Faces of Betrayal

by Daniele Cella

  Rakesh straightened, shoving off from the dirt. If he must die – and die he would – then he would die fighting. He wouldn’t give The Hangman the satisfaction of winning his soul with his darkness.

  “Jiro,” he said in as calm a voice as he could manage. “Come. It’s time we go on. We’ll find shelter. Water. We’ll find or do something, and then go from there.”

  Rakesh reached out a trembling and weak hand. Just standing up had cost him strength, but he had done so, forcing his shaky knees to straighten. He pressed his fingers into Jiro’s shoulder on the only spot without whip marks.

  “Jiro?”

  A high-pitched scream erupted from Jiro. He stood up, throwing Rakesh back, and ran. With his hands in the air, he disappeared into the smoky darkness, his cry trailing along behind him.

  Rakesh stared at the spot where Jiro had disappeared into the darkness.

  “Jiro?”

  Rakesh stumbled forward a step, but then stopped.

  He couldn’t save Jiro from the dark lands of The Nothingness. He couldn’t even save himself. And he would certainly die if he followed Jiro and his madness into the night.

  In keeping his sanity, Rakesh still had a chance.

  A very small chance.

  Tears trickled down his face as Rakesh lowered himself slowly to the ground. He pressed his whole hand to his cheek, and silently sobbed. “Jiro,” he murmured. “You are gone. You are gone.”

  Several more tears skidded down his cheeks – the final ones. He let them go, then straightened.

  He must find a route. A place to go. Somewhere that he could hide, recover his strength, and find water.

  Using the solidness and strength of the doors as a guide, Rakesh slowly stood yet again and faced the dark lands.

  “I am not your prey,” he whispered. The words rang in his head with reassurance.

  In the distance, a low, mournful sound filled the air. Rakesh swallowed. His heart beat in his throat with a heavy staccato as he took his first quiet, steady step into the dark lands of The Nothingness.

  Hadjia

  Hadjia stepped high through the marshy grasses of Jagu, feeling the slick squelch of mud beneath every footstep. It oozed between her toes, as warm and fluid as the blood that had spilled onto ground that was far behind her now.

  Murky, shallow waters stretched off to her right, almost as far as the eye could see. A tall, twiggy loon bird sifted through the waters, searching in the mud for food.

  Next to Hadjia, Renji and Kaneko walked, their eyes trained on the ground as they proceeded through the marsh. They slipped along with silent grace, their small, childish bodies moving through the verdant undergrowth with unusual ease.

  Despite his care and the fact that he hardly made more than a breath of noise, Renji seemed distracted. His eyes tracked the ground, but he seemed far away.

  “They looked scared.”

  The words came out of Renji in what seemed like a shout, although it had hardly been more than a whisper. Hadjia hadn’t realized how loud the silence had become until he broke it.

  Kaneko sent Hadjia a quick, discreet glance, as if to warn her not to speak. Hadjia looked away from Renji. She didn’t know what to say.

  “Death brings fear,” Kaneko said.

  Which means so do we, Hadjia thought.

  The loud call of a howling monkey sounded overhead, followed by a rustle of tree branches. In the distance, a low roll of thunder moved through the forest.

  “But they . . . they didn’t do anything,” Renji said.

  “You don’t know that,” Kaneko snapped. “Those were evil people. Mother Sigunta would never sentence a good person to death. You must trust our leader, and not breathe a word of fear or doubt once we return to school.”

  “They didn’t do anything to me,” Renji objected.

  “Is Mother Sigunta’s wisdom not enough?” Kaneko hissed. “If you aren’t careful, you’ll be silenced in death or have your tongue cut out. Possibly both.”

  Renji opened his mouth, then closed it again. His brow wrinkled when he stared off into the distance, toward the broadest portion of the marsh.

  “I feel different somehow,” he whispered.

  Kaneko reached out, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Because you’re a man now. An assassin for the Red Moon school. You can’t achieve something with such impressive dignity and not be different for it. You, Renji, are special. You’re strong.”

  Some of Renji’s uncertainty seemed to ease with each word Kaneko uttered. His shoulders straightened. He drew in deep breaths. “Yes.”

  Kaneko squeezed his shoulder. “Mother Sigunta has never led us astray, has she?”

  “No.”

  “And she never will. Erase such preposterous thoughts. We serve goodness. Those were wicked, evil people. Would the gods allow them death if they weren’t?”

  Renji’s face smoothed out. “No. No, they wouldn’t.”

  “So you see? You have done much good today – for yourself and for the world. Mother Sigunta will be very proud.”

  Renji nodded, his confidence returned. But at his side, his fingers still twitched. And his nose. His entire body seemed a little too on edge, with his eyes darting around. But if he held any further doubts, he gave no indication.

  The trio pressed back through the marshy ground. Hadjia caught Kaneko’s gaze and Kaneko nodded, her eyes drooping as if in relief. Hadjia reciprocated with a little smile.

  They continued on, pressing on through the soft mist.

  Less than an hour later, Hadjia caught her breath in surprise. The familiar curled edges of the Red Moon school’s roof revealed themselves in the distance, although somewhat hidden behind a slowly moving curtain of fog. Had they made it back already?

  A pit formed in Hadjia’s stomach at the thought of reaching home, but she didn’t know why. Then Renji’s words whirled through the back of her mind.

  They looked scared.

  She thought of the young girl whom they had allowed to live, and swallowed back the metallic taste of blood in her mouth.

  “We’re almost there,” Kaneko said. “Mother Sigunta will be pleased that we’ve returned so quickly.”

  Before they arrived at the top of the hill where the Red Moon school overlooked the valley, Kaneko caught Hadjia’s arm.

  “It’s your turn soon.”

  A bubble of excitement rose in Hadjia’s chest.

  “Yes. Soon!” she laughed.

  Kaneko smiled, but some other emotion lingered in it as well. “Fourteen years old is a very exciting age. You’ll do well, Hadjia. I only hope that Mother Sigunta allows me to go with you.”

  “She will,” Hadjia said firmly. “She cares for both of us. There’s no one else I would want there with me.”

  Kaneko nodded, seeming pleased.

  A yearning to prove herself swelled up inside of Hadjia.

  All the training. All the years. All the work and dedication and endless nights would finally pay off. Mother Sigunta would smile upon Hadjia the way she’d soon smile upon Renji. For that, Hadjia had waited all her life. The very idea that it could be upon her soon sent a thrill up her spine.

  By the time the trio worked their way up the hill to slip back into Red Moon school, night had started to fall. The sun disappeared into the treetops in the distance, coating the world in an dark gray fog.

  Hadjia reached the school first, but paused before going inside to look out over the valley. The wet, marshy land stretched out into what felt like an eternity. She pulled in a deep breath and hauled open the wooden door so the three could enter.

  “Congratulations, Renji,” Hadjia said once the heavy door closed behind them.

  The front hallway remained empty, almost cavernous in its silence.

  All three of them waited, listening while continuing to talk.

  “You did well,” agreed Kaneko.

  Renji nodded once. “Thank you for coming with me.”

  Kaneko smiled at both of them. “Rest, Renji,�
�� she said, touching him gently on the shoulder. “We’re all tired from the long trek and wait. Get some sleep. Things will be even better and brighter in the morning. Tomorrow will be the greatest day of your life.”

  “Yes,” Hadjia said with a smile. “You and I will celebrate in style tomorrow after the Gaurava ceremony.”

  Kaneko frowned. “You’ll be missed at the ceremony, Hadjia. Everyone here loves you. But soon you’ll be able to attend the ceremonies as a true Red Moon Assassin, just as Renji is now.”

  A new light suddenly burned in Renji’s eyes. A strange light, it both frightened and excited Hadjia at the same time.

  “Yes,” he breathed. “It will be the best day of my life.”

  The three friends split, Renji to his room, Hadjia to hers, and Kaneko somewhere else.

  Halfway down the hall, Hadjia stopped to glance back over her shoulder, but Kaneko had already disappeared into the silence. Where she went, Hadjia didn’t know, and she didn’t ask.

  Kaneko had her own life and secrets. Even though Kaneko was the closest thing to a sister or a family member Hadjia had, she knew that there were boundaries that no Red Moon Assassin – or hopefully no one – ever crossed. Asking too many questions about life before the Red Moon school was one of those.

  Hadjia’s eyes fell on the entryway, where the three of them had just parted, and thought about the morning’s upcoming ceremony.

  She’d soon be a Red Moon Assassin herself. Why couldn’t she know what happened there? Mother Sigunta prepared them constantly so they’d never be taken by surprise. Shouldn’t Hadjia prepare for the ceremony? Know what to expect so she wouldn’t be surprised?

  Her decision made, she crept silently back down the hall before turning into a darkened anteroom that led into another portion of the school and into the Ceremony Hall.

  Taking careful steps, she slipped along the hall’s darkened wall. Windows dotted the room on the right side, spilling late sunlight into the room in the bruised hues of sunset. The Ceremony Hall wasn’t bland, but it wasn’t ornate either. A few paintings here and there. A clean wooden floor. Smokescreens ran along the far left side of the room, set aside until they would be used as partitions for ceremonies.

  Ceremonies Hadjia had not yet seen.

  When the sound of a scuffle came from outside the room, she froze, her back pressed into the paneled wall. The sound faded and Hadjia let out a long breath.

  She knew no one would dare to peer behind any of the smokescreens if she were to hide there overnight, just as no one would monitor her bedroom and whether or not she was in it. At the Red Moon school, obedience was absolute. Sleeping outside of one’s quarters was strictly forbidden, and Mother Sigunta would never approve of an unproven student witnessing the ceremony in the morning. But Hadjia hated surprises even more than she hated fear.

  Once Renji’s ceremony ended in the morning and everyone left, Hadjia would be able to sneak away, hopefully before she was spotted. Hadjia ran her fingers along the first smokescreen. The paper was a thin as onion skin on her fingertips. No imperfections.

  She moved on to the second one, which was slightly bent in the middle. With careful breaths, she monitored for noises in the hall as she felt it with her fingertips. Her breath caught.

  A hole.

  She crouched down next to it. The smokescreen fell all the way to the bottom of the floor, but had a little tear near its middle towards the bottom she could peer through this, although just listening to the ceremony might provide her with all the information she needed.

  She didn’t dare jostle or reposition any of the smoke screens. Mother Sigunta would notice right away.

  She noticed everything.

  Exhausted from the day’s long mission, Hadjia curled up in a ball on the floor behind the torn screen, peeking around to make sure that no fabric from her clothing stuck out on the sides. She tucked in close, drawing her tired legs to her chest.

  Her mind ran over the day, analyzing it the way Mother Sigunta always taught them to. Renji’s fear. The wide set of his eyes. The hot, humid forest.

  She recalled several steps she’d taken where she’d made enough noise for detection. Next time, she’d be more aware.

  No matter how hard she tried to distract herself from it, however, a memory of the wide, soulful eyes of the frightened little girl whom they allowed to live haunted her.

  What would the girl do now? Whom would she tell?

  Hadjia’s throat grew thick. She closed her eyes, burrowing her head farther into her arms. A heaviness fell over her aching muscles and hungry belly, and she let out a long, tired breath, drifting off into the waves of sleep that beckoned to her.

  Hadjia awoke only a moment later.

  At least, if felt that way.

  Suddenly she stood in the same strange place as before, surrounded by the same eerie lush forest as before. The knotted roots of trees broke through the ground, twisting up through the earth as if reaching out to her. Children ran around in a circle, laughing and almost tripping over the vines that hung from the tree branches soaring above them.

  Only this time, she couldn’t see the children’s faces.

  Hadjia stood outside of the circle, watching the game. It was strange. The children ran around, their tiny hands clasped in white-knuckle grips. They wore masks over their faces. A fox. A lion. A lynx. Each mask seemed to glower at her with a terrible, strange light.

  Hadjia followed the children with her eyes as they sang in an eerie, echoing kind of way.

  “Ring-a-ring of roses. The world of ours will fall. War. War. We fall to the ground and . . .”

  “Die!”

  The children all fell, tumbling to the ground.

  Hadjia waited, holding her breath in anticipation, but none of the children stirred. Their chests never stirred.

  A strange wind swept through the space, tangling Hadjia’s hair. Still she waited, willing them to breathe.

  Though their lips didn’t move, out of the wind came their voices….

  Ring-a-ring of roses. The world of ours will fall. War. War. We fall to the ground and . . .

  Standing in the middle of the circle was the same little girl, but this time in a crimson dress. This dress fell only to the knees, revealing knobby ankles and dirty feet. The blindfold still covered her eyes, and blood dripped endlessly from her hands, pooling on the grass and roots below.

  The dripping never seemed to stop.

  The little girl didn’t waver or faint, as if the blood she was losing wasn’t her own. She pointed at Hadjia with her left hand while the chant continued in the background. Ring-a-ring of roses. The world of ours will fall. War. War. We fall to the ground and . . .

  Hadjia stepped forward, her feet rustling through the vines and branches. She stepped over a little boy with jet-black hair, navigating carefully around the still bodies until she reached the little girl. In the background, the chant continued to sing. Ring-a-ring of roses. The world of ours will fall.

  Hadjia reached out, pressed the little girl’s hand down to her side, and plucked the blindfold off her face. Then she gasped: The girl looking back at her had the same thin lips and black eyes as she did. The same slender, small bearing. It was as if she was looking into a mirror.

  Hadjia blinked, staring at the girl in terrible fear and fascination. She stumbled back, tripping over roots in her scramble to get away. She fell, hitting the back of her legs on a protruding root.

  The girl tilted her head back, revealing a bloody slit in her neck, as if a blade had just sliced across it. Blood ran down her skin and chest, trickling into her blood-red dress.

  Hadjia screamed and jerked awake.

  Sunlight filtered in dappled rays through the windows, illuminating the smokescreens with a grayish hue. Hadjia stared at them, frozen in place on the floor.

  No forest. No children singing. No lush vines dripping from the trees.

  She stayed there for a full minute. Had she screamed only in her dream? Or had she actually
cried out? The room offered a reassuring silence.

  Slowly, bit by bit, Hadjia relaxed her muscles. She stayed low and kept an ear trained toward the door.

  Renji’s Guarava Ceremony would start soon. Mother Sigunta always began them early. She had much to do during the day.

  Hadjia pushed a sweaty strand of hair off her face and slowly straightened up. When a curious pair of eyes met hers from around a nearby wooden column, she nearly screamed again. Instead she swallowed it, and met the dark gaze of a nine-year-old boy named Kim. Her eyes narrowed to slashes.

  “What are you doing here?” she snapped.

  “Watching you.”

  “You need to go before it’s not safe.”

  “What about you?” He lifted a hand in an implied question, gesturing to her small hiding space. She swallowed.

  “Don’t worry about my business. Go. It’s not safe.”

  He hesitated. “What if I stay?”

  She realized with a stroke of surprise that she wasn’t the only Red Moon student who wanted to witness this historic ceremony. For a moment, she contemplated it.

  Would it be so bad if they both stayed? The light came from the other side of the room, meaning the two of them wouldn’t be seen back here. But having him near her only increased the risk of being heard, of being caught, of being killed.

  Mother Sigunta tolerated no rebellion.

  “You must go,” she whispered, glancing furtively to the door. “You could die. At the very least, Mother will punish you.”

  “So could you.”

  “That’s my own business.”

  He hung his head, diverting his eyes away from her. She couldn’t help but feel that he simply didn’t want to answer her – or meet her eyes. He wasn’t the only student who was afraid of her here at the Red Moon school.

  The sound of shuffling at the front of the Ceremony Hall drew both of their attention. Kim snapped his head up and quickly dashed behind another column. Hadjia leaned back, and through the hole in the smokescreen, could just make out two figures conferring quietly near the Red Moon Altar at the top of the room. One of them she knew right away: Mother Sigunta.