Amazon_Signs of the Secret

by Ms. Becky J. Rhush

  I studied the darkness beyond the doorway.

  “In there?”

  “In there.” He confirmed.

  I pulled back. “I’ll take the one on the right.”

  Tythose nodded, dipping back to study the guards. The two men joked back and forth, rambling on with a group of soldiers some paces down. The guards ambled a good ten paces from their post, lured away by a game of dice.

  “Now!” Tythose hissed.

  I darted out from the wall, ready to lunge. Confusion struck me when I found no soldiers, but relief soon took its’ place. Shooting into the open doorway, we scampered into the black, hunching down to hide. I looked over the dark room, the glare of light cutting in from the wide open doorway.

  “This is the dungeon?” I asked, wondering if Tythose had made a mistake.

  “This is one of the old stables Gragore . The dungeon is beneath us. Gragore hollowed out the ground below so that even if a rival made it into the fortress, finding their imprisoned comrades wouldn’t be likely.”

  I nodded, confirming the hunch that I faintly smelled horses. Tythose crept the creaking wood, stopping at a mound of hay. “Under here.”

  I helped him heap armfuls of straw to the side, keeping a vigil eye on the door.

  “Here.” He bent down, grabbing an iron handle. With a quick screech, the trapdoor pulled up from the floor. Tythose shot his eyes back to the doorway. The guards were still out of sight.

  Staring into the porthole, a nauseating odor hit me. The sickening sweet stench of decaying flesh twinged up with the ammonia of urine. The reek of vomit and soured sweat hung on at its’ end. I dizzied in the stink. Before me, reaching deep under the stables, loomed a set of winding steps. In the muted glow of dying torches, the gray of the steps distorted into dismal green stone.

  Tythose stepped passed me, sinking into the gloom. “We have to hurry.”

  I checked the doorway with a last time. The two soldiers stood back at their post, but still distracted in their banter with the other men. I pulled the trap door down with me till it clacked shut, then began my descent down the slimy steps. The place was dank with moss covered walls that flickered the same grayish green as the steps. All other color was lost into the shadows here. My stomach sank the deeper I drifted down the stairwell. My nerves jumbled, curious as to the miseries waiting at the bottom. The steps drizzled in a ruthless cold breeze and the air floated thick and sickening. To live like this… day after day. Forgotten. Starving. Diseased. Bleeding out. I wager they beg for death here-

  My thoughts cut off at the moans and crying floating up to my ears. Tythose disappeared around the mossy turn and I squared my jaw, hurrying my pace to reach him. Once around the bend, the breath sucked from my chest. A level of hell spread out before me.

  Cells cut into the walls, too many to count. Torture devices clawed up at the center of the chamber, their sharp crimson edges flickering in the low torchlight. A device for stretching, stabbing, burning, drowning… they all stared back at me with jagged teeth and blood stained vomit water. Bones littered the dirt. Long dead bodies hung in shackles in different stages of decomposition, suffocating the air with their pungent cloud. Old blood painted the place in dingy browns. Fresh red pools mirrored dying prisoners, left lying where they had been filleted. Flies flew in swarms, buzzing loud, darting at my face.

  “Askca!” Came the strained whisper.

  In the furthest cell down the long path, Saratiese stood behind a wooden door peering through a crude little window just big enough to expose her face. I sprinted toward her, Tythose swiping a rusty key from the hook as he followed. He unlocked the cell with fumbling speed. I pulled the door open, running to Saratiese, embracing her. As the company poured out of the darkened cell, I looked to Laidea.

  “I found Queen Perseathea, but she wouldn‘t-”

  “Come with you. But she is well?”

  “Yeah.”

  Laidea led the collection of relieved sighs circling the company.

  Tythose grabbed my arm. “Let’s get out of here before Gragore finds us.”

  “That’s a good idea,” a dark voice crawled out from behind us, “but I don’t think you’re going to make it.”

  I whipped around to find Gragore, Masseeia, and Cyrenna, accompanied by several soldiers, blocking the stairwell.

  Chapter 58

  “That’s her.” The cold words dripped from Masseeia’s lips like poison as she pointed an accusing finger at me. A wide grin swept over Gragore’s plum lips.

  I leaned away from the warlord as he slid gentle fingers under my chin, tilting my head up to meet his gaze.

  “I’ve searched far and wide for you, young one.”

  “You have me.” I said, feeling cornered but trying to sound brave. “Let the others go.”

  Masseeia and Cyrenna shared in a bitter cackle.

  “Isn’t she the noble daughter?” Cyrenna sneered.

  “Yes, Gragore.” Masseeia mocked. “Why don’t you just set them all free for good measure?”

  Gragore kept his eyes on me, making no notice of the two women or the heckling soldiers. He instead kept to his unwavering stare, too drawn in by me to look away.

  “I don’t believe I can part with your friends,” he said, “but I will take you.” I jerked away from the warlord, but his fingers only detoured to trace down my cheek. He straightened away, motioning to the soldiers.

  “Take them back to their cell.” He growled, his voice suddenly cold.

  The men trickled around Gragore snatching up the Amazons once again as Masseeia and Cyrenna laughed. Three men hauled into Tythose, spitting on him while cursing his ‘fall to women’ as the others brutalized the Amazons back into their cell, blood busting the whole way back.

  I, secured by a group of soldiers, could do nothing but stay frozen in place. My eyes blazing at Gragore. But I kept silent and without struggle. One thought. One hunger. One hate prickled through my skin, surging into a burn…. Kill tanged so thick in my mouth I could taste it. Kill. Gragore.

  “I’m bringing you with me.” The warlord turned back to me with his lascivious grin, prompting another hot twinge in my stomach.

  “Ten men at the stairwell and another twenty guarding the door up top.”

  The men mumbled in agreement, fragmenting into groups. The warlord twisted his dirty fingers into my hair, twirling it like I were a small child, then directed my chin to the cell of Amazons.

  “If I were to allow you to choose just one of them to live,” his warm breath scuffed over my ear, “which would it be?”

  I nudged away from his hand, refusing him any words as my heart pounded.

  “Well?” He persisted. “I am your father. I can do this one thing for you… but you must choose only one.”

  I stood in a daze, not knowing whether to believe the warlord or not. Even if I do, how can I pick? Too many things to regard with each of them. Some are children… some have children. Laidea is Commander. Saratiese is- “The sands are running low.” The warlord interrupted my thoughts. “Choose, or I’ll let none of them live.”

  Gods, gods, gods!

  “Alright,” Gragore snapped, “I condemn all-”

  “No!” I rushed. “I choose her!”

  I gestured to Saratiese, then mouthed a mournful sorry to my other sisters, dropping my eyes from them quickly.

  “I stand in shock.” Masseeia rolled her eyes, nudging Cyrenna in the ribs.

  “You heard her.” Gragore motioned. “Loosen the girl.”

  Two soldiers complied, bringing Saratiese out of the cell and over to the warlord. I forced rising sobs back down my throat as Saratiese approached, tears glittering in her sad blue eyes.

  “You are a pretty thing, aren’t you?” Gragore lapped over Saratiese with his sinful eyes. Turning my stomach. “You know, I might just have a place for you here-”

  “No!” I shouted. “You said I could choose one! I choose her!”

  “Yes.” The warlord’s face beamed,
his crow’s feet creasing the corner of his eyes. “I said choose one to live, not to be free. Besides, you should know by now. You can’t really trust me.”

  “But-”

  “I’m very unreliable.” Gragore cupped Saratiese’s chin with his hand, now examining her features. “Yes…” he awed at her, “you will do well to rekindle the fires.”

  Saratiese pulled away, looking at me. I stared back apologetically, shaking my head. Shrugging my shoulders. Feeling completely like I had doomed her rather than saved her.

  Gragore shifted his glance to the two men holding Saratiese. “Take her to the harlot Nahlla.”

  The men nodded.

  “No!” I kicked out, my legs springing up from under the arms of my captors. “You said you were my father! You said you’d give me this one thing!”

  Gragore tilted his head. “Are you jealous? Do not worry, daughter,” his words crawled out sweet, “I’ll still put you first in line.”

  Just then, an explosion of glowing blue light illuminated the dungeon. Every eye squinted at the stairwell, hands shielding from its’ blinding pearlescent light. A sapphire beam shot out from the stairwell, surging across the chamber like a blue flamed thunderbolt, hurling the soldiers into the dirt.

  Chapter 59

  The cold fire blazed passed me, grabbing blue flamed fingers over Saratiese. The soldiers at her side shoved deeper into the dirt, the pulsating force of blue weighing heavy on their backs. When I dared to look up, I saw Saratiese suspended in midair, her face paled and wide eyed. In a daze. She hung limp in the cerulean hold, her feet dangling above the soldier’s heads.

  A bitter cold gusted across the chamber, turning my breath into white mist and snuffing out the torches. The dungeon bathed solely in the glow of the blue fire. The cold grew colder and Saratiese languished in the clench of blue mystery over our heads.

  Then… the sound of the trapdoor shutting boomed down the stairwell to our ears. Slow footsteps followed. One after another they swept over each step like a whisper. All but Saratiese flit frightened eyes to the stairwell. Every man and Amazon alike felt the cold breath hiding deep within our chests, fearing to show its’ mist. My cold skin itched with energy as the blue bolt burned brighter, lighting the dungeon… awaiting its’ possessor.

  Slow, but closer, the footsteps sounded. The blue brightened even more, hurting my eyes. I closed them, moments passing until I felt the bruise lift from my eyelids. I, with the others, dared a squint. The light waned into a soft purple glow. At the steps, stood the Seer. A dark oracle. Despite the violet haze, a stream of fire still blared blue from her outstretched hand, refusing its’ release of Saratiese.

  The witch stared over us, her intense black gaze colder than ice water over my skin. She stared through to Saratiese, still tangled in the icy blue flame. Levitating forward, the witch’s footsteps swept through the chamber, though her feet never touched the ground. Her velvet robes, the color of sacrificial blood, slithered the dirt as she came. As she hovered, her malformed and crooked frame exposed under the amethyst glow. Though hunched with age, she still hovered bizarrely tall, skulking over our heads like a venomous serpent. Though she drooped high over us, the ancient hag could weigh no more than a child. Her face sunk in at the bones and glowed gaunt in the purple burn. Her body gnarled over and her skin yellowed thin. Her black flamed eyes never left Saratiese, but rather scorched over the girl as she hung cataleptic in the blue curse.

  The soldiers, their mouths gaping open, kept their place in the dirt under the dark witch. They knew Gragore consulted the wicked oracle, yet had never seen her. The warlord stole away to her in secret and she never left her tower at the west end of the fortress. What could boil so vital to summon her out? The nightmarish mystery brought fear like fingers all over their bodies, and they sucked the cold air in and out, wheezing frantic white mist.

  The Seer twisted her brittle fingers and Saratiese’s hair frazzled up, standing on end as if an electrical current surged her body. Swiveling her withered hand further, the witch summoned the blue scorch to suck away from Saratiese’s edges and stream down to the girl’s stomach. Opening her mouth, the wicked oracle revealed a pure black tunnel of nothingness. With no sound, and without moving her lips, she coerced her raspy voice into our minds.

  “This girl shall birth him. The Rival.” Her ragged voice scratched like grating pebbles in our heads.

  She guided the blue bolt in circular motions over Saratiese’s middle, orbing it over the girl’s stomach like half of a crystal ball. Every man in the dungeon could suddenly peer through the orbed light as if it were a blue looking glass staring into Saratiese’s insides. Blue illuminated her stomach until a black blotch no bigger than a seed came into view. The black seed began to shift and take shape, growing into a silhouette baring tiny hands and feet. A baby, its’ heart protruding with beats that echoed loud in our ears, writhed within Saratiese. It squirmed, growing a hundred times that of nature. The blue fire suspended Saratiese, fixing her tight to the air as she stared blankly… as if she were not inside of herself. The dark oracle’s gravel voice came back.

  “Gragore heed me.” She eyed the warlord with her black pooled eyes. “I have revealed your truth to you since your youth. I have seen all things pure in their wickedness. And I see this rival child. He shall be night to the consecrated day.”

  “Then kill her!” Gragore bolstered out, still belly down in the dirt, pointing to Saratiese. “Kill the demon inside of her!”

  The soldiers glanced at Gragore, but their eyes soon darted back and forth between Saratiese and the dark witch as if they were afraid to move.

  “No.” The witch warned in a dominant, dark voice. “You know not the consecrated child’s path. My eyes show me only the dark and not the light. If the consecrated shall rise up against you, this rival son shall rise against the consecrated.” The witch stared down on Gragore, her blood colored robes swaying at his side.

  “And if I do raise up the chosen son?” He asked.

  “Then this child,” she lifted a bony finger toward Saratiese, “will kill you.”

  “Can this be changed?” He asked, fear clenching his voice.

  “As time fades into dust, so does your destiny of the dark empire. If you do not soon seize your fate, it will run from you, and unto another.”

  Gragore squared his jaw, his sallow expression muted in the purple smolder. “Then I shall harness this rival child and the consecrated!”

  He pounded a fist into the dirt, staring up at the ghostly hag with resolve. When she offered nothing in reproach, he motioned to his soldiers.

  “Do what must be done!”

  The soldiers slinked up to their feet like fearful, beaten dogs.

  “Grab her.” Gragore ordered again.

  The men pried their eyes from the dark oracle, snatching a hold of me, yanking me up to my feet. The witch lowered her hand, releasing the bolt form Saratiese, dropping her to the ground. The blue flame quenched, surging the dungeon into blackness. The glitter of blue dust sparkled in the dark for a few moments after, but soon faded. As the soldiers scrambled, relighting the torches, a united gasp hushed the chamber. Saratiese and the witch were gone.

  Chapter 60

  The time of his fate came quickly, chasing after me like a pack of starving wolves. Within the hour, I found myself lying there, staring up at the midmorning sky, watching thin wisps of cloud drift overhead. Gragore had ordered all soldiers but five out of the fortress, spilling them into the surrounding fields.

  In the yard, one man stood at each corner of my slab, their backs turned to me. Gragore had rambled on about keeping their eyes away from the sacred ceremony, saying that the prophecy spoke of the consecrated coming in secret, only under the eyes of fate. No one else, not even Masseeia or Cyrenna, were allowed into the yard.

  I took in a deep breath, smelling the musk of the wet, burnt grass. The fires must finally been quenched. I thought, trying to keep my mind free of the towering, wooden stake wait
ing to my left. Try as I may, my eyes kept wandering back to the stake and to the chunks of tree branch at its’ base. I closed my eyes tight, shoving the thought away. Swallowing, I reopened them, attempting to look over the yard without Gragore noticing. Thankfully, he appeared much too caught up, pacing the yard and searching every alcove to make certain no soldier had lingered behind to catch a glimpse of ‘his ceremony’.

  I gave a sideways glance. I could hear Laidea and the others mumbling in a cell for the condemned at the yard‘s edge, but could not see them. Not from my place in center yard. I scanned the walls. No soldiers. The yard stood empty, except for Gragore and the five soldiers. My throat tightened. I wriggled my arms, rattling the chains. The same chains bound my feet. If only I could do what Valasca did to escape these shackles. More clouds drifted overhead in a sea of blue sky.

  “Look who I have.” Gragore whispered in my ear, sparking me to jump. His words settled in my ear with syrupy enthusiasm as I tipped my head to look.

  “Queen Perseathea!” I shouted without thought, straining my chains as Gragore paraded the woman around to my side.

  Once the Queen stood in full view, my heart dropped into my stomach. She swaggered in place, chains dripping her. Bruises welling under the fresh blood.

  “I’ve no more need for your mother here, so I thought you might like to see her one last time.”

  Tears immediately burned into my eyes, my chest aching. Queen Perseathea gazed down on me, and even through the blood seeping her eyes, I could see her tenderness, her heart aching for me. Gragore sauntered around Perseathea, putting his arm around her.

  “That’s our daughter.” He squeezed the woman’s shoulder. “And today, she will take her mother’s place.”

  “No!” I shouted, thrashing in my chains.

  I had no idea what I was doing, but I had to do something. I had to stall him, distract him… anything, because I knew what was about to happen to Queen Perseathea. Gragore had me, he didn’t need her anymore, and that wooden stake taunted me with that, laughing at me from its’ place in the yard.