Where Serpents Strike (Children of the Falls Vol. 1)

by CW Thomas

He managed to turn his eyes to Brayden and choke out, “Run!”

  Brayden backed away in shock, unwilling to believe that Pick was about to die. He turned and started sprinting through the trees. Fear washed over him like a dark cloud. He wondered how he would get away, if he would be able to escape the clutches of the high king’s men. He wondered how he would survive, how he would stay warm, how he would find food, and if he would ever make it back to Halus Gis.

  He tripped and crashed to the ground. His mind spun. He scrambled to his feet, panic rising. Pressing himself against the trunk of a large tree he felt his chest tightening, his thoughts clouding over with fear.

  He heard the shouts of combat, heard Pick scream in pain.

  Brayden clutched his head and shook it back and fourth.

  “No,” he said. “No, no, no.”

  He felt like he was swirling around the lip of a dark pit, falling deeper and deeper into a void of debilitating fear.

  “No,” he said, trying to shut it out. “No. No more!”

  He was tired of feeling fear. He was tired of being a coward.

  Pick shouted again.

  Lurching to his feet Brayden tore through the woods. His adrenaline surged, drowning his fear. He wasn’t sure if he was acting of his own accord or if instinct had taken over.

  He sprinted back to the campsite.

  When he saw Pick still struggling with the massive soldier he reacted instinctively. Brayden grabbed a blackened branch from among the red-hot embers of the campfire. When the big viper turned at the sound Brayden shoved it into his face. Sparks erupted from the impact, searing one of the man’s eyes. He reeled back, screaming. Pick jumped to his feet, sword in hand. With one wild horizontal swing he cut halfway through the viper’s neck. After a moment the corpse toppled to the ground.

  Pick stuck his sword into the dirt and leaned on it, panting while the color in his face returned.

  “What did I tell you?” he rasped. “What did I tell you to do if I told you to run? Damn it, Brayden. You need to listen to me.”

  Brayden dipped his head. “I’m sorry. I tried. I remembered what you said, but I couldn’t let him, I mean, he was going to kill you.”

  Pick moved toward him, anger apparent in his eyes. He shoved a finger at Braydne’s nose. “And that is what we call courage.” He paused, and then smirked. “Disobedient, and rather stupid, but courage.”

  BRYNLEE

  Korah was throwing up into a white basin in her bedroom when Brynlee passed by her door. The awful sounds of the girl’s gagging and spitting beckoned Brynlee to stop and approach the doorway. Poking her head inside she saw a magnificent red and white room with high ceilings and ornate gold crown molding. The extravagantly decorated room contained a wardrobe, a standing mirror, and a massive four-post bed—the essential necessities of a prostitute.

  Korah panted over the basin in a see-through linen shift, her eyes dark and puffy.

  “Miss?” Brynlee said. “Can I get you anything?” It was the most common question she was supposed to ask of people in the brothel, be they clients or working girls. Whether the answer was “fresh linens,” “more wine,” “a hot bath,” or “another whore,” it was Brynlee’s job to fulfill the request.

  Korah looked at her through squinty eyes. She had seen the look before on intoxicated soldiers and local drunks, but never on a woman, and certainly not on a woman as beautiful as Korah.

  “Help me, please?” the young woman asked, holding out her hand.

  Brynlee went to her side and steadied her as she ambled to the bed.

  She had heard rumors about the nineteen-year-old prostitute. People said her beauty was held in high regard all throughout Perth, but Brynlee doubted few would find her beautiful today.

  “Are you all right?” Brynlee asked.

  Korah sat down holding her head, looking like she might fall over. “I imagine I look worse than I feel. I don’t normally drink, but my charge insisted. He sells perfume out of West Corloch. He gave me a bottle. Said I could have more if I ever wanted to stop by.” She poked Brynlee in the arm and offered a sly grin. “That’s one thing you’ll learn in this profession, little one. Men will lavish you with two things: gifts and secrets. I prefer gifts.”

  Brynlee smiled.

  Korah stroked her cheek. “The others were right. You are a very kind girl. How did you wind up in a place like this?”

  The question caught Brynlee off guard because no one had yet to ask her anything about herself. Not even her name. Throughout the house people had taken to calling her Girl.

  “The Black King,” Brynlee began, “he sacked my—”

  Korah stopped her with a quick finger against her lips. “Never call him that,” she blurted. “You are in the capital city of Edhen. He is the High King Orkrash Mahl. Understand?”

  Mungo stomped into the room. He looked as freshly powdered and proper as most of the girls did, with a wreath of tiny fresh flowers encircling his balding dome.

  “What is this?” he demanded, glaring at Korah. “I hear from Madeline that you were drunk last night? Are you mad? We have charges today. Many of them. I need you downstairs.”

  Korah rose on shaky feet and bowed her head. “Forgive me, my lord. My charge insisted I drink with him last night. Besides, he tipped well.” She motioned toward a small stand on the side of the bed where a pile of coins formed a tiny mountain.

  Mungo strode over to the table, his long brown and gold overcoat sweeping the floor at his feet. He pocketed his share of the money, which was most of it. He then approached Korah and examined her reddened eyes with disgust.

  “Powder yourself up,” he said. “Then get down the stairs.”

  “Please,” Korah began, “I can’t. I need a day. Please, just one day.”

  Sighing in reluctance, Mungo sat down on the bed, encouraging Korah to do the same with a gentle pat of the mattress. He put his arm around her and hugged her close. “Oh, what is wrong, my lovely?”

  “My head won’t stop pounding,” Korah said, cupping her brow with her hand.

  “The next time a charge wants you to drink like that, you mix yours with water,” Mungo said. “You know this.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ll try to do better next time. Please don’t make me work today. One day, sir. I just–I just need one day to feel better.”

  Mungo’s other hand drifted up Korah’s chest to her neck. “Do you know why you’re head hurts?” His fingers wrapped around her throat. “Your heart is pumping more blood into your brain, but you may notice that as you cut off the circulation the throbbing fades away. Like this.” He began to squeeze. “It intensifies at first, but after a moment or two you should begin to feel something almost euphoric.” Korah had begun to squirm. Mungo reclined her onto the mattress, pressing his hand harder against her throat as he squeezed. Her legs kicked, and she grabbed at his hand, but Mungo was in control now, and whenever he was in control struggling only made things worse. “Do you feel it?” he whispered. “Everything just… fading away?” He held her there for a long moment until she started to relax.

  Korah’s eyes flittered closed.

  Mungo released his hand and the young woman gasped for air. She rolled over onto her side, clutching her neck and coughing.

  “Did that feel good?” he asked.

  Korah rapidly shook her head.

  “No? Then remember that. I’ll make everything fade permanently if you don’t get your perfect round ass down the stairs.”

  “Yes, my lord,” she rasped.

  Mungo pointed at Brynlee who stood terrified in the middle of the room. “You, Girl, get her some tea and sugar, some water to wash up with.” He got off the bed and said to Korah, “Come see me when you’re presentable.”

  “Yes, my lord,” she wheezed.

  Mungo strode out of the room, leaving a menacing chill in his wake.

  Korah sat up, brushing her rich black hair out of her face.

  “Girl?” Korah said before she’d had a chance to
exit the room.

  Brynlee turned. “Yes?”

  “Is that your real name?”

  Brynlee nodded. Then, upon seeing pity in Korah’s eyes, she shook her head.

  “That’s good. You should never give them your real name. Still, I think a new name might be worth considering.”

  “Yes, miss.”

  “Call me Korah.”

  Brynlee smiled, and from that moment on she knew she had made a friend.

  She prepared some tea and sugar for Korah just as Mungo had instructed, but by the time she had delivered it to her room on a white tray, the young woman had left.

  Brynlee found her downstairs in the brothel’s common room, where men guffawed and drank themselves into a stupor on both wine and the sensual women dandling in their laps. Korah worked the room like a seasoned pro, sipping on watered down wine, flirting and teasing, until a young nobleman, half drunk, stumbled up the stairs with her into her bedroom.

  The party continued downstairs. The pretty young girls of Mungo’s brothel gradually lost more of their clothing as the rambunctious men lost more of their self-restraint. Wine flowed. Money changed hands. Women and men mingled and teased and flirted.

  Mungo’s brothel was the largest in Perth, with Mungo himself the largest procurer of prostitutes on Edhen. Though perhaps not up to the diverse selection in Tay, Mungo’s house featured women from many corners of the known world, not the least of which was Korah, a native of Krebberfall. She had been a prostitute for six years, working throughout the west coast of Edhen until Mungo decided to add her to his collection of exotic women. With her raven black hair, strong jaw and broad shoulders, the young woman had proven unique among his girls and was often in high demand.

  Madeline was dancing near the hearth, a white lace skirt low-slung around her waist, a gold chain encircling her curvaceous hips. From her bare toes to the tips of her elegant fingers, she created an endless series of inviting curves, soft and provocative and unending.

  No one noticed the small, seven-year-old servant girl moving like a mouse along the outskirts of the festivities. As always, Brynlee tried to make herself small as she moved around the crowd, refilling empty goblets and cleaning up messes.

  Such parties were held in Mungo’s house about three or four times per moon, and Brynlee hated them every time. The shock of seeing the women in little to no clothing, carousing with bawdy men, wore off soon in the face of all her duties. The one thing she still wasn’t used to, however, was the sounds that came from the bedrooms when the girls were with their charges. Sometimes the screaming and the banging sounded so horrible that Brynlee feared for the girls. She didn’t fully understand what the men did to them, but she hated it, and hoped that it would never happen to her.

  “She has nice skin,” said a tall, thin fellow sipping wine from a silver goblet. “Is she working yet?”

  Brynlee was on her knees soaking up some spilled wine with a rag when she realized the man had been talking about her. She looked up at him, noticing Cordelia, another one of Mungo’s more popular girls, pressed up against him with a come-hither smile. When she was caught staring, Brynlee snapped her attention back to her task.

  “I’m not ready to let this little bird free of the nest just yet,” Mungo said. “She is quiet special.” His possessiveness made her feel several sizes smaller, and yet bright, like a diamond trapped in the setting of his grip.

  “You never want to start them too young, I suppose,” said the thin man. “It kills the luster in their eyes.

  Brynlee finished soaking up the spill and then took her bucket and rag to the kitchen.

  She pretended not to have overheard anything that Mungo or the other man had said, when in fact she had heard it all so well that it give her the trembles. She feared it had something to do with the screaming and banging that permeated the brothel. Whatever it was, she wanted no part in it.

  Maidie stood at the kitchen’s smooth wooden counter assembling goblets of wine onto a square white tray. The girl had been brought to Mungo’s from Aberdour in the same wagon cage as Brynlee. She had spent much of the journey sick, and even now looked weak and afraid, her blue eyes awash with worry.

  “Wait,” Brynlee said.

  Maidie flinched, almost dropping her tray.

  “Use the round one,” Brynlee said.

  “Huh?”

  “Here.”

  She went to the girl and tenderly, almost motherly, took the square platter from her hands and set it down. She grabbed a large oval tray and quickly populated it with four wooden goblets with outward sloping rims.

  “It’s very important to serve the guests correctly,” she said. “A square tray signifies sides, division, but a round tray is like a union, you know, like friendship. And the goblets with the edges that curve outward are provided as a favor to the guests on behalf of the host. They’re easier to drink out of. It’s just a courtesy.”

  Maidie dropped her head and covered her eyes. After a moment she began to sob.

  Brynlee pulled her into a hug.

  “I can’t do this, Bryn. I’m scared. Every day I’m–I’m so scared.”

  “I know. Me too.”

  “What’s going to happen to us?”

  The girls flinched in unison when Mungo spoke. “You’re both here to work, not moan and sob.”

  The girls pulled away, with Maidie quickly wiping her eyes. Brynlee spun around to see the brothel master standing in the doorway of the kitchen, the light from the hallway shining on his gut. She forced a large knot free from her throat down to the pit of her queasy core.

  “Bring those drinks to my guests, child,” Mungo said.

  Maidie scooped up the tray and pattered out of the kitchen.

  Mungo waved a finger at Brynlee. “There’s something about you.”

  Her brows narrowed. “My lord?”

  “See, that right there. ‘My lord.’ ‘Yes, sir.’ ‘Yes, ma’am.’ How did you know to use the round tray instead of the square one? You know far too much to be a peasant girl, and you speak far too eloquently. Tell me, Girl, who taught you these things?”

  Brynlee hesitated, wondering just what she should tell him. “My mother.”

  “Ah, and what a dear, sweet mother she must’ve been to teach her daughter such good etiquette. Do you read, Girl?”

  “History.”

  Mungo’s tyrant smile stretched to the edges of his fat cheeks. “History,” he whispered. He strolled up to her and stood over her, cornering her against the L-shaped countertop. He caressed her chin. “Such a delicate face. Some men would pay a lot of money for a girl like you, did you know that?”

  Brynlee shook her head. She wanted to run, but she was too afraid to move.

  “I want you to begin learning,” Mungo said. “Watch the other girls. See how they interact with our customers. I want you to learn to dress like them, to paint your face like them, pluck your eyebrows and move like them. Some day, if you do well enough, this pretty face could earn us both a small fortune.”

  A great gang of laughter erupted from the common room, calling Mungo’s attention. He kissed Brynlee on the forehead and left the kitchen, leaving her quivering on her skinny legs and gripping the counter for support.

  Later in the evening she wandered upstairs just as one of Korah’s charges came staggering out of her bedroom, grinning like a fool and sweating through his disheveled clothes. Brynlee shuffled inside and saw Korah sitting naked on the edge of the bed, her face in her hands.

  “Can I get you anything?” she asked.

  Korah sniffled and asked her to bring some warm water and a washcloth, which Brynlee did as quickly as she could. She watched Korah dab her face, neck, and chest. When she pressed it between her legs, she winced.

  “Are you all right, Korah?” Brynlee asked.

  The young woman stood and limped to the wardrobe where she donned a yellow linen robe. “Just part of the job,” she said, in a tone that sounded like she might have been talking to herself. />
  “Have you thought of a name yet?” Korah asked as she fastened the robe around her waist. She went to the bed and sat back down, nursing a pain in her left hip.

  Brynlee shook her head. Not only had she not thought of a name, but the ensuing party had helped her to forget all about it. Besides, Brynlee rather liked her name and she wasn’t sure she wanted to be called anything else.

  “I’ve got a perfect name for you,” Korah said. “Would you like to hear it?”

  “Yes!”

  “Emma. It’s an honorable name that means strong and brave in my country. It…” Her head sagged. When she looked up again, she offered a sad smile and said, “It was the name of my baby sister. She died just a few days after she was born. It would honor me if you took her name.”

  Although touched by the suggestion, it still bothered her that no one would call her Brynlee anymore. “What about my real name?” she asked.

  Korah put her hand over Brynlee’s heart. “Keep it in here. Remember it always, but give it to no one.”

  “Is Korah your real name?”

  The young whore smiled. “I wish it was. In my country, the name Korah means brave, a quality I’m afraid I don’t have.”

  “My sister once told me that sometimes to help us be brave we can pretend to be someone else,” Brynlee said. “Someone braver.”

  “And is that how you got to be so brave?”

  Brynlee just shrugged. She didn’t think she was all that brave.

  “What was your sister’s name?” Korah asked.

  “Dana Falls. She was the oldest princess of—”

  Korah shushed her. She stood up and hurried to the bedroom door. She closed it and came back to the bed. “Listen to me very carefully, my dear,” she whispered. “You must never ever tell anyone where you’re from or who you really are. Do you understand me?”

  Brynlee ruffled her brows. She didn’t understand. It was no secret that there was much disdain in Perth for the kingdom of Aberdour, but Brynlee couldn’t figure out why she should be ashamed of where she came from. She loved her home, and she knew that half of what the people believed about Aberdour was wrong. Someone just had to tell them.