by K.N. Lee
A few moments later, five dog soldiers walked in with prisoners between them. Mathilde didn't have to see their faces, their red hair told her: both men were vidaya. Dragging forward their weak bodies, the dogs supported most of the captives’ weight. They were barely able to stand on their own.
Both were the same height, same profile. Mostly, they were skin and bones—a collection of skeletons near death.
“Why have they not been fed? Who let them starve?” Full blast, the old woman’s anger turned the house into the eye of a broiling storm. The fear that thrummed through the room shook Mathilde’s courage into a pile a scattered pebbles.
“I told you to keep them alive, in case of need. Do they look safe? Do they look healthy?” With each question, the dog soldiers turned a whiter shade of sickly pale.
“If these men die, we lose our very last chance to find the vidartan magic. To end all this. Generations have fallen. And now, this clumsiness. Do you want to be the weaklings responsible for us losing the entire war?”
Angry enough to set the men on fire where they stood, the old woman’s true nature planted fear in even the most courageous warriors. The fumbling and apologetic soldiers bowed in weakness to her rage.
And the prisoners? It wasn’t clear that they had any energy left to even register the danger that surrounded them.
Impatient, the old lady motioned for them to sit down on the clean couch.
Almost skeletons, the two men stumbled to its soft surface.
“I apologize for the way that you have been treated,” she said, all sunshine and cheer. “I promise we will make this up to you, immediately. You will be fed and your bedding and accommodations will be upgraded. We need smart men like you. And for that, we need you well.” She flattered them.
Numb to almost everything, their dead eyes drifted around the room, seeing details. Understanding nothing.
“We are on a mission. We,” she kept using that word, like they were part of a team. “We need to save the world. This book,” she held up the wax-covered papers. “this book is the key. Do you recognize it?”
Together, the two men raised their eyes. Like puppets, they followed her instructions. They looked at the papers. That's when Mathilde saw them clearly for the first time since the men were brought into the room.
That's when she recognized Edgar and Ethan, her brothers.
Bones and skin—that was almost all that remained of the boys that she had once loved. They sat there on the couch, emptied of everything, broken to pieces.
Mathilde slowly took Fritz by the shoulder and turned his gaze away. She didn't want him to know what had happened to her, no, to their older brothers. She didn't want his pure heart to see the evil.
To see that hell that was their own future.
With great effort, one of the skeletons extended his arm to touch the papers. Even then, he barely had enough strength. His arms shook with that much demand on his vanished muscles. He opened his mouth to speak. The words came slowly.
“Papa’s? Papa’s book,” he tried to understand. “You want us to open the book Geisprom for you?”
It’s Edgar, Mathilde thought, gutted. Poor Edgar.
“We were taught many things by our father the scholar. But he did not trust us with the opening and closing secrets of the Book of Life. He alone has the answers you are looking for.”
“Yes, you should ask him,” Ethan barely managed a clear whisper.
Edgar nodded again, more certain this time, “He will help you. He is very wise, our Papa.”
The old lady’s face threatened murder. On the spot. Death by the dogs she commanded, right that very second. Edgar at least was aware enough to recognize the terrible danger. He could see that their answer had failed to please her.
For some reason, Papa wouldn’t help this old woman.
Somewhat quicker, he continued, “M-my brother...,” he paused again, gathering energy. His arms fell back down to his lap. “We could work it out, I think?”
His voice asked Ethan if what they needed to get food was even possible. For us to survive, what cost is too high?
A false smile painted on her face, the old woman waved her hand and the dogs brought a cup of broth for each of the starving men. Placing it down in front of them, she spoke sweetly, “Drink, my friends. We need your strength. We need your help. Take your time. We are all in this together.”
She didn’t even have eyes for Mathilde. Not anymore. Anyway, even if these two failed, a girl would be useless.
Everyone knew that.
With a nod, she signalled to the dogs.
They came for Mathilde and Fritz, who had fallen asleep on her shoulder. Picking them up, the dogs escorted them out the perfect house, down the manicured sidewalk, and back to the lines of vidaya waiting to be processed.
“Wait,” Mathilde cried. “Those were my brothers in there. I could help. I could assist them while they study the books. Please.”
One of the dog soldiers paused. Then the lieutenant slapped her across the face. “You speak lies. Only lies. No woman holds the key we need. Maybe your little brother is worth something. But we already have the spare. So…”
He looked her up and down, evaluating her body, considering what other uses he had for her. Evidently, she failed his test.
“No,” he drawled, running a finger down her cheek, “...the workshops are the best place for you.”
“And then, I go to the dinner and work in the factories?” she asked, knowing the question was a lie. The whole camp was a gigantic lie.
“Oh, yeah,” the dog sniped, “after you get cleaned and fitted with new clothes, I’m sure we will find some use for you.
“Here,” he said, handing her off to the waiting dogs.
Appearing out of nowhere, Captain suddenly rubbed against her legs.
“Two more for the count,” the Hollyoaken officer added as he left Mathilde and Fritz in the line for the inspections and their new life in the tourist resort of Gelschiesen.
“Don’t forget to give them a second dose of the lice-killing shampoo. That one is particularly dirty,” the horrible man said jauntily as he walked down the parade route and out of sight.
Mathilde knew.
She was surrounded by liars, coated in lies, standing on ground flooded with lies. Survival meant lying. She refused.
That’s when she decided: Fight until they kill me or I am free.
The fact is: this town is a lie. The mortal enemies of the vidayan people ruled this place. Whoever that woman was, she crouched like a spider at the heart of the web. Hatred that deep knew no bounds.
“Fritz, listen to me. When they have us take off our clothes, keep your vidartan shirt on.”
He looked up at her, confused.
“They won’t see it.”
It was simple really. “They can’t see it.”
Truth was not visible to liars. And the vidartan truths embroidered and woven into the fabric were full of powerful magic.
“We don’t go in there, we don’t go anywhere in this horrible place without our shirts. Got it?” Mathilde hugged him tight. “Don’t be scared. Stay next to me. Remember what Papa said, ‘Faith is the foundation of all things, including freedom.” Mathilde held his dear, little hand. If this doesn’t work... If she failed, this might be their last few moments together.
“Remember, levav,” she whispered in his ear, “When we rise, we rise together.”
Fritz nodded solemnly. As the line moved, they each took one step forward. And then another. And then another.
Until the wide steel doors of the sanitizing rooms were visible.
Until the piles of clothes and boots left by their fellow prisoners towered over their heads.
Until every woman and child in the train compartments was sent inside the huge building. Then, together Mathilde and Fritz walked over the threshold and into the cavernous room.
Behind them, the dogs turned the circular handle on the door. Inch by inch, it squealed cl
osed.
Some of the women started to panic, afraid of closed spaces.
“Why are you locking us in?”
“It’s just to keep the soapy water contained. You’ll find soap, sponges, and water in the basins by the far wall.” One of the dogs yelled back his answer, “When it is time for you to exit, the other side will open.” There was a slight pause, followed by a snicker.
That was Mathilde’s confirmation. Another lie.
No water dripped from the sink faucets. No soap bubbles glistened in the drains. All around her, women and children panicked. Some understood. Most didn’t want to know.
Some still tried to speak to the dogs. “Where is the water?” they asked, a chorus of fear rising from them. Most women clutched their babies, crying.
Mathilde looked at Fritz.
He stared up at his big sister. “I’m ready, achut,” he said, clear and bright.
Outside, the dogs were still laughing.
As the door finally sealed shut, Mathilde spoke. “Believe, Fritz. Just believe.”
Someone turned on the air vents.
There was no soap and water in the rooms. No Hollyoaken guards stayed inside. Instead, out of the highest air vents came a dirty, gray smoke. The same stunning kind that had knocked her out on the train. Mathilde gulped in air before the cloud reached her face.
Gas poured down the walls. Maybe the soldiers told the truth? Maybe those fumes were only to clean any unwanted insects off of their skin?
Mathilde couldn’t take the chance. After all the lies, why should she? She doubted there was any truth in their words.
Together, she and Fritz confronted the falling clouds of poison.
16
Drops of Faith
Precisely at that moment, the magical connection between her brother and her own broken heart lit up like a ray of sunshine, piercing into the darkness.
“Vahagn,” Mathilde Shawsman spoke clearly, “Hadeshem.” Pointing one hand up toward the distant ceiling, she focused on that one goal: the roof.
With a shattering explosion, a section of the upper wall and support beams broke off. Pieces shot upward. Shouts of alarm were heard all around the outside of the building.
Mathilde did not stop. There wasn’t time.
“Kubonera,” she cried, trying not to breathe. Desperately she held the vidartan collar to her nose and mouth. She clung to her brother’s smaller grip.
A mighty wind came roaring out of their free hands.
Together, Fritz and Mathilde directed its power along the floor, through the screaming women, pushing the heavy smoke to the edges and then shoving it upwards, out through the open section of roof.
All around them, people gagged, coughing on the chemicals that filled the cramped space. With staggered breath, women screamed in terror.
Then, the air cleared.
After a few moments, some of their fear subsided. One by one, with wide-open eyes, the other captives stepped away from the two of them.
The women and children formed a circle, making room for Mathilde and Fritz to stand in their midst.
“I cannot defend you alone,” Mathilde spoke to the crowd, trying to reach their hearts, trying to rally them. “I cannot fight the dogs of war without your help.”
“Who are you?” Several women called.
“Vidartan. He has to be vidartan.” Some called out to Fritz. “Is that right? Are you vidartan?”
Others spoke the honest truth about the evil that surrounded them. Gas poured out of the air vents. The winds of ancient priests pushed that poison upward into the sky, sending death away.
“How can we help? What can we do against armed men? Their bullets will kill us as soon as we try to leave this building. We have no one to protect us.”
Another woman shook her head, seeing death all around them. She spoke loud enough that all could hear.
“You have paused their cleansing. But they will still find a way to meet their goal. If that is what they want, the men will find a way to kill us all.”
“I don’t understand.” A little girl asked, “Why was there no soap and towels in here?” It was the same little girl who saw Mathilde on the train, in spite of the Look Away spell casting. “Why is there no water? How are we to be made clean?”
Mathilde was stunned by her questions. A shudder went through her body as she revealed the truth:
“A lie. It is all a lie. I’m s-sorry. It is.”
A rush of objections and denials flooded the tiled area. “That was not a cleaning soap that they poured on us…” a crying woman stated.
“No. No, it wasn’t.” Mathilde confirmed. “That was poison. We are--” she struggled to find the right words, to say it gently, “We are not needed.”
“Not needed?” The little girl asked, her eyes filling with tears. “But my momma needs me. My f-father needs me. My old grandpa needs me. He tells me so every day.”
“You all need to hear me,” Mathilde spoke to the gathered women and children. “You must. You need to listen. Open your hearts to the danger around us. We are vidartan. We. Are. Vidartan. We are all descendants of those long-ago priests. We all have a seed of that power within our hearts.”
“These dogs,” she could hear them barking outside, trying to contain the poison. Figuring out a way to stop the leaking gas. “These men, they hate. They hate anything different. They hate anything unlike their own kind. So they hate us, even if we have done nothing to them. This camp is not a resort. It is the end of the line. The actual, final end.
“Unless you come with me now, it is your end. I cannot fight them all. I will not fight alone. Who is with me?”
No one raised their hands, except Fritz. His hand shot up.
“We need help, Mattie. We need a protector.”
Wholeheartedly, she agreed. “I know, levav. But I doubt one black cat can fix this. Not even Captain Richaron would be enough to save us all. And frankly, who else is there?”
Desperate, Mathilde dug her hands into the vidaya shirt.
Something sharp struck her thumb.
Again.
She knew what it was before she pulled it out. Familiar. Heavy to the touch, hardened, baked clay covered in her blood. From her pocket, she withdrew the broken Norwavan mug handle. It was no weapon at all. One small sharpened bit of pottery against all the hatred of the Hollyoaken people.
It was nothing.
Impossible.
“You have to try, Mattie,” Fritz said. “You have to. You are all the hope we have left.”
She dug her hand into the other side pocket where she found the soft surface of the large ball of wax. The same wax that covered the spellbook. The wax that still covers the spellbook.
At her touch, the substance heated in her hands.
“Help me, Fritz!” Mathilde cried out as a light of inspiration burst into her mind, “I think I know what to do!”
“Anything, achut,” her little brother stood by her side, holding her hand, determined. “We must do what is right in the face of great evil. Only together, we can fight.” His faith in her, in the vidartan magic, in the power they shared—it was everything to Mathilde.
Everything.
“We will not break, I swear,” she spoke to him, to the scared women and children, and lastly, to the tiled floor. Baked clay covered the dirt. There was a crack in one of the center tiles.
An idea. A legend. An impossible thing sprang to her mind.
Digging with the sharpest tool she had, Mathilde scrapped the tile bits off, breaking the cracked square. Pulling it up, the bare mountain earth was plainly visible.
Mathilde’s blood was on the mug handle, “Clay to clay,” She whispered to the magic. “Achiezeer,” she asked the earth. “Emet, we beg you: send help.”
The handle of the mug shifted. Some of the handle dissolved into the rough dirt. On the surface of the broken pottery and the earth below it, traces of her blood shone. She shaped three small balls of wax by rolling them in her palms. T
hose three spheres went into the hole, where they melted into the earth.
Holding hands with her little brother, Mathilde waited for the answer of the ancients. She remembered the guardian spell but not the outcome.
“Out of the plain and simple things, H--V--N will build warriors.” She recited the long-lost ancient words. “Out of this dust, H--V--N can raise a son.”
Beneath the sloppily-constructed, fake building, the whole earth shifted. The ground shook and trembled under the blood of believers.
“Help me,” Mathilde cried to the other women and children. “Pray. Pray now.”
Every person locked in the room fell to their knees. Every woman raised her voice in prayer to the only power who could save them. The ancient Vidartan magic called on the one simple force in the universe. The most powerful magic of all: Emet. Truth.
Mathilde’s blood and magic called to the sleeping ground. The clay and ash, the dust and stone of the mountain rumbled.
“Give me your blood, your hair, any part of you,” Mathilde called to the huddled people, “Send it forward. The mountain must know us.” Bits of skin, scabs, hair, nails, whatever parts of their bodies that they could scrape or tear off, women gathered. Mathilde’s magic burned every bit of the flesh and blood offered. Every bit of the sacrifice.
“Protect us, emet. There is only met all around. Protect the believers. Shield us from the death that our enemies send.”
She asked through the magic. Through the spinning of the world, she begged, “Hear our plea.”
With a groan, the floor in the center of the room collapsed. The hole that Mathilde had dug fell into the heart of the deep mountain earth. Every woman and child scrambled for safety, pushed back against the walls of their prison. Many grabbed the steel rails, desperately holding onto the air vent that even now spurted poison into the room.
With a crashing sound, the center of the building fell away. Mathilde and Fritz alone stood in the middle of the false room, their feet on solid ground.
“Help us,” Fritz asked, seeing the magic through her eyes. “Help us save our family.”