by Zel Spasov
Mira turned her back on him and left the cell. The door slammed shut with a deafening thunder.
“This is just a misunderstanding!” shouted Cayden.
But it was too late. The footsteps faded down the hallway. Cayden sat back on the floor. Overwhelming sorrow washed over him like the waves of the Dead Sea. The woman he loved had sentenced him to die.
“I love you...” he whispered in the empty cell.
Chapter 12
T he former Captain Gèroux walked along the Toska River, which flowed through Agapea. The rhymesters had given him the necessary information to find the base of the Resistance: they were hiding in tunnels underneath an abandoned warehouse by the river. They had told him that he would recognize it by the big piles of dirt outside. The badgers dug underground tunnels and had to do something with all the soil. The warehouse was full, so they’d begun to take the dirt out.
Since he wasn’t convinced of the reliability of the information, Captain Zacharie Gèroux approached the warehouses with caution. He did his best to avoid the city guards. The word had spread that he was no longer a captain. If they noticed him walking around the city like he didn’t have a care in the world, they would immediately report him to the king, who would order his head to be removed from his body. The night's darkness served him well—though the moon illuminated the streets with its soft light, visibility was limited, so the wolf quickly made his way through the city.
He’d already crossed out half the warehouses on the riverbank as potential hideouts of the Resistance when he heard voices. He quickly hid behind a few crates sitting on one of the piers. The captain peered out from his cover. A light appeared between two warehouses, followed by speech. The source was two guards doing a night tour, one of them carrying a torch. Zacharie couldn’t get out of his cover until they continued on their way to the next warehouse.
The guards approached the crates where the ex-captain was hiding. Had they seen him? If so, they would raise the alarm.
The voices approached close enough for the captain to hear their conversation.
“These uniforms are so uncomfortable,” one of them said.
“I can’t even scratch myself properly,” said the second.
“The fabric is just so damn rough.”
“Right?! Just because we’re guards doesn’t mean we have to suffer! I'll probably have a third-degree burn by the end of the shift.”
“I’ll give you some cream I have left over. It helps a lot.”
They leaned on the crates.
“Let’s take a break,” said the first one.
They lit cigarettes and started smoking.
“To tell you the truth, these night shifts by the river aren’t so bad,” said the second one.
“Yep. It’s strangely calm. We won’t get many more nights like this, though. This is probably the last.”
“These Windhaveners deserve to be slaughtered, every last one of them.”
“How many innocent citizens died in the attack?” said the first. “I was on shift all night last night, just pulling out corpses from the rubble.”
“I was helping with the fires. We saw a lot of nasty stuff, too. Families burned alive, turned into coal. Women and children. Many died in the streets waiting for the healers to get to them.”
The guards fell silent. Captain Gèroux could stun them both with a quick attack. Do it, he heard his brother's voice say as if he were beside him. Quit being such a chicken. Do whatever you need to do to finish the job.
It wasn’t right, the captain thought. These were his men. He would only attack them if necessary.
You think you're better than me? he heard Bernard’s voice ask in his head. Don’t forget, we are two sides of the same coin!
“War is an awful thing,” said the first guard again.
“That's right, but the Windhaveners have to pay. They’re monsters! They won’t stop until all of us are killed. How could they attack us during the Festival?”
“Tomorrow, we make them pay. Come on, let’s finish our rounds.”
The two stubbed out the cigarettes on the ground and walked away.
Would they survive the war? Would any of them live to see next week? There was something rotten inside Captain Gèroux’s soul. For some time now, he had smelled a subtle stench floating in the air, penetrating his mind. Was that the reason behind the captain’s recent outbursts of anger? He always listened to what his instincts told him, and right now they were whispering that something was wrong.
The brutal attack of the Windhaveners had come without warning. Relations between the two cities were strained—King Fraud had ousted Queen Mira, and she was seeking revenge. But killing innocent civilians? No matter how hard he tried, Zacharie couldn’t believe that she would do such a thing. Something was influencing her, he thought. The same sort of Presence he felt stir inside himself every time he became angry.
He waited for the guards to move away from the crates and got out of his cover. The next few warehouses he passed in a hurry. The dawn was close; Agapea and Windhaven were going to war in a few hours. The Resistance was likely to make an attack on the palace while its defenses were weakened. It wouldn’t matter if they won the war if the city were to fall.
Approaching the next warehouse, Zacharie saw the piles of dirt the rhymesters had told him about. He slowed down his pace and checked the perimeter. After he didn’t notice any signs of movement, he headed for the entrance, a simple, wooden door. He pushed on it, expecting it to be locked, but, to his surprise, it opened effortlessly. Inside, it was dark and quiet. He found a candle and lit it with the matches he carried, illuminating the space around him.
Countless small, gleaming eyes appeared in the darkness. They surrounded him on all sides. Badgers. A telltale croak let him know that the Frog was also among them. Zacharie reached for his sword only to find empty space. He’d forgotten he’d surrendered his weapon to King Fraud when he’d relieved him of his post.
Something big and heavy hit him on the head, and the captain lost consciousness.
***
In Mercy Psychiatric Hospital, things had been going from bad to worse. Varvara Venari was walking on eggshells, trying to avoid Doctor Perfect and her orderlies. Something very wrong was going on. The new employees were hostile, their only goal being to fulfill Persephone’s wishes. She had thought about going to Director Petrov again, but that would be useless. He was also obeying Doctor Dimitriou’s commands and would surely hand Varvara over to her. Nurse Venari had also considered calling the police, but she was afraid of the repercussions for the patients. The officials would think that they were to blame and would treat them violently, which would cause more harm than good.
Varvara stopped in one of the dark and empty corridors and sighed. She remembered a time when things were better in the hospital.
She had been working as a nurse at the psychiatric hospital for several years now. During her time there, she had seen many intriguing cases of mental illness. The most interesting ones were those of patients who suffered from schizophrenia associated with clinical lycanthropy, meaning they imagined being a certain animal or transforming into one. Charles, for example, thought he was a rabbit. Another patient called Lenny, a big man, moved so slowly that they had nicknamed him “The Sloth.” Whether he truly identified himself with the animal in question was unknown. The Sloth didn’t talk much. The curious part was that all patients suffering from clinical lycanthropy also suffered from a shared lycanthropic intermetamorphosis—they believed in the animal incarnations of the other patients. It was as if they shared a mutual parallel reality that the hospital's staff couldn’t perceive.
Varvara believed that the people there weren’t crazy; they just needed some help and understanding. Charles and Lenny, for example, didn’t really pose a threat to other people due to their calm and thoughtful behavior.
Unfortunately, there were also hostile patients, like Mister Fraud, who imagined he was a lion and often growled. Additio
nally, he suffered from delusions of grandeur. Mister Fraud felt he was a king and a supreme judge who had the final say in everything going on in the hospital. Whenever he didn’t like something, he declared it illegal. If the staff ignored him, he became furious and had to be taken to his room.
There were also those who were somewhere in the middle. Like the brothers Gèroux—or, at least, they thought they were brothers. The first one, Monsieur Bernard Gèroux, was aggressive at times, but only when he wanted something. His “brother,” Zacharie, was disciplined, thoughtful, and kind. The two were inseparable. They were like two sides of the same coin.
Apart from the occasional problems with the more hostile patients, Varvara could say that daily life at Mercy Hospital was calm. It had been, at least, before the appearance of Doctor Dimitriou.
The day of her arrival had begun as usual. They had woken up the patients in the morning and fed them breakfast. After that, most of the staff gathered in front of the building to meet their new colleague. Varvara, Director Petrov, and the other doctors and nurses stood on the little path leading to the hospital to greet her. It was a beautiful summer day. The sun was shining in the cloudless sky. The hospital was situated near a small, quiet village, surrounded by green meadows and trees.
A storm cloud appeared in the sky, covering the sun. Lightning flashed, and it started raining. A dark silhouette, carrying a blood-red umbrella, materialized in the distance. As Miss Dimitriou approached, Varvara noticed her impeccable image—the perfectly balanced glasses with their steel frames, the immaculate red lipstick that matched the color of her umbrella, and her red heels, which mercilessly stabbed the small, charming path with each one of her precisely measured steps. She stopped in front of the hospital staff members, who were soaking wet and didn’t know what to say.
Varvara had cleared her throat and held out her hand. “Varvara Venari. Very nice to meet you, Doctor...?”
“Dimitriou,” answered the woman without taking her hand.
The doctor then entered the hospital, ignoring the rest of the staff. No one dared to say anything to her. Finally, Director Petrov had followed her inside to show her to her office.
From that day onwards, the sun hadn’t appeared in the sky. The stormy clouds hung menacingly over the psychiatric facility. Similarly to the weather, the mood in the hospital had also taken a turn for the worse. The quiet, simple days were gone, replaced by the dictatorship of Doctor Dimitriou. Although Director Petrov oversaw the hospital staff, this was only in theory. In practice, she was running the show by introducing new and stricter rules. She forced the patients to spend more time locked in their rooms for general safety. The draconian regime made them more hostile toward the hospital personnel, which in turn justified Persephone’s measures.
“The way you’re running this hospital is irresponsible,” she told them in one of their staff meetings. “Your security measures are inadequate. Patients should be kept for longer periods of time in their rooms. The risk of fights breaking out is too big. It is a miracle that no one has died yet because of your incompetence.”
The air surrounding Doctor Dimitriou was cold, and her gaze was hypnotic. She was like a snake that was about to swallow its prey. Whenever Varvara looked into her eyes, she felt compelled to obey her orders, even if it they were against her principles. Persephone Dimitriou was a tough person, it was true; but when it came to Cayden Starosta, she was a monster.
He had arrived at the hospital shortly after she had. Like most patients there, Cayden came from a rich family. They had paid a great deal of money to get the best care for him. The only thing Varvara knew about him was that he had suffered a nervous breakdown and psychosis as a result of an accident. The details were kept secret.
Shortly after his arrival, Director Petrov had put Persephone on his case. As far as Varvara knew, Mister Starosta was her only patient. According to what she had written in his file, she had put him on a high dose of Quetiapine to prevent future possible aggressive outbursts. Nurse Venari had her doubts regarding Doctor Dimitriou’s true motive for giving him on the medication. Cayden had shown no signs of hostility after arriving and, according to Varvara, didn’t need such a high dose of the medicine. Persephone’s actions were completely unethical, but no one at the hospital wanted to talk about it. They were all afraid of her. Varvara feared her as well, but she couldn’t blindly obey Persephone’s orders. Her conscience told her she had to do something.
Nurse Venari exited the main building. The setting sun was hidden behind the stormy clouds, giving them a sinister, blood-red shade. As she reflected on what the appropriate next step would be, she noticed a movement by the old ruins near the main building. Was that Doctor Dimitriou? What was she doing there?
Varvara looked around, making sure she wasn’t being watched, and followed Persephone into the ruins. Varvara moved slowly and silently. She had a quick look around the remains of the old building but didn’t see anyone. It was as if Persephone had vanished into thin air.
She remembered there was a basement underneath the ruins that had stayed unused for decades. Its entrance was somewhat hidden, but Varvara knew where it was. When she had begun working as a nurse at the hospital, the then-director had showed it to her as a part of a tour of the hospital. After the old director had left his post, everyone had forgotten about it. After all, it was just old history.
She found the door behind some rubble and entered quietly. It was dark, so she stepped carefully. As she descended the stairs, she started hearing a low, repetitive noise. The further down she got, the more it sounded like words. “Māra… Māra… Māra…” Varvara reached the last step and walked slowly toward the large basement at the end of the corridor. Its entrance was lit by a candle placed on a steel candle holder. The chanting grew louder as Varvara approached. She put her back against the wall and peeked around the corner. What she saw made her blood freeze.
Gathered in the candlelit basement, some of the psych techs were on their knees, chanting the strange word. In the front, on a small, improvised podium, was Doctor Dimitriou, also on her knees, chanting. But the most disturbing part of it all was the altar, which supported a massive painting of an enormous red monster with countless tentacles. It towered above the room.
Persephone and the orderlies were part of a cult, were worshipping this monster, and had taken over Mercy Hospital! As this horrifying realization seeped into Varvara’s mind, she quickly hid behind the corner, knocking the steel candle holder over. The candelabra fell on the ground, producing a loud banging noise that echoed in the basement.
The chanting stopped. Varvara’s heart beat like a drum in her ears. She heard steps coming her way and bolted for the staircase that lead to the surface. Behind her came the sound of people running. They were chasing her. Oh, God, what had she done?
She could feel them breathing on her neck. As she ran up the stairs, her pursuers got closer and closer…
Chapter 13
M onsieur Gèroux cursed his luck while hanging with one hand from the ledge of a window on the eastern wall of the palace. The sun was setting, dipping beneath the horizon, its light becoming weaker. The hunter was using the cover of the twilight to sneak into the palace unnoticed.
He grabbed the windowsill with his other hand and pulled himself up. The corridor on the other side of the window was empty. The wolf reached into the bag hanging from his belt and pulled out a glass cutter. With its help, Bernard made a hole in the window large enough for him to squeeze his paw through and open it from the inside.
He jumped lightly onto the floor and silently closed the window behind him. Torches illuminated the empty hallway. Except for his own breath, the headhunter didn’t hear any other sounds. The silence made him feel uneasy. The complete absence of noise was only natural in cemeteries and right before ambushes. Unless, for some reason, the palace had above-ground catacombs and Bernard had accidentally encountered them, the lack of (living) people was worrying. He pressed his back against the wall
as he sneaked through the corridors of the castle. He checked every room and every alcove. He didn’t trust anything.
His plan consisted of four steps: find out where they were holding the criminals, return them to Agapea, collect the reward, and live happily for the rest of his life. But plans never worked the way they were supposed to. In most cases, everything went wrong at step one, and sometimes even before that. In such events, Monsieur Gèroux relied on his ability to improvise, which had saved him many times.
As he sneaked through the palace, he wondered what circumstances had led him to this moment. Ever since he was a little pup, he had known he wanted to become a headhunter. He liked his job, but it had its pitfalls. He pursued outlaws for a living, and they seldom surrendered voluntarily. Monsieur Gèroux trained rigorously to make sure he could catch his prey while exposing himself to minimal danger. But careful preparation on its own wasn’t enough. He needed to be quicker, smarter, and bolder than the competition. In spite of all that, in most cases, the outcome was decided by blind luck. Without a necessary minimum amount of kismet, he would’ve croaked several times by now. If your preparation was sufficient, such circumstances would never arise, he heard his brother's judgmental voice say as clearly as if he were beside him. But what did his brother know about his profession that Bernard didn’t? With his comfortable job in the palace and the city guard under his command, he never had to deal with comparable situations.
Once, Monsieur Gèroux had been on the verge of capturing a particularly dangerous bandit crew who waited in ambush in an old, abandoned house. In a twist of fate, however, he’d received wrong information about their location and was looking for them upstairs. When he was standing right above the room where they’d set up the ambush, the floor collapsed, and it, together with Bernard, fell on the bandits’ heads, knocking them out.
Some would say that a guardian angel was watching over him. If it was so, then he was an incompetent guardian angel. As he was leading the bandits to jail, Bernard was attacked by another group of headhunters. In the ensuing attack, he lost his prey and almost lost his life. They left him in a wretched state at the threshold of death.