a hasty exit out the front door.

  Mud brought out and opened a leather bound ledger from under the desk. “Sir, I am regretted to inform you that if you free the girl again, I will have to charge double. I have not had my money’s worth from her yet and she cost me 400 Kritz.”

  “Really, Mud. You keep raising the price on me. I will have to start going elsewhere.”

  “Master Armend,” he said, his voice harsher than usual, “You know as well as I that what you do in this house would not be allowed anywhere else.”

  Armend looked at him blankly and cocked his head. Mud shifted back slightly under Armend’s hard stare.

  I could have you killed. I would laugh at you as you died, you snivelling, little…

  “You are right Mud, of course, of course,” Armend said, breaking his gaze and forcing a smile. “I will pay you 400 Kritz now, and if I free her, another 400 Kritz as I leave. And 20 Kritz, which is mighty generous, for the ugly one you just sent out to the alley.” Armend took the 420 in Kritz notes out of his robes and placed them on the table. “Now,” he said with a big, white smile, “I want to begin immediately.”

  Mud nodded. “Of course, sir. Your chamber is ready.” He snapped his finger once and another girl ran to his side from a room through a door behind the desk. “Send Beth down to room fourteen.” The girl nodded and, with a frightened look at Armend, retreated through the doors. “Now, sir, I will escort you to your pleasure room for the evening.”

  They didn’t go up the lush carpeted stairs. Instead, they retreated through the back door by the fireplace. Inside was a stone staircase going down to the basement. It was dark, with Pulse lights lining the staircase providing an eerie, blue glow. “You’ll be pleased to know,” Mud said, taking the lead down the stairs, “We have increased our soundproofing ten-fold. No one, not even me, will be able to hear what goes on down here.”

  They reached the bottom of the stairs where a single, metal door was located. Mud opened the door and said, “After you sir.”

  Armend walked into his dreams. There was no carpet in this room. The walls and floors were stone. In the middle of the room was a giant bed. It had a soft, red duvet and a mountain of pillows. To the right was an oak cabinet against the back wall. Armend knew that inside was all the tools he could possibly imagine, with something new that Mud always managed to sneak in. Armend usually preferred his hands, but it’s the thought that counts. The side walls were lined with various hooks, ropes, and lassos of different heights. To the left of the bed was a black door. The one that Beth had entered to wait for him.

  Armend’s breath stopped in his chest. She was so beautiful. He barely heard Mud close the door behind him. His dreams. His life. Standing before him, eyes downcast. Dark coffee skin, long black hair.

  What had he done in this life to get this lucky?

  The girl raised her head. Armend did another double take.

  Perfect. She was just so perfect.

  Fourteen at the most, dressed in a blue corset that came up to her ribcage, small tits poking out of the top.

  He walked towards her and caressed her cheek. She pulled away slightly and said, “I have come to please you, my Master.”

  Armend smiled a venomous, crazy smile.

  Her eyes widened.

  A familiar throbbing between his legs when he saw the pure fear in those eyes.

  “I don’t want pleasure, you silly, silly bitch,” he whispered aggressively, “I want to make you scream.”

  He rammed his fist into her face. With no time to react, to even register that the blow was coming, the girl took the punch to the face and fell into a heap on the ground.

  Armend relished the feeling of his giant fist slamming into bone and cartilage. Head back in ecstasy, he stretched and sighed. He was sure he had broken her eye socket.

  The girl stayed in a heap. One punch and she was unconscious. What a weak species.

  Disgusted, he picked her up and tossed her dazed form on the bed. She groaned slightly.

  Armend disrobed and walked naked to the oak closet. He had been thinking about this since the torture of that prisoner a couple weeks ago. A long piece of brown leather caught his eye.

  “Perfect.”

  Excitement. That’s all he felt. Pure delight.

  He walked back to the bed breathing deeply, pulse racing. She was coming around again, and on his approach, scrambled away to the other side of the bed.

  “Good,” he muttered as she scrambled. “You can try to run.”

  A quick scoot across the bed and he grabbed her from behind by the hair and pulled her back towards him. She gasped as he deftly mounted her and flipped her to face him. He needed to see her eyes.

  She clawed at his hands as they wrapped around her throat. A meek squeak was the only sound she could make. He held her by the throat with his left hand and cuffed her repeatedly with his right, dazing her again.

  He ripped the skirt off, and smiled with pleasure as he rammed himself into her.

  That brought her around again. Eyes bulging, she gasped in pain. She looked around desperately, clawing at the covers, knocking the pillows to the ground.

  “No one is coming to help you,” he said in her ear with a venomous whisper, “and I will make you scream.”

  He had to pay the 400 extra Kritz. She had not survived, in the end. But to her credit, she had lasted hours.

  The sun was rising as he walked outside, the beautiful morning welcoming him. Sebastian materialized silently beside him.

  He smiled as the sun peaked over the buildings.

  Life was perfect.

  He had made her scream.

  8

  Senka

  Two weeks gone since the last torture. Luckily, her face had healed without an infection setting in. A massive one-inch wide scar from her hairline to her jaw was her reward. The pain gone, Senka decided she could live with the scar (as if she had a choice).

  She had to forgive herself. It was the only way to move forward. A small amount of guilt that had been knotted in her chest for years lifted. All she could do was learn from her actions. Those little cubs were never coming back. So, never again. Never take advantage of the weak.

  Even after reliving it, over and over, Senka couldn’t figure out why she’d done it. A dark place resided in her. The only way to control it… was to accept it. If she hid from it, then the cubs weren’t going to be the only thing she killed in cold blood.

  One more. That’s it. Then you can rest.

  One more memory to revisit to
move forward. And this one scared her more than anything.

  Stalling, she fought her shadow, then did her morning workout. The daily meal had come and she really had no more distractions.

  Suck it up. Get it done.

  There was nothing for it. Kneeling in the center of her cell, she breathed deeply, slowing her pulse. Preparing for what was ahead.

  Get it done.

  With a final sigh, she sank into the memory.

  The hunt was taking too long. The days were getting warmer but she needed meat. Her body craved it. Keeping a low profile and staying up wind, she’d tracked the deer through the forest. It was getting late and she had to make the kill soon, or else she wouldn’t be able to return to the cave before nightfall.

  And she never stayed in the forest after dark.

  Two months in the forest alone had made her lean and strong. But she wouldn’t face the monsters in the forest alone. Not after dark.

  She bent to examine a print, dropping her guard for a second.

  “Why hello there.”

  Jumping and spinning, rudimentary stone knife at the ready, she turned. Standing ten feet behind her was an old weathered man. Eyes twinkling, he leaned heavily on his cane and gave her a smile. Narrowing her eyes, his aura came into focus. Gold. She’d never seen an aura like it. No shimmer or waver, it was solid and sat an inch from his body. The man glowed gold.

  He stared at her. As well he should. A young woman, in the middle of a forest alone, dirty with mud, hair a tangled mess and dressed in deer hide clothing. Yet, she held a sharp rock in front of her (it couldn’t even be called a knife) and held herself at the ready.

  “You’re a Zoya.”

  The language wasn’t foreign. She could understand what her said. But the word Zoya didn’t process.

  Cocking her head, she stared at him.

  “You’re a Zoya. An outsider. You woke up on that hill?”

  She nodded slowly, eyes never leaving his face.

  “Most of you die out here. How long have you been out here?”

  When she didn’t answer him, he laughed and said, “Not a talker! Well that’s all right, I can do all of the talking. Now, would you like to come back to my house and have a cup of tea?”

  Eyes darting around, she never gave him an answer.

  “I understand if you want to run. I have a feeling you run from a lot of problems?”

  No answer.

  “Yes, yes you do. Well, if you don’t want to trust me that’s fine, but it will be dark soon. You won’t have enough time to run back to your cave before nightfall.”

  Glancing around in a panic, she saw the sun setting over the trees. Her head swam. This old man had changed her routine. She never lost track of time. Nerves shattered, she backed away from the man.

  Home. To her cave. She needed to get home.

  “My house is about half the distance that way,” he continued, pointing in the opposite direction of her cave. “You can come and join me, stay the night, and head back to your cave tomorrow morning. I’ll even set you on the deer trail before you go.”

  She glanced around nervously, “I don’t…” voice no louder than a whisper, the first words she had spoken since she woke on the hill, “I don’t trust you. I don’t want to get hurt.”

  Eyes twinkling, he said, “That’s very smart not to trust me. But trust your senses. As a Zoya, I expect you can do or see things I cannot.”

  “I see light around creatures. It changes and waves but stays the same color. But yours is gold and doesn’t shimmer,” her voice was hoarse from lack of use. Why was she telling him this? Once she started talking, she couldn’t stop. A realization hit. She’d been desperately lonely, and this old man with the white beard and gold aura was an escape from being alone.

  “We can talk about that. I may be able to help you. I can’t see these auras but I know they exist. I can help you use them to your benefit if you’d like.”

  When she didn’t run away, he continued. “I tell you what. Just come for tea and some company. I’ve been alone for a long time and would like to hear some conversation. If you’re ever uncomfortable, you can leave. I don’t own you. I just want to visit.”

  Tea and company. Call her stupid, but those two things sounded pretty good right about now. This guy was old. If he wanted to hurt her, she could just run away. She nodded slowly and the old man smiled. He pushed past her on the trail and quickly walked away. Surprised at how fast and quietly he moved, she ran to catch up. His feet and cane made no sound as he walked.

  Must be how he snuck up on me.

  “Well keep up,” he said glancing back. She hurried to keep pace.

  They walked until the sun was well below the trees. Glancing around fearfully, she kept her eyes peeled. Monsters came out in the forest at night. She’d heard them in the trees as she huddled in her cave for warmth at night.

  This area of the forest was new, foreign. Hungry, cold, and scared, she was trusting this old guy less and less. Maybe he wanted to hurt her. Maybe it was all a trap.

  Home. A family. She didn’t know what it was, but she longed for it. That internal instinct kept her following the man long after logic said to abandon him.

  But it had been too long. It was time to turn and run, take her chance in the forest… While I still have a chance to take.

  They crested a small hill in the forest. Before her, in a small clearing, was a quaint wooden cottage. Built from giant fir logs, it had smoke pumping merrily from the chimney. A drying shack was built outside for meat and hide.

  Shoulder’s back, he said proudly, “Welcome to my home.”

  Senka drew herself out of meditation and rose from her knees, shaking out her legs. She took a sip of water and loosened up. Master Apollyon had taken her in, giving her a home. For a year and half it had been just the two of them.

  Reflecting, she paced her cell. Soft. That’s what she’d been when he’d found her. Soft in body, weak in soul. Master Apollyon had fixed her. Slowly but surely, he’d built her up. Running then lifting logs until she puked, only to collapse exhausted and have Apollyon tell her to do it again. She was taught fighting and would do patterns over and over until her feet bled. They sparred hard, never pulling punches. Master Apollyon may have been three times her age, but he beat her every time. She punched a bucket of sand to harden her knuckles and spent hours in stances with knees bent and legs shaking.

  Resilience. Toughness. Discipline.

  Master Apollyon had taught her it all.

  The training was grueling, but Senka had relished every minute. Any time she wanted, she could have left. But she never had. It had never crossed her mind.

  Apollyon had given her the name Senka, meaning shadow. He’d taught her how to use an array of weapons. Her favourites, a bow and arrow and duel wielding tantos (a short, straight sword much like a katana).

  She’d liked them so much, she’d worn them crossing on her lower back.

  Apollyon had taught her how to use her speed and agility as her greatest weapon. She could dive, draw, slice and retreat before the enemy even knew they were under attack.

  One day, a few months into her training, they had their first conversation about the Zoya.

  “Zoya,” her Master said, allowing her to pour the tea, “Are outsiders. We don’t know where you come from, but the beginning is always the same. You wake up on that hill with no memory. The Zoya have been appearing in Langundo for over a hundred years, since the dark ages.”

  Senka finished pouring the tea and said, “Why isn’t there anyone to meet us? Why do you just let us fend for ourselves in the forest?”

  The Master sipped his tea, taking his time to answer. “It started with fear. Zoya come in a blinding flash of light. Always lying on their back naked on that same hill. Suddenly, with no warning and without reason, poof, a person appears. It scares people. From fear comes hate and distrust. The Melanthios say that the hill is cursed and anyone who goes near will die a painful death at the hands of t
he Zoya. So, Zoya are left to fend for themselves. They often die before they meet anyone, so no one knows how many are here.”

  “Well obviously you don’t believe we’re dangerous, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

  “True,” he nodded, “But Zoya have an nasty habit of dying suddenly. It’s like someone snuffs a fire out somewhere else, and here a Zoya drops dead. I have taken in many Zoya before you, and most would be dead already. Honestly, it’s tiring. I have had many friends whom I loved drop dead at this table.”

  Senka looked around uncomfortably, “Is that why you left me alone for two months in the woods?”

  “No,” he said, looking at her over his wooden cup “I left you alone because I saw what you did to those mountain lions.”

  Senka dropped her cup, sending it crashing to the floor. Tea flowed out of the overturned glass onto the polished wood.

  “I was scared,” she stammered.

  “No you weren’t.”

  “They were going to hurt me.”

  “If you can’t stop lying, I will ask you to leave my home and never return.”

  His steady gaze was too much for her. She looked down, red faced and ashamed, and mumbled something incoherent.

  “Senka, we have talked about this. You are a strong woman and you look people in the eye when they are talking to you.”

  “I was angry, all right?” Tears stained her cheeks and her hands shook on the table.

  “Why were you angry?” he set his cup down gently, and stood to grab a rag to clean the puddle of tea on the floor.

  “I don’t know. I really don’t. I was nothing then I was here, with no memory. I was angry at the world, at the forest, at the waterfall. I took it out on the lion. I almost starved after I did it. I was so ashamed I couldn’t hunt, I couldn’t sleep. I just… I don’t know. I needed meat. I was going to die… So I decided to use the whole animal and kill it fast.”