She glanced around wildly, hoping no one noticed. She couldn't imagine the shame she'd feel if one of these wealthy families thought of her as a hussy. A small, timid smile crept over her lips as her and Riffolk stared into each others eyes. She couldn't tell him off here, it would only draw attention to what had happened. And besides, truth be told, having his hand on her had been thrilling.
The night went on, and Mara drank several glasses of wine. Riffolk spoke with every guest, gracious and charming and handsome. Mara watched him, thanking each guest who congratulated her and making polite conversation here and there. As the reception started drawing to a close, Mara suddenly realised what would happen when Riffolk took her back to his mansion as his wife. Although she'd wanted it since they met, the knowledge that it was happening tonight was somehow terrifying. She really would be a woman now.
Riffolk
There was a spy in Ermoor. He was almost certain. Someone was trying to find out about his project. The signs were subtle, almost imperceptible, but definitely there; notebooks in the document storage room were slightly out of place, tiny muffled sounds occasionally came from unoccupied rooms. The only thing Riffolk didn't know was how the person moved from place to place. He knew the project itself was safe from prying eyes; the security system protecting it was one of his latest inventions.
Still, there was always a way. He stood in his secret lab, looking over the blueprints of the building. He kept all the blueprints he'd ever drawn, including early drafts and scrapped projects, even mundane plans like the building itself. One never knew when the specifics of a design would need to be revisited. His blueprints were incredibly detailed, leaving nothing out. He scanned the building slowly, his eyes settling on every individual line and measurement before moving on to the next.
He shook his head, angry with himself. So many weaknesses! The building was easily accessible by a skilled spy. When he first designed it, he'd been too excited by the layout of the interior and the equipment that would fill it to consider protecting from espionage. No one in Ermoor would dare risk the punishment that would come with trespassing on an Overseer's property; and he'd never considered that a spy might be able to sneak into Ermoor from Tarsium or Shanaken.
He took out a fresh piece of graph paper, a pencil and a straight-ruler; it was time for some upgrades to the lab's security.
Riffolk was a careful man; he always had been. His lapse with the security of the lab was a very rare mistake in an otherwise spotless career. Security upgrades would need to be done subtly. He needed to trap the spy, and to do that they couldn't be made aware that he was trying to catch them in the first place. He left an entry in his journal saying the lab's equipment needed an upgrade; he knew the spy would read it before long, and he wanted any activity to appear to be part of a standard upgrade. In his private lab, he started building small traps which could reveal, restrain, and even kill an intruder incredibly quickly, without Riffolk needing to be present.
To make sure the traps worked as intended, Riffolk ordered one of his assistants into a small storeroom containing spare vials and containers. The room had no air duct vent and no sensitive information, meaning that even if the spy had managed to sneak into it, they would have dismissed it as unimportant immediately. Riffolk had cleared a space at one of the walls and set his trap against it, with the trigger pointing to the centre of the room. He'd set the range at two metres, almost the entire length of the storeroom.
After he told the assistant to fetch him some vials, he waited a few minutes before following. He stood outside the door for a moment, savouring the sounds of the assistant struggling against his bonds. Perfect, he thought. He entered the storeroom, smiling in satisfaction at the trapped figure before him. The assistant couldn't move a muscle. Riffolk looked at the remote he'd designed, lightly fingering each button in order from top to bottom:
Trap
Hurt
Kill
Release
The first button clearly worked. The last one was essentially in case a trap misfired and caught someone it shouldn't have; Riffolk didn't anticipate using it often. He tried the second button; it worked. He tried the third button; it worked too.
He set the traps in places his assistants weren't allowed to go. The secret lab was almost certainly safe, but to cover all possibilities, he set traps all throughout it too. The air ducts were the biggest weakness in security, but were necessary for a scientific laboratory. He couldn't set traps in them, as much as he wanted to; if the spy was captured in the air ducts they would be incredibly difficult to retrieve, and if the spy was present while Riffolk was setting traps, they would see them being set and would know to avoid them.
The next best option was to set traps at the opening of each vent in the ceiling. He covered the secret lab first, then moved up to the normal lab, telling the assistants he was setting new smoke alarms as a safety precaution for the soon to be upgraded lab equipment. They accepted his words with absolutely no doubt or suspicion, as they always did. His work didn't take long.
He wrote another journal entry, this time focusing entirely on his success with the project and his upcoming meeting with the Lord Commander. If the spy thought he was distracted by victory and becoming complacent, he might lower his own guard and make a mistake. Far from guaranteed, of course, but he would use any advantage he could gain over the spy.
From this point on, Riffolk would need to simply wait, perhaps planting a few more clues and withdrawing into his private lab to draw the spy in closer. He smiled to himself; no one had ever gotten this close to his work without his permission before. It was almost as exciting as the project itself.
Pera
Three hundred seventy four, she thought as she trudged around another rotation. Her hands fit the thick handlebar perfectly. A long time of holding the handlebars every wake-time had stretched and moulded her hands. They were oddly reassuring, almost comfortable; the simple but hard work kept her busy, and the wheel's continued turning kept her safe. Workers left and were replaced, keeping track of their own rotations. There was no talk but for the workers sitting around the edge of the room; those who hadn't yet expended all of their energy.
Synchronised footfalls thudded through her mind. She used them to keep pace. Workers all lost themselves in the echoing footsteps of their walking group, it was a sort of meditation. Pera found it relaxing, despite the brutally hard work. She closed her eyes and stepped in time with the others.
Four hundred ninety six. Almost there. Pera didn't know how long it took to complete five hundred rotations, all she knew was that by the time she was done, she could think of nothing but the comforting embrace of sleep. Keeping count towards the end became a chore unto itself; almost as difficult as the physical work. Her hands were numb, her back screaming, her shoulders throbbing. She kept her eyes closed. Thud, thud, thud. Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle. The footsteps of the workers echoed in her mind, through her body. Four hundred ninety seven.
Pera woke, cold and alone. She knew she was alone instantly; the sounds of snoring, breathing and moving were constant in the bunk rooms. Cold was a familiar feeling, but alone certainly wasn't. She stood, dressing out of habit, checking her things out of habit. Nothing missing, she thought, except all the people. Creeping through the dark, she felt for the doorway and sighed as its familiar rough stone greeted her hand. She turned out into the corridor leading to the wheel room. No candles, no people.
A sinking feeling dragged her heart down to her stomach. A small part of her knew what had happened. The rest of her didn't want to admit it. A wheel stopped turning. The monsters appeared. Everyone's dead. Surely she would have heard something? Her head throbbed savagely, reminding her. You drank before sleeping, the gritty pounding of her head seemed to say, nothing would have woken you. She picked up her pace, feeling sick and weak and stupid.
The wheel room was so far away, her legs were trembling halfway down the corridor. Please, she begged the Creator as she ran, please let
everyone still be alive! No response came, but then again no response ever came to Pera. The others spoke of soft voices, faint touches, vivid dreams. Pera had never experienced any of that. There was light spilling softly into the corridor from the wheel room. Pera's heart soared briefly, and she sprinted the last few steps.
But the room was empty. The wheel stood silently, unmoving. Silence battered her ears and crushed her heart. She had never seen an empty wheel room before; there was something horribly unnatural about it, something evil. Then she saw the doorway.
A section of the wall, in the far corner, was gone, leaving a gaping black hole. Like the solid inky blackness she'd seen in that secret part of Tyra as a child. A portal, her mind screamed, it's where the monsters come from; a portal from Hell! Her legs gave way, not quite numb enough to stop the jolt of sharp pain when her knees hit the stone floor.
It's done. The monsters came and took everyone. But she'd seen it before, and this was different. The monsters didn't take people; they slaughtered them. But they always left most alive, to continue turning the wheels. This time there was no blood, there were no bodies. There were no people at all. Not even signs of a struggle.
Candlelight flitted over the wheel room, and other than the fact that she was utterly alone, nothing was out of place. Something was terribly wrong. Pera sat where she'd landed on the floor, trying to think of something to do. But there was only one option; as terrifying as it was, and as much as she didn't want to... she had to enter the portal. She had to walk into Hell.
Mara
Mara lay in her massive, comfortable bed, surrounded by pillows and blankets as soft as clouds, and wept. She hadn't seen Riffolk in almost a month. He was very busy of course, but he didn't even sleep in her bed. She'd taken to calling it her bed since she was the only one who slept in it, even though it was in the master bedroom and technically Riffolk's bed.
Everything changed after they were married. Six months had passed, and Mara cried almost every day of it. Without him around, she was unable to leave the mansion, and despite its size, Mara felt trapped and claustrophobic. She had taken to drinking the same wine she'd tried at the wedding, just to calm herself down. The maids and servants wouldn't talk to her except to serve her food and wine, and the mansion had no visitors unless Riffolk was hosting. Not even her father visited. The only time she felt okay was on Wednesdays and Sundays, when either Riffolk or a servant took her to the church service.
God made her feel much better. The priest's words settled her. She knew that God was looking after her in His own way, that He had a plan for her.
"The savages in the desert, and in the forests, and everywhere else," the priest was saying, "are angering our Lord with their Godless ways. They do not pray, they do not believe. Their very existence is taking away our ability to remain faithful to God!"
The service always made Mara incredibly grateful to have been born in Ermoor. She couldn't imagine how horrible it must be to live in a desert or in the middle of the jungle, especially among people who didn't even believe in God. The idea itself was terrifying; how could these people not believe? Did they not see the beauty of God's love in everything around them? She hoped Ermoor could teach these savages the priest spoke of to love God. Otherwise, as he said, they would need to be destroyed. She didn't want anyone to die, but what choice was there if they refused to accept God's love?
Ermoori missionaries had been trying to teach the forest people God's way for years, but were consistently and brutally attacked each time. Mara couldn't even imagine the kind of savagery it took to viciously attack missionaries who were simply trying to teach enlightenment and love to the world. She prayed every night for them to see reason.
"God loves us all," the priest said, "even the faithless. But His anger is boundless and He must be feared and respected by all."
Riffolk spent almost all of his time in his laboratory in Darkpoint, the district over from Ironhaven. Mara wasn't allowed, of course, unless Riffolk brought her with him. But he never did. She thought about asking him to take her one day, but she was afraid he would get angry or laugh at her. "You're just some silly girl, you wouldn't understand a single thing you see in the laboratory," she imagined him saying.
Imagining conversations made up a large part of Mara's day. In her head, she spoke with her friends, Riffolk, her father, Uncle Lewis, and even the priests sometimes. The conversations were often unpleasant, except for Uncle Lewis of course, and she usually ended up in a dark mood after each one. She wasn't sure if it was purely her imagination, but she thought she had an accurate idea of how the people close to her would speak.
Her friends never visited, although they each had servants who could accompany them if they chose to leave the house. Mara had servants of her own now too, although she couldn't bring herself to leave the mansion; she wanted to stay just in case Riffolk showed up during the day. He kept strange hours, and could appear at home at any time. Besides, most days she had at least a bottle of wine while waiting for her husband, and it wouldn't do at all to let others see her drunk.
She walked through the immaculately tended gardens some days, wandering aimlessly and staring at all the exotic trees and flowers. Usually a half-empty bottle of wine hung from her hand while she wandered. The servants never mentioned the wine unless they offered another bottle, and she was surprised to find there was never a hint of judgement in their voices. Two of them consistently kept a respectful half-dozen paces behind her when she walked through the mansion and the grounds, and they were always quick to offer help whenever she needed it.
It was a good life, at least in theory; she had nothing to complain about, and it would have been the perfect life but for Riffolk's absence. Still, Mara found herself growing more and more numb as the days passed by.
Riffolk's grunting filled her ear, his lips pushed against the side of her head. Her hair pulled back painfully with his thrusts, held in one of his fists. His other hand gripped her hip like a vice, pulling her into him roughly. Tears flowed freely and she bit her lip to avoid crying. He didn't like it when she sobbed while he took her. "If you have to cry, do it silently," he'd said the first time he'd been rough.
He never seemed to care if he was hurting her. Their first time, on their wedding night, had been loving and slow. It had been painful of course, but only for a little while. He'd stared into her eyes and kissed her deeply, and after the pain stopped she felt a pleasure she'd never imagined. Their lovemaking continued like that for maybe a month or so, and then suddenly, he had changed. He grew distant, spent far more time at Darkpoint, and started taking her roughly, forcing her in ways that made her cry for hours afterwards.
She couldn't speak to her friends about it; after she'd stuck it in Millicent's face, what would they say about her awful marriage now? They wouldn't be any help. If anything, they would laugh at her. And her father would offer no solace, either. He'd only started being remotely friendly to her after the contracts had been signed; if she displayed any unhappiness now, he would think she was threatening the marriage he was so pleased with. So she suffered in silence, with only the servants following her around for company.
Pera
As soon as she crept through the portal, everything changed. It was warm, much warmer than Pera had ever been in her life. The air itself was different; a different smell, and a different feeling in her lungs. Cleaner, sharper, dust-free. She walked as slowly and carefully as she could through a small dark room into an equally dark corridor, braced for an attack. Nothing happened. It seemed to stretch forever in the same direction. The darkness was complete. Her hand slid across the wall as she moved, but it was utterly different to the stone she'd felt her whole life. The wall in this place was so smooth it felt almost like water, and completely seamless. There was no echo; her footfalls simply fell flat in her ears, disappearing almost as soon as the sound was made.
Suddenly a voice boomed from somewhere nearby.
"No! You're too late!"
Ar
ms as strong as metal rods scooped her from the smooth floor, and then she was moving along the corridor at inhuman speed.
"We won't make it all the way out," the voice said gently. It was female, definitely not a monster. "But I'll get you somewhere relatively safe."
The woman's accent was strange; otherworldly. Her strength and speed were unbelievable. A sudden thought hit Pera as she was sped through the blinding corridor; Was this the Creator? A rush of other thoughts followed immediately after: Were the monsters destroyed once and for all? Did her people survive? Where did the corridor lead?
Too terrified to ask anything of this being, Pera simply let herself be carried until her eyes adjusted to the darkness; it didn't take long. When she could see, she glanced up at the woman carrying her, and screamed. It's one of the monsters, one of the monsters has me, I'm going to die. It was a bright orange and red demon, with a snarling, inhuman face. Pera's screams startled it, and she used the surprise to begin kicking and fighting until the thing dropped her onto the cold floor.
She sprinted back the way they'd come, screaming and knowing she couldn't outrun it. Suddenly, more of them spilled from another portal in the corridor wall in front of her, shouting and pointing. She tripped and fell, screwing her eyes shut and screaming. She hit the floor hard, and the flat thudding of heavy footsteps grew louder, still curiously without echoing.
Daughter of War Page 5