by K.N. Lee
Captain didn’t move. He just watched her. Then, taking a few steps forward, he favored one leg as he stood next to her bound body.
“You’re hurt again?” Mathilde marvelled at his fragile little form. “I’m sorry the magic did that to you. You wouldn’t be injured if I hadn’t changed you. In fact, you would be home, wouldn’t you? Right here, a dog among his pack.”
His yellow eyes watched her every move. “You are finally among your kind,” she continued. “A cat among men.” It was almost funny. Except everything was ruined. And laughter wasn’t going to blossom in her heart any time soon.
“How much time do we have before we reach Gelschiesen? Do you know?”
The stranger lay next to her, useless. The cat sat next to her, useless.
Mathilde felt a fury, white-hot ignite in her heart.
Rage is not the way. Rage is not the way. She scolded herself sternly. Raw emotion fueled by fear made her anger a sharpened sword, ready to kill. I must not hate. I must not fear. She whispered to her own soul words of encouragement. What would Fritz think?
We are vidartan. “We. Are. Vidartan.” She repeated, using her vow as a hammer against the failure that filled her, stripping her courage down to a stick. There has to be a way forward without the death of all who oppose me. But it would feel so good. And they deserved to die. All the dogs do. It would be easy.
I can do it.
I can kill them all.
But I choose not to. I choose… She decided. Papa’s teachings, Mama’s love, and her stubbornness set her will in stone. Freedom without love is worthless. I will find another way. Looking at the ropes that bound her wrists and feet. Mathilde could not think of any spell that might not accidentally harm her. Instead, she looked at the stranger.
“What’s your greatest fear?” She asked him.
While he thought for a moment about his answer, she spoke the word, “Vahagn.” It was proving surpassingly useful. She grinned as the rope that held his wrist tight smoked and then frayed. It fell to the ground, twisted knots and all.
“Dying alone,” he whispered. She didn’t hear him. At her words, his eyes flew open wide.
“Vahagn,” she spoke to the ropes around his feet.
And then to her brother, sleeping in the cold embrace of poison. “Vahagn,” she spoke the words gently. “Gaoda,” she spoke that word to his heart fire alone.
I need you.
Ignite. Burn away this poison, she whispered along the magic of their heartfire connection.
As Fritz surged awake, the ropes that tied him down fell off. He awoke free, and that was worth almost any price.
“M-Mattie? Where are we? What happened?” He said, taking in the change of their location. “Are we still on the train?”
“Yes. Still on the train.” Stuck in the dark of this prisoners transport… headed for the last place anyone ever heard of vidayas. The last place before death. End of the line.
Not for us, Mathilde Shawsman swore.
Without warning, the far side of the compartment abruptly opened.
A stream of daylight filled the room. Mathilde squinted against the rush of illumination, throwing her hand up in the air in front of her face. Shielding her eyes from the worst of the harsh change.
“You are awake, then?” The Hollyoaken officer spoke with a certainty Mathilde no longer felt. “I see the ropes have not stopped your madness. We will be more careful in the future.” As he held a gun casually in his gloved hand, two more armed soldiers brought in handcuffs and started forward.
“You will sit. You will wait. We have questions for you. Questions about this wax-covered pile of papers. Our commander will want these to be read before we decide what to do with you. If the information is valuable…”
Callously, he let the threat just hang there. In his hands, the spellbook of the ancient vidartan priests lay, encased again in a thick coat of wax. All traces of Mathilde’s work erased.
“We don’t have to use the cuffs. We don’t have to play this game.” The black cloth of his uniform scared her. Black like his heart. Empty and merciless.
“If you will just sit here, quietly, no problems,” he continued, speaking her language haltingly, “we will not kill the others in the five wagons. You have family there? Yes? So it would be good for you to stay quiet and cause no trouble.
“When we reach Gelshiesen, the commander will decide the value of this,” he held the wax-covered book. “And these,” he held up the glasses. Papa’s glasses.
Mathilde thought hard about a way out, anything to escape. No idea sprang in her head. Just like that, hope died. Her world had ended.
“Any sign of resistance,” the officer warned, “and we will kill twenty of the trash before we even investigate this car. We will strike them dead, without hesitation. Is that worth it to you? What is the cost of your freedom?”
Fritz threw his arms around Mathilde. She stood there, head down, bruised, defiant.
Only Fritz could see her fists crackling with energy. Hate, fear, fury swirled around her. She thought of what she could do, of the powers in her hands. In those words she had unlocked.
And then she though of Melchen. And the demon horde. Melchen and the rage that tormented him for years until only Malakhian stood beside him in his pain.
The magic will do as I ask, regardless. But the price will be paid if I do not use vidartan power for joy. For defense. For hope.
Mathilde clung to her little brother as the dogs handcuffed them together.
“Not sure if you are worth keeping around now, eh, Tomas? With these two and their knowledge, the commander might decide you are dead weight. That’d be too bad, right?”
The Hollyoaken officer cackled as he threw a knife at Tomas’ feet and left him, hands and feet unbound in the darkness of the filthy train compartment with the two captives and a very angry cat.
“Tomas?” she spoke the stranger’s name. “Bertha’s son?”
“How do you-? My mother? Is she alright?”
“ I think so,” Mathilde said.” I hope she is. She was when we left.”
“Oh. Thank H--V--N. Thank you,” Relief thickened his voice. “The soldiers threatened to kill her if I did anything. Not that I could. They’ve got the wrong man. I’m useless. I couldn’t break out of a paper bag.”
Mathilde couldn’t break out of the train. Whatever Gelshiesen held was coming for her. For us.
Fritz held on to his sister’s hand. It helped. His love anchored her. Freedom is nothing without love, Papa’s voice floated through her memories.
Sitting there in the dark, she held the only important thing in the circle of her tired arms: her little brother’s love.
That’s where she was sitting when the train pulled into its final destination: Gelshiesen.
15
Battered To The Ground
It was late afternoon when actual sunlight touched her face again.
The warmth of that light, high in the mountains braced Mathilde’s courage. Whatever will be, will be. Only H--V--N knows the steps ahead.
Fritz held her hand as armed soldiers escorted them out of one prison and into another.
‘Welcome to Gelshiesen Tourist Resort!’ the large sign read near the train tracks. A family of three smiling vidaya faces were part of the advertising. On the public billboard, everyone pictured was laughing. The sales pitch underneath said it all: ‘No one ever wants to leave.’
Right beyond the advertisement, a thick row of bushes towering twenty feet tall blocked all access of the actual camp. Mathilde didn’t need magic to know a lie when she saw one. Or to know that whatever was beyond the thick vegetation wall was not pleasant. There was no entertainment. Except whatever the trash brought inside.
“Will we have work, then? Something for us to do? This doesn’t seem so bad,” a woman nearby commented, her eyes big, taking it all in. “We could be here for a while. Maybe we were wrong? Everything seems nice.”
Except the man on the train, s
he thought, the gun, the knives, the ropes, and the lies. Except all that, Mathilde thought. Except their hatred.
All of the vidaya were marched out of their train compartments. Men were directed to one side, women and children to the other. Everyone carried their own bags. A few even believed that the camp was going to be alright.
“They won’t really harm us.”
“They are good people. The Hollyoakens I have known, they would not allow anything bad to happen here. They are kind and decent friends.”
“This isn’t a bad place. They are just trying to help us.”
“We will be safe here.”
Several of the vidayans kept saying those words. As if sentences could protect them.
Row by row, the three hundred passengers filed into the resort.
Past the thick shrubbery, past the high concrete walls.
Past the ground covered in broken glass that sparkled in the sunlight. Right up to the gatehouse, staffed with dog soldiers. One by one, each name was checked in and checked off. Each family spoke their last names.
The guards noted everything.
“Place your baggage in one of those two piles. Porters will take them to your rooms after they have been searched for any weapons or illegal items.” The dogs gave instructions. Each one precise, logical.
“Where are our rooms?”
“Will we see our family every day?” The bewildered people looked for comfort in the orders of soldiers.
The officer in charge waved his hands, pushing down their worries. “All your questions will be answered after the scrubbing room. We will check for lice. Then, everyone will be issued the same simple shirt and pants. You will be responsible for keeping these clothes clean and your appearance presentable.
“After dinner, you will be sent to work in one of three areas: shoemaking, lamp-making or paper arts. Is anyone here skilled in jewelry making, metalsmithing, printmaking, drawing, or typography?”
A few hands went up.
“Take your bags. Step forward and follow Sargent Builder here.” Organizing the newly-arrived passengers, the man in the black uniform covered in medals spoke with calm certainty.
Several vidaya stepped out of line and followed the soldier.
“The rest of you,” he called their attention back to his instructions. “You enter the changing rooms. You will take off the clothes you wear and then you will enter the cleaning stalls. Children can stay with their mothers. Clothing must be removed. We tolerate no lice in this camp. New clothes will be ready once the cleansing of the dirt has finished.”
Mathilde trusted nothing this man said. Even if she wanted to believe, Captain’s arched back and laid back ears warned her.
Lies. More lies.
For a camp that should be full of thousands of people, the resort was eerily silent.
Mathilde saw no one in the surrounding buildings, except one pale face, staring out a distant window.
“Women and children, first,” the man commanded.
Mathilde was afraid, the shaking-deep-in-your-bones kind of fear. She didn’t trust the dogs. She didn’t trust a word that their leader spoke.
The same officer who had come to her on the prison train stood in front of her now. “The commander wants to see you before you change into your new clothes,” he said, “Come with me.”
Captain jumped off of Mathilde’s shoulder and walked between them.
“A black cat crosses your path,” the dog growled, glaring. In the presence of a stupid cat, he stepped back, angry. His hand fell to his gun. There was no salt around. Not that it mattered.
A curse is a curse.
Grabbing Captain off the ground, Mathilde held him tight against her chest. “Sorry,” she whispered. “It won’t happen again.”
With a snort of disapproval, the soldier holstered his pistol with a look of disdain. Grunting, he escorted Mathilde and Fritz away from the lines of vidaya to a beautiful house located three buildings over.
Everywhere they walked, the camp was clean. Grass neatly-cut. Houses and sidewalks swept. Nothing out of order. Nothing. Not a leaf, not a shrub. Everything was perfection.
So much order that every bit of joy died.
With quick steps, the dog soldiers escorted Mathilde and her brother up to the front door. Their succinct knock was answered by a little old lady wearing a bright red flower dress and pearls, her gray hair pulled up in a bun. When she saw them at her door, her blue eyes were kind and merry.
“Oh, you’re here. Finally. Thank goodness,” she spoke like everyone’s favorite grandmother. “Did they bring any presents?” She asked the dogs.
The officer handed the old lady a tightly-wrapped package.
Instantly, Mathilde felt queasy. Everything she planned fell apart, smashed on the ground. This is wrong.
Behind the lady, the interior of her house was charmingly decorated. She ushered them into a perfectly-clean front room.
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” she spoke sweetly. “You may leave.”
The dogs turned tail and walked away. Obedient. Trained. They did everything she said. No matter what she looked like, this old woman radiated power. Someone even the dogs obey. Tread carefully.
Mathilde felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.
“Let’s see what you brought me,” the old lady spoke with politeness and a bit of glee as she opened the wrapped package and pulled out Papa’s glasses.
“What do these do? How odd. Reading glasses at my age.”
Without hesitation, the woman put the glasses on and looked around. She blinked. Through the lenses, her eyes were enormous. The pupils were solid black. She had no irises. No color at all. Just an inky pitch that oozed out of her with every glance, coating every word.
She looked at Mathilde, confused. “What are these used for? I don’t see anything different,” she asked, real curiosity in her voice. More like a kindly neighbor than anyone to be feared.
Mathilde’s body didn’t lie. She felt every bit of threat and danger that emanated from the woman.
“I-I don’t know, ma’am. They, they were my father’s,” She gulped, uncertain. “He used to wear them when he studied. When he died...I kept them to remember him.”
“Oh, dear. That is sweet,” said the old woman, peering at her looking for any clue of a lie. Her wrinkled mouth turned down in vexation. Mathilde winced as the old woman grew slightly cross.
So did everyone else present, even the dogs by the front door.
“No matter,” the grayhaired old lady brushed off the useless glasses. She lifted the thick wax-covered papers. Mathilde’s heart plummeted to her shoes. Her hands shook. What lie can I tell?
She struggled to think of something believable.
Keeping her eyes on Mathilde, the little old lady in the bright flowered dress said, “I am sure this is the long-lost spellbook of the ancient vidartan folk?”
The shock on Mathilde’s face confirmed her question. Mathilde could not deny it. “You…. How do... You know about that?”
Mathilde couldn’t find the right words.
Fritz held on to her hand. Mathilde held onto his courage.
Hers had fled.
“We have been looking for this for a long time now,” the old woman said reverently, her fingers stroked the thick wax. “How do I use it? How do I open it?”
Mathilde shrugged. Deciding to lie, she knew she would be bad at it. So she again told part of the truth.
“We didn’t know. My little brother and I... we tried everything. We could not break the wax open. We couldn’t melt it. Papa never told us how to read those pages. He said they were holy. Sacred,” she added. “Only real vidartan priests could open the pages. That the magic was only for them.”
“Hmph,” was all the old lady said. And then she nodded over their shoulders. Tomas stood there, his hands clutching a worn old fisherman’s cap. He looked around uncertain, and as lost as Mathilde felt.
“Have you tried this?” The old wom
an asked him. “Can you open it?”
“Ma’am,” Tomas spoke, his voice low, fear in every syllable. “Ma’am, I know nothing of this book. I am not vidaya. I grew up in Norwava. Certainly, I am no magician. Why would the book open for me? What should I say?”
He grew more and more worried as a brutal, black and grey storm cloud gathered in the old woman’s enormous eyes.
“I will do whatever you ask, ma’am. I do not know what to do. Just tell me and I’ll do it!”
The last sentence came out as a squeak of fear. Tomas covered his face and chest and cowered in a ball at the old lady’s feet.
Mathilde knew, whoever this woman was, she sat at the heart of the storms that filled the eyes of every Hollyoaken soldier. This woman was the catalyst for every drop of fervent hatred for the vidaya. For the despised trash.
This was the real power source behind the persecution.
Mathilde could see a malignant storm rising around the old lady’s body. Mathilde could see it. And so could Fritz. But no one else could.
It was vidartan magic.
Only it wasn’t.
Twisted—broken, wrong in its very essence, the magic was bent and wrong. Even warped, it was easily powerful enough to pull up the mountain and throw it across the sea.
“Useless,” the old woman spat the words out. “What a waste of time and talent.” With a sharp nod from her, two dog soldiers grabbed Tomas and scooped him up. They hurried, carrying him out of the room.
“Who else?” Her desperation made everyone in the room jump.“What other man do we have who could open this?”
The proud Hollyoaken lieutenant, the same one that had held her powerless from escaping the train, entered. Leaning down, he whispered in the little old lady’s ear two names. And Mathilde’s heart broke.
“We have two more candidates, half-trained.”
“Fine. Fine,” the old woman’s face turned sour as spoiled milk. There was no mistaking her mood. Sweat gathered on the faces of every soldier present. She was irritated. It showed. Victory lay there in her grasp and she could not see how to access the magic.
Mathilde and Fritz stood very, very still, deer in the hunter’s sights, waiting for the arrow that would strike them down. Frozen. It was their only defense, their last act of self-preservation.