by Jeff Gunzel
All alone with nothing but his dark fantasies of revenge, Orm’rak grinned, hearing the hiss of the flickering candle as a slight breeze caused the low flame to lick the pool of melted wax. He moved his hand over the fire, allowing the heat to singe his fingers before pulling it back. Pain was real. Pain could be measured. Pain kept him grounded in a world in which he no longer fit.
Completing the cut, the corners of a nearly perfect square curled back as blood ran freely from the freshly sliced skin. Pinching two corners, Orm’rak carefully peeled downward as the moist square tore away from deep red muscle. Staring into Viola’s eyes, he began to chew on the fresh, leathery piece. Her teeth chattered, eyes rolling back in her head as her body began to go into shock.
It mattered not. He would wait until her senses returned before repeating the flaying process on her other leg, then stomach, then face... Shock would generally take a victim’s life long before one could get that far, but Orm’rak would be patient. He would allow her to recover in between sessions, waiting days if necessary. He would do whatever it took to keep her fragile body alive so he could complete the process. He wanted her conscious and sane until the very end.
For hours he played out the scenario over and over in his head. Sometimes he skinned her alive piece by piece until her quivering body released its final breath. Other times he boiled her alive, holding her head underwater as her face bloated and her hair fell out in clumps. Although the fantasies provided a temporary sense of satisfaction, they were indeed just fantasies. There could be no replacement for true revenge.
“Because of you, neither I nor what’s left my people have any future in this world,” Orm’rak whispered, sliding a large green-and-gold ring off his finger. “But if I have no future, then neither do you.” He glared at the ring’s green gem, its center sporting a line of black so it resembled a cat’s eye. He tossed it onto the table, watching it rattle around before quivering to a halt. Once a symbol of the laberaths, it no longer held any meaning to him now.
“I will no longer burden myself with loyalty to an extinct race. Because of you I am now a rogue bound to no one, therefore my loyalty lies only with myself. Once I see the light extinguished from your eyes by my hands alone, my only objective in this world will be complete. After that, the ghatins can do what they want with your lifeless husk, but not before I’ve had my revenge.”
Reaching down to the floor, Orm’rak retrieved a wooden bowl containing a sprinkling of blue dust along with a small knife. “You will not escape me again,” he growled, placing the items on the table. Wrapping his fingers around the blade, he made a clean slice across his palm before holding a bloody fist over the bowl. A steady stream of blood trickled into the bowl, fizzing and bubbling the moment it touched the blue power.
Setting the knife next to the bowl, he reached into a leather pouch strung to the table leg and retrieved a glass slide containing a single white hair. His eyes narrowed as he stared at the one remaining item he was able to salvage even after Viola had tried to drag him to his death. With all his anger and hatred centered on that single hair, he slid it from between the glass plates and threw in into the bowl.
The mixture of blood and powder swelled to a violent, roiling boil. Eagerly, he brought the bowl to his lips and began to drink. With fizzing bubbles running from his chin, the contents burned his throat all the way down. He might as well have been drinking acid, but even that wouldn’t have stopped him in the heat of this glorious moment.
Nearly empty, the bowl slipped from his fingers and bounced off the table. Doubling over, he began coughing uncontrollably as the concoction seared his insides like fire. Misting saliva spraying with each cough soon turned into thick streams of blood oozing from his mouth.
He pushed off the table, falling back in his chair before slamming hard onto the floor. His body shook with violent convulsions, head striking the floor as his hands trembled. Then suddenly, all the violent movements stopped as his cold body lay still, motionless. A minute later he sat up with a groan, his red eyes frosting over for an instant before returning to their original color.
Face covered with sweat, he pulled himself up using the edge of the table. “I can feel the wretched taint flowing through your veins,” he grunted, a victorious grin parting his lips. “You are part of me now. Wherever you go in this world, I shall be aware of your presence at all times. Run if you wish, but there is nowhere to hide.”
Rising to his feet, a glowing aura seemed to radiate from his body. With the only candle dwindled down to nothing more than a smoking black wick, he left the pitch-black room and walked down the empty hallway. He felt renewed somehow, as if his life had been given new meaning and purpose. Killing had always been a simple part of life’s circle, and a thing so trivial that he rarely ever even thought about it. But this time, revenge was the only thing driving him. Hundreds of humans had died by his hands without a second thought, yet this particular hunt was going to be something special.
Nearing his feeding chamber, he could see the light shining from the wide-open doorway. With the city practically abandoned, there was simply no reason to keep it sealed anymore. Racks that once held suspended humans in a state of living death were now empty. He stepped into the light, his eyes scanning the room filled with his creations.
Hundreds of undead turned to him, their necks all cracking at once with a sickening crunch. For an instant, Orm’rak’s eyes shone a soft, red glow. Hundreds of eyes mirrored that brief shine right back at him, giving them all the momentary appearance of cats hiding in the dark. Without saying a word, Orm’rak turned away. With a collective moan they obediently followed, men, women, and even children swaying along clumsily.
Orm’rak’s final plan was in full swing, an entire food source sacrificed so he could assemble a small army of obedient soldiers. At this stage of their wretched lives, they could serve no better purpose. They had been kept here only to serve as a convenient source of food given how far the laberath city was from the surface world where the humans dwelled. But Kraindoel would no longer serve as Orm’rak’s home. In truth, he would probably never come back here again. And on the surface world was an endless supply of food, so not a single body here needed to be spared.
Yes, he would assimilate himself to life on the surface world. Yes, a small part of his original plan had actually come to fruition, seeing as he was now going to finally leave this underground tomb. But it was all secondary when compared to the singular goal that drove him now.
He and his army of undead were going to find, torture, and eventually kill the mutant freak that took his life from him. He would see to it that Viola experienced suffering like no other.
*
Hunching forward on her horse, Viola flipped another page in yet another book. Riding had become second nature to her, but it didn’t feel much like a learned skill. It was just something she did now. As usual, their pace was slow, so all she really had to do was let the horse move naturally on its own. Aside from possibly falling asleep and tipping off, there really wasn’t much else for her to worry about.
Already she was tearing into her second book, The King’s Silent Hand, having finished the first. Although Viola could understand how someone might find these books dry or even boring, she was spellbound by the wealth of information. She had always been curious by her very nature, always wanting to know more about the world she had never been allowed to partake in. But here, right at her fingertips, were all the answers she had so desperately sought over the years: acknowledged rules of war, how the varying governments worked, and even how they had been manipulated throughout the centuries. After she had been hidden from society for so long, these books were like a whole new world that had opened up to her. To Viola, it felt a lot like telling a child she could not open a box no matter what. Now all the child could ever think about was opening that box. And now that she had that box to herself, she devoured all the information she could.
When a slight movement ahead caught her eye, she gl
anced up to see Owen twirling his finger in the air. It was time to stop for the night. She blinked once or twice, straining her eyes while gazing around at the dwindling light shining through the treetops. How long had her nose been buried in this book? She thumped it closed and stuffed it back in her side bag. That was enough exercising her mind for one day.
Owen found the spot less than ideal, given the lumpy, uneven ground, but it would do well enough. Here, the forest was far less dense than had been the case for most of their travel so far.
Sparse trees provided only minimal cover, and Liam wasn’t sure he cared for Owen’s idea of a good camp spot. But the hunter was already dismounting and tugging at the bags strapped to his lavics. With a shrug, Liam slid off his horse and began doing the same.
As Xavier started setting up camp, Viola led the horses over to some nearby trees to secure them. Using nothing but a canteen and her bare hand, she began watering them one at a time.
Over the past few days, Viola had found that this was probably the best way for her to help out. She liked animals, and they in turn seemed to like her. No one else seemed to want the dirty chore, but she didn’t mind. Their thick, slimy tongues tickled her hands as the beasts drank. However, Owen’s lavics was his own problem. She didn’t want to go near the thing.
When Viola was finished cleaning her slimy hands on the grass, she went to join the others, who had already started a small fire. “Are you ready?” she asked Thatra, hopeful.
Caught off guard, Thatra glanced up, looking like a chipmunk with her mouth full of nuts. Wide-eyed and embarrassed, she quickly swallowed the peanuts she was chewing. “What? Now?” Thatra asked.
Grinning, Viola nodded her head.
“But we’ve been riding all day. Don’t you want to relax first, maybe have something to eat?”
Viola shook her head.
“Fine,” Thatra sighed, tying off the bag before rising to her feet. “But only for a little while, then we call it a night. Wait here a moment.” She marched off for a time before returning with two large sticks. “These will work,” she said, snapping off a few twigs still clinging to one of them.
“The first time we did this, I was just testing you,” Thatra said, tossing one of the sticks to Viola. “This time we’re going to go harder, so I don’t want to use real weapons until you’re ready to handle them. This is real training, understand?”
With a nod, Viola marched away from the fire and took up her position twenty feet away. She thumped the stick on the ground a few times to try and get a feel for her new weapon. She was certainly the last person who needed to be judging its usefulness, but as far as she could tell, it seemed solid enough.
Conversation around the fire died down as the men turned to watch. “Care to place any bets?” Owen said, prodding Liam with a sharp elbow to his ribs.
“I think not,” Liam replied with a wheeze, fighting the urge to hold his side. With the brotherly rivalry that had developed between these two, each was reluctant to give the other even the slightest bit of satisfaction. “I’m glad to see Viola taking such steps to improve her standing, but this is a fool’s bet. You’ll not be taking any silver from me this day.”
“Then how about a gold piece instead?” said Xavier, clutching a gold coin between his middle and index fingers.
“You can’t be serious,” Liam said, flashing a sideways glance as Xavier twiddled his eyebrows. In a marvelous display of dexterity, the puppet master made the coin flip several times across the backs of his knuckles. Suddenly, he closed his hands into fists, then opened them slowly, wiggling his empty fingers to prove the coin had vanished into thin air.
Liam smirked while watching the puppet master display his empty hands front and back, then pull down both sleeves to prove it wasn’t there either.
Owen rolled his eyes, having seen his apprentice’s parlor tricks hundreds of times before. They were great for gaining coins when holed up in small towns and villages, but he didn’t like being forced to see them again while sitting around a campfire.
Xavier reached behind Liam’s ear, and drew back a closed fist.
“I assume you’ve found your coin?” Liam said dryly. Despite the feigned boredom in his voice, the youthful sparkle in his eyes betrayed his true thoughts. He was plenty entertained by Xavier’s antics.
Xavier flashed open his empty hand. “I have nothing,” he said, his eyes glancing down at Liam’s hands lying on his lap. The mystic’s face flushed as he opened his own hand, revealing the gold coin. “If Viola quits first, it is yours to keep,” Xavier said with a wink.
“How did you—” Liam mumbled, mostly speaking to himself. He clenched the coin, then glanced at Xavier. “All right then, you have a deal. I’ll happily take your gold, boy.” The men grew silent, eager to watch the show.
Thatra tapped her stick against each heel then raised it high above her head.
Viola tapped her own feet, mimicking her movements exactly. She wasn’t sure if touching each foot was actually necessary, but she did it anyway before raising her stick.
“Higher,” Thatra barked. “And grip it tighter than that!”
Viola raised it up all the way above her head.
With the speed of a viper, Thatra took two steps and lashed out. With a crack, she sent Viola’s stick tumbling a good ten yards away. “I told you to grip it harder,” Thatra scolded. “The weapon in your hand can be the difference between life and death. If your skill is inferior to your enemy’s, you could still get lucky and score a killing blow. If your enemy’s conditioning is superior, you still might be able to outlast him under the right circumstances. No two people are exactly the same. ‘Cover your own weaknesses while trying to exploit your enemy’s.’ That has been the code of battle since the beginning of time. But if they can knock the weapon from your hand on the very first strike, then your defeat is imminent. If you learn nothing else this day, at least remember this: Don’t...lose...your...weapon.”
Embarrassed but still determined, Viola spun away to retrieve her stick, but in doing so she nearly toppled Xavier, who for some reason was standing right next to her. Lightly bouncing off his shoulder, she stumbled back a few steps. Mortified, her face on fire, she could hardly look him in the eye.
“Here you are,” he said, handing her the stick.
Still unable to look at him, she accepted it then lowered it near her leg.
He leaned in close to her ear. “You’re doing fine,” he whispered. “Don’t worry about a thing. We’ve all been here before, but I want you to remember something. The most dangerous opponent in the world is the one who refuses to give up. Speed can be developed, skill can be taught,” he touched her chest with two fingers, “but this is what will separate you from the rest. You either have it or you don’t. But I’ve seen what you’re capable of, so I know you have heart.” He rubbed her shoulder before going back to sit with the others.
In a rush, Viola released a breath she didn’t even realize she was holding, then turned back to face Thatra. “Again,” Viola shouted, surprised by the strength of her own voice.
The tarrin nodded, then streaked forward with her weapon raised. Again she tried the same tactic, striking Viola’s stick with tremendous force. With a hollow pop, she nearly sent it flying a second time. But despite the numbing vibrations radiating right down into her fingers, Viola managed to hold on, if only just barely.
Ignoring the burning sting in her hands, Viola countered with a slow, downward chop. With ease and precision, Thatra easily pushed it aside, then spun back the other direction, her stick driving hard into Viola’s shoulder. She cried out, one hand releasing her stick as she stumbled back. Thatra propped her weapon up on her shoulder and turned away.
“My objective is to hit you, not your weapon,” Thatra said, her back to Viola. “In turn, your objective should be to hit me. I’m not pointing out the obvious to belittle you; I’m trying to focus your mind. Think of your weapon as an extension of your own body. Your limbs move when you give
them purpose. You are doing one of two things at all times, attacking or defending. When you are attacking, seek my flesh regardless of where my weapon is. When you are defending, you must do the opposite. Seek to intercept my weapon at all costs, for if it hits home, your life is forfeit. Now, if I am attacking?”
“Seek your weapon,” Viola said, rubbing her sore shoulder.
“If I am defending?”
“My weapon seeks your flesh.”
Even with her back still turned, Thatra grinned. “That is correct.” Thatra pivoted back, stick raised high above her head, and charged with no warning.
Viola braced, raising her weapon quickly as her mind raced. Seek her weapon... Seek her weapon... Eyes zeroing in on Thatra’s streaking weapon as it chopped downward, Viola raised her own to block its path. With a solid crack, she blocked the strike. Seek her flesh... Seek her flesh... With a burst, Viola thrust the enemy weapon aside and came at Thatra with a sideways strike.
Stunned and completely out of position to block, Thatra thrust her hips back as the strike flashed past her stomach. Thinking she had her off balance, Viola stepped in and slashed back the other direction. Her second strike slammed hard into Thatra’s perfectly positioned block. Stunned at how quickly the warrior had recovered, Viola paused a second with their weapons engaged. It was a second she couldn’t spare.
The warrior burst into an offensive flurry. With pinpoint precision, her stick cracked all over Viola’s body. Shoulder, shoulder, hip, knee.