Faces of Betrayal

by Daniele Cella

  Faces of Betrayal

  Symphonies of Sun & Moon Saga - Book 1

  Daniele Cella

  Alessio Manneschi

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  1. Yuna

  2. Hadjia

  3. Ren

  4. Celty

  5. Rakesh

  6. Saemon

  7. Rakesh

  8. Ren

  9. Saemon

  10. Ren

  11. Rakesh

  12. Hadjia

  13. Celty

  14. Yuna

  15. Isao

  16. Saemon

  17. Isao

  18. Hadjia

  19. Celty

  20. Azuma

  21. Rakesh

  22. Ryo

  23. Isao

  24. Yuna

  25. Celty

  26. Hadjia

  27. Celty

  28. Hadjia

  29. Isao

  30. Rakesh

  31. Ren

  32. Isao

  Epilogue

  Appendix I

  Appendix II

  About the Authors

  Authors’ Afterthoughts

  SYMPHONIES OF SUN & MOON SAGA

  Book I

  Faces of Betrayal

  By Daniele Cella and Alessio Manneschi

  Faces of Betrayal is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 by Daniele Cella and Alessio Manneschi

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the authors, except by reviewers, who may quote brief passages in a review. For information regarding permission, send a query to the authors at symphoniesaga@gmail.com

  Prologue

  The prisoner, Shin, staggered under the sharp jerk of the rope around his neck. He fell to one knee, grunted, and pushed back to his feet as The Hangman hissed at him. Shin pressed on, his brain muted to the pain, to the darkness, to the impending sense of doom.

  Behind him, the haunting spires of the prison-city Iskawan pierced the sky like black needles. Mist shrouded the rest of the marshy world in dull patches, like a bruised gray blanket. Not even a lone bird called from the deep forest beyond, hidden in the same darkness that swathed everything in the devouring void of The Nothingness.

  The awkward, dissonant shuffle of two other Vakums followed behind Shin. Leading the way was a muscled bald man, a torch held just above his left shoulder. This was The Hangman, the man who ran the underworld of Iskawan.

  The feeble light of his fire cast a pathetic circle around The Hangman, and didn’t extend much farther. The shifting shadows moved, giving way to a tattoo of a furled left hand on his thick neck - a sign of punishment. From The Hangman’s right hand, three ropes fell, each connected to a Vakum.

  “Come along, dogs,” The Hangman called jovially with a sharp jerk of each rope.

  The Vakums stumbled along silently, their eyes dull and their lips unmoving.

  Despite the pervasive darkness and the strange mist swirling at his feet, The Hangman seemed to know where to go. His head jerked to one side, then back to look at the ground again. Under his breath, he muttered constantly. “Marsh on the right. Marsh on the left,” he sang. His voice reverberated through the strange space. “Follow the call of the loon to your next doom. A-ha ha!” His strange, gritty laugh sent a chill through the night.

  On and on the Vakums plodded, working their way down the worn, single path and through the marshlands. Water seeped up, sloshing about their ankles. Always, the ropes pulled and tugged, crimping their necks and jerking their spines until, suddenly, they stopped.

  The Hangman paused, head tilted back. Looming above was the wide mouth of a cave, big enough for two men to pass on either side.

  “Right to it, as expected with a genius mind like my own,” The Hangman said, slapping his own chest with a bare palm. The sound sent a crack through the night. “You stay here, like the dogs you are, Vakum filth! I will attend to business inside and ensure the comforts of my future at your expense, of course. A-ha ha!”

  He tied the three ropes to a tree with a burly knot. The two prisoners in back fell to their knees, then their sides, eyes closing in weary resignation. Shin remained on his feet, staring at the blank mist.

  The Hangman stood before the entrance again, legs spread, staring into the gloom. Out of the darkness drifted a voice, brittle and hard at the same time.

  “The Hangman. We have been waiting for you. Please enter.”

  The Hangman remained in place. He set his fists on his hips, making his thick shoulders appear even greater. “No. You will come outside to see what you’ve purchased at the possible expense of my very important life.”

  A squeak followed. Four figures stepped out of the mist encircling the cave, eyes glittering, faces drawn. Black robes hid their shoulders and everything but their eyes. One of the four figure sat in a dilapidated chair with wheels on the bottom. He was an old man, with skin wrinkled and pruney as a raisin. Long, yellowing nails extended from the tips of his fingers.

  “As arrogant as ever.”

  The old man’s tinny voice rang through the marsh. It was loud despite its feeble quality.

  All other noise ceased. The occasional flash of a fairy fire illuminated the background.

  The Hangman didn’t back down, even though they had moved a few steps too close. His hand twitched on his hip. He licked his lips.

  “Arrogance and confidence are not the same thing,” he said, but his voice had become a bit too deep. “I brought the goods you requested.”

  The old man’s eyes darted to the prisoners, eyeing Shin first. “I see you brought three Vakums as specified, yes, but these are almost dead. They’ll provide little power to me if their life force is almost gone.”

  “They’re alive.”

  “Not by much.”

  The Hangman swallowed. “I met the terms.”

  “Barely.”

  “Taking three was a high risk! I can’t guarantee steady numbers like this. Discovery comes on swift wings when a trail remains, and three missing Vakums will leave a trail eventually.”

  The old man waved a dismissive hand. “You will figure it out.”

  The Hangman’s nostrils flared but he remained silent.

  “Give him three vials.”

  “Three?” The Hangman repeated.

  The old man nodded once. One of the hooded men next to him stepped forward, three glass vials of amber liquid in his palm. The Hangman plucked them up instantly, and quickly slipped them into a pouch tied to his pants. His eyes shone with new, eager light.

  “I appreciate your unexpected generosity.”

  “I know your love of Amber Lotus, The Hangman.” The old man held up a spiny finger. “I will continue to reward your efforts well. One vial per Vakum. A man in your position could use a little more vigor in his work, I imagine.”

  “Improved alertness always helps a prison guard. Although the heightened stench is a poor side effect of such a lovely liquid.”

  “Please me, and I’ll make it worth your while.”

  “In what way?”

  “You’ll receive as much Amber Lotus as you earn. We’re willing to invest in those in whom we believe. Escape from Iskawan will be your eventual reward, of course.”

  The Hangman blinked. He paused a moment, then broke the strained silence. “I will return with three more Vakums at
the next appointed time.”

  The old man’s thin lips broke into a smile. He steepled his fingers together, staring at him.

  “Indeed.”

  Shin passed from the fog into an even greater darkness.

  Upon entering the cave, the darkness waned slightly as flickers from wall torches danced along the cave’s sides. Stalactites dripped from the top of the damp enclosure, dribbling onto a sandy floor. The all-pervasive darkness continued, cut only now and then by torchlight. All three Vakums stumbled forward, propelled by the hands of a new master.

  One of the three hooded men drew them deeper inside, the ropes trailing from his unseen hand. His robe hung heavy on what appeared to be bony, slightly stooped shoulders. Leading the group, the wrinkled old man sat with his chin high, plunging further into the darkness on his creaky old wheelchair.

  Soon light cut through the darkness. Shin drew back, his dulled eyes barely registering the change. In the back of his mind, a distant, fleeting thought flickered light, but it faded, a mere wisp. Behind him, the two Vakums made no inclination that they’d noticed the light.

  The rope cut into Shin’s neck and he stumbled, catching himself with pitiful, automatic steps.

  The group continued, passing under an arch. The ceiling disappeared, giving way to a soaring space. Torches lined the walls of the cave here, illuminating the dank space with dull light.

  Even with so many torches to light the room, their power was weak, and the light barely reached the shadows.

  Shin glanced at a nearby torch and blinked. The distant tendrils of thought attempted to return, only to fade into nothing but gray wisps in his mind.

  The old man rapped his palm on the wheelchair. “Come!”

  One of the hooded men stepped forward, bent at the waist. The old man beckoned him closer with a crook of his finger.

  Words slipped in and out of Shin’s mind, vague as the path of a fly.

  “Prepare . . . solitary . . . knife . . . begin.”

  Something darted through Shin’s mind; a thought, so fast and clear it registered in the back of his mind.

  Shin’s eyes jerked up of their own accord, and were drawn to bizarre engravings on the wall: strange figures with long tentacle-like fingers reached across the dusky wall. There were empty patches too, interspersed in a consistent pattern.

  Surely, these meant something….Slashes of color. Lines drawn together...

  The power of his mind faded, leading Shin back into a dulled state of consciousness.

  The hooded man dropped the three ropes on the ground and moved away, making no sound in the sand.

  None of the Vakums made any move to escape. In fact, the smallest swayed on his feet, finally collapsing. The old man glanced over, snorted, and turned away.

  Occupying the middle of the room was a large, rectangular rock. The same type of strange mystic paintings covered it, with swirling patterns in dark black and green paint.

  Shin drew in a breath, feeling something deep in his chest. It expanded, growing out from his lungs, and shooting through his arms and into his fingertips, where it tingled. He pushed against the feeling, and his finger moved.

  He blinked.

  Moved.

  For half a second, Shin held a thought in the back of his mind. Here. I’m here. Just as he held it, it slipped away, fading back into the strange darkness of his mind.

  One of the hooded men strode over, his dark robe flashing in the weak torchlight. He grabbed a rope and gave it a solid jerk. The Vakum attached to it fell to his feet. His hands didn’t move to break his fall, and he landed with his nose on a rock. Blood spurted onto the ground. The Vakum made no sound, no move to pull his face out of the sand.

  “The altar!” the old man screeched. “Get him to the altar! We cannot waste a single drop.”

  The hooded man grabbed the Vakum by the arm, jerked him to his feet, and with the aid of another hooded man, shoved him onto the altar. Blood flowed down the Vakum’s face, dripping onto the rock. The wheels of the chair screeched as the old man approached the altar, a terrible shining in his filmy eyes.

  “Begin. Let us begin while we are favored with lives to take.”

  A thought wormed into Shin’s mind the moment he heard the first scream. We can’t scream, came the thought. The pain must be terrible if he’s able to scream.

  He blinked, pushing his eyes to the left. The third Vakum stood, staring at the sand, his body swaying back and forth. No life flickered in his gaze. Shin looked away under his own power. The ability faded, leaving him gazing dully at the sand again.

  Minutes passed.

  Flashes of metal. Gurgles. The incessant drip drip drip of blood into one of many waiting buckets.

  The old man reached into the stream, allowing the crimson fluid to run over his fingers. He cackled with glee. “It’s ours! A new life force. Another chance.”

  The body on the altar disappeared with a thud. Two of the hooded men scurried around, carrying buckets to and fro, replacing full ones with new ones. All the while, the third hooded man chanted in the background, a deep, dissonant chant that rang all the way into Shin’s bones.

  Not lost, came another thought. Shin latched onto it with his mind. You are not lost yet.

  Shin blinked. His hand twitched. He longed to reach up, grab the rope, and rip it free.

  As soon as the urge came, it disappeared, back into the far reaches of his mind in a gray swirl. His body gave no response, and his mind shrank back. But the thought remained.

  You are not lost yet, Shin.

  While the twisted chanting continued in the background, a hooded man appeared, grabbing the second Vakum by the rope. The Vakum, already lying in the sand, made no move to stand. With a grunt, the hooded man jerked his body toward the altar already stained with blood.

  A coppery, metallic scent filled the air as they forced the Vakum on the rock. There was no need to tie him with ropes during the torture.

  Seconds later, screams rang out again. Blood ran free. The old man, wrinkled as a raisin, tilted his head back and cackled. Long strands of white hair drifted behind him in a frigid breeze.

  Escape.

  The thought burrowed through the layers of Shin’s mind, moving beyond the eternal numbness he’d never expected to shuck. He grabbed onto it, holding it in his mind’s eye.

  Escape, Shin.

  The chanting continued in the background, deep, almost gleeful, and with a tinge of wild hysteria that made the hair on the back of Shin’s neck stand up.

  Shin’s thumb and finger pinched together on their own. He felt a rush of . . . something. His spinning mind settled long enough to recognize the sound of silence.

  The screams had stopped.

  “The third,” the old man cried. Blood had speckled his face and hands like rain. “Get the third! We must finish. Do not change the buckets. There’s enough. There is enough. Get him!”

  Escape, Shin! Escape!

  The wild thought shot through his mind, spiraling into his body like jolts of lightning.

  He tried to open his mouth, but his muscles didn’t respond. A scream gathered in his throat but wouldn’t release.

  While the hooded man continued chanting, this time with frantic energy, the other two seized Shin by the arms and dragged him to the altar, shoving the Vakum body that was there off.

  The other Vakum’s eyes were blank and lifeless. His mouth was open and round, as if he’d died mid-scream.

  You will die!

  The thought came with frightening clarity. The hooded men slammed Shin to the slippery, bloody altar, and it cracked the back of his head. As he lay there he saw the same strange mystic symbols from the altar on the ceiling, barely visible through the flickering torches.

  Panic welled up in his silent mouth. His heart hammered. Desperate to flee, Shin strained to scream. To fight. To throw a fist and knock them into their ill-obtained blood, but nothing happened.

  “Finish!” the old man screeched. “Finish!”

/>   The flash of a knife glinted just above Shin. He closed his eyes, felt a hot tear drip down his cheek, and prepared to die.

  Yuna

  With a sharp gnash of her teeth, Yuna ripped the rope free from the man’s chest and threw it off the bed. It fell with a heavy thud to the woven rug on the floor.

  He grinned, shoving strands of salt-and-pepper hair out of his eyes. His eyes gleamed. “You are feisty in the morning,” he purred, grabbing her wrist.

  “Only when I’m pleased in the evening.”

  She slapped him with a crack across the face, shoved him onto his back, and growled. He fell against the mussed covers, the ripped pillow spilling feathers into the air. The feathers floated around him like puffs of cotton. Her bare breasts, hanging free in the air, hovered just above his hungry gaze. He lunged for them but she moved away.

  “Do you admit defeat?” she purred.

  “Never.”

  With lightning-fast moves, she grabbed a portion of the rope, looped it around both of his wrists, and pulled. The tethered rope tightened, pulling his arms above his head and up to where it was tied around the elaborate headboard. He groaned, licking his lips.

  “Yuna. You must not stop. Please,” he begged. “The things you do to me. You cannot be of this world.”

  “Silence!” she ordered.

  She crawled up the bed, straddling him. Her skin dragged along his as she prowled like a predator, eyes alight. Wisps of bright red hair fell across her forehead, framing her electric blue eyes. She grinned at him like a sly cat, running a finger down his nose and across his lips. He panted. She tightened the grip of her legs around his torso, grinding into his belly. “I’m in charge here, ruler. Your presence as a leader doesn’t impress me. Show me you’re worth something. Make me scream.”