The Heart's Ashes

by A. M. Hudson

  “Fine. Don’t. I will. I do love a little pre-torture, bad guy monologue.” Jason tilted his head as he looked at me, magically making me feel small, like a butterfly in a glass case. “Lilithians don’t technically die. You will be lost in a permanent state of sleep when they take you apart and put you in jars for eternity. But you won’t be dead.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I believe my brother said it quite perfectly once.” He touched a finger to his chin. “There is no death, no peace, only an eternity of solitude and mourning.”

  “Will I be conscious?”

  “Ara—” he laughed, “—you’ll be in pieces. It will merely be your spirit, in the dark, for eternity.”

  “Is it the same for vampires, when they die by a Lilithian bite?” Will it be the same for David, for the boy you made me kill?

  “No,” he said. “That is death.”

  “Then why isn’t there a way for me to die?”

  “I never said there wasn’t a way.”

  “You said I don’t die.”

  “Sorry. You won’t,” he said. “And technically, you don’t. It takes an awful lot to sever the connection of a Lilithian spirit to the realm of life.”

  “Why—why won’t being sorted into jars kill me?”

  “Same reason a stake won’t kill me—we’re immortal, Ara. There was once a way for your kind to die, same as how Lilithians were death for vampires, but Lilith destroyed the serum of which could bring her descendants mortality.”

  “All of it?”

  Jason pressed his lips together. “So I’m told.”

  I rolled my head to the other side and nearly cried for the way Eric, so stiff, standing so tall, focused on Jason with what I interpreted to be hatred.

  “If you want to leave, Eric, now is the time,” Jason said.

  “No. I’ll stay.” He snapped out of his trance and touched my hand, wrapping his warm fingers around mine.

  “Eric.” My stomach tightened. “Please. Don’t let him do this?”

  “It’s not up to him, Ara.” Jason towered over me again and concentrated on my chest, opening my dress again to the cool, damp air.

  “Please?” I looked at Jason. “This is madness. You can’t cut out my heart—it’s insane.” I looked at Eric again when Jason rolled his eyes. “Eric. You’re standing right there—stop him. What if I’m human? What if I’m not Lilithian? Don’t you know what this will do to me?”

  Eric sighed and looked at Jason.

  “Eric?” I said. “Just do something. Please. Please don’t let him hurt me.”

  “Stop talking.” Jason tilted a shiny scalpel into the orange glow of the torches and studied it.

  “Jason. You can’t be serious.” I closed my eyes. Oh God. God, now’s the time. Please, there has to be someone—it can’t end like this. My head spun, my breath coming in smooth, nausea-filled lungfuls.

  Jason offered a tool, a metal letter F, to Eric. “I’ll cut, you open her.”

  “No. Jason. Don’t.” I rolled up from my ribs, no longer caring if the cuffs tore my wrists; the whole chair rattled under the force of my fear becoming a physical manifestation. “Let me go. Let me out of here.”

  “Eric. Shut her up.”

  “No. Eric, no. Please, we were friends. Please.”

  Eric sat the clamp beside my leg and stood behind me, his waist against the crown of my head. “Amara, you need to stop. Please. Just don’t scream. I can’t bear it.”

  “You can’t?” Tears streaked the sides of my face. “Please. I have no control. Don’t—just reach out. Just grab his hand. You have to.” I wriggled as Jason set the cold, pinching scalpel to my chest. “Oh God. Eric—just stop him.”

  He didn’t move though. He didn’t move.

  I screamed in one long, high-pitched wail.

  “Shh.” Eric cupped my mouth, muffling my scream. “It’s okay, beautiful girl, I’ll make it stop.”

  No. My eyes grew wide, bulging with pressure as his hand forced down against my nose and lips. I shook my head.

  I can’t breathe.

  My knees bent slightly and shifted against the chair, the wetness around my ankles, probably blood, making it easier to slide my leg up a little, but not get my foot out; my wrists tugged hard at the clamps as my hips twisted, lifting as I struggled to break out of his suffocating hold.

  Not like this. I want to go home. I want my dad. Please just let me go home.

  “Shh.” He closed his eyes.

  My stomach shook, frantically trying to imitate breath, but there was none to have. The blood pulsed to my head, making it heavy, tight, dizzy.

  I’m not a vampire. I’m just a girl. Human…huma…

  A tight narrowing in my throat forced saliva to fill my mouth under my tongue. My shoulders jolted violently under me, fighting for that last hope of air as my chest hiccupped, rubbing the walls of my empty lungs together.

  I stared up at Eric, tears streaming my face, while his eyes stayed focused, hard. “Shh,” he said softly, his gaze travelling to something across the room.

  Eric—you’re suffocating me. I’m not a vampire, I’m just a…

  The shiver of panic eased and a soft, slow ringing filled my ears, rolling me back—my body floating outward, headed for the sea...

  “Shh, just breathe.” A soft, whispery voice broke through the darkness, and the howling in my dream scattered to the sides of my subconscious. “Just breathe, beautiful girl—you can do it.”

  “Take short, sharp, breaths, Ara. You will recover more quickly,” Jason advised in a dull tone, his voice forcing a painful emotional sting.

  I swallowed a sludgy, spicy mucous, pooling under my tongue, and drew a deep, tight breath. It came through my lungs with a high-pitched rasp, and when the air touched the back of my throat, it sliced the raw passage, like searing razors. I coughed out my anguish and closed my mouth, pressing my lips together as a flood of warm, greasy liquid slimed between them.

  What are they pouring in my mouth?

  “It’s human blood.” Jason answered my thought.

  “Why?” I cried, gargling as he forced my lips apart.

  “To see what reaction it has on you.”

  I shifted the muscles deep in my oesophagus until the liquid travelled down—spilling out the sides of my mouth where Jason held them open. My hands clenched and a fierce rush of heat tightened my muscles.

  No. It burns. Get the fuck off me.

  Taking a breath, I opened my eyes, and as another flood of the foul tasting goo trickled over my tongue, coughed, sending splatters of blood over Jason’s already covered face.

  “Swallow,” he said through his teeth, clamping my chin with his fingertips, pressing his thumbs into my cheeks. “I’ll let you open your mouth when you swallow.”

  Blocking the passage to my stomach with the back of my tongue, the liquid floated along the insides of my cheeks, and I cried, making only a strange “Unnngg” sound.

  “That’s enough,” Eric said, grabbing Jason’s arm.

  “Do you have a problem with the maltreatment of a Lilithian, Eric?” Jason released me and backed away.

  With a strange whimpering groan, I lifted my head, spattering the blood—warm and wet—all over my chin and down my neck where it dribbled onto my chest, pooling against my gown around my ribs.

  It’s no good. I can’t get it all out. Damn it, I swallowed. Oh God, I swallowed.

  The unwelcome, unnatural substance scraped the inside of my throat, grabbing the lining of stomach with its clawing nails and slapping the muscles—making them heave and shift like leeches were swimming around in there.

  “Help!” I cried, lifting one shoulder. “I’m gonna be sick.” Where are they? My fingers curled and hot liquid bubbled in my gut, shimmying its way up the narrow passage leading back out to my lips.

  “I don’t care what you’ve been told to do!” Eric yelled. “I want it to stop. Now! At least give her a break before you hurt her anymore.”

>   My muscles shook all over with the unsteady heaving in my intestines. I breathed out, soft, queasy murmurs, until suddenly, the burning reached the back of my throat and projected—rising into the air a little, then stinging my nostrils as it flooded through them—back down my throat. I tried to turn my head, but heaved again as more vomit erupted out through my teeth.

  Long fingers pressed the base of my neck and tilted my head upward as another wave of nausea forced a vehement blast of blood from my lips—this time over my shoulder and arm.

  It’s not stopping. Make it stop. My head twisted, pulsing and pounding, the strain fissuring my temples with each heave.

  “Shh.” Jason’s whisper came from above me. “Don’t drown yet, we’re not finished.”

  Weeping disgracefully, humiliation burned my cheeks and I panted, suddenly able to breathe with the cloud of agony lifting from inside me and easing as my stomach twitched rapidly. Though my body continued to heave, nothing came out.

  Jason rested my head back on the chair and moved away.

  “Amara.” Eric bent down then stood up, wiping soft lace over my face; attempting to blot away the sticky red. He folded the cloth several times, merely smearing the blood around my cheek and chin. “I’m so sorry, Amara. I’m so sorry.” He shook his head, repeating his apology over and over.

  “I want to die,” I moaned faintly. “Just please—please just let it be over.”

  “Okay.” Eric nodded, brushing my sticky, blood-clumped hair from my face, tearing a dried strand from the clutches of the cut on my lip. “I’ll make it stop. I’ll make him stop.”

  “Not yet, you won’t.” Jason stepped between Eric and I, and, using the end of his sleeve, smeared a heap of blood from under my nose and around the corners of my mouth.

  “Jason?” Eric closed his eyes, pinching the skin on his forehead. “She’s been through enough. Come on, man. Just put her out of her misery.”

  “I can’t. I have orders.”

  “This is different. She’s not from this world.” Eric pointed to me. “She’s not used to this kind of treatment.”

  “Lieutenant?” A man came practically tumbling down the stairs.

  “Shaun, what is it?” Jason turned to him; Eric stiffened, his hands clenching by his sides.

  “The Blood King has ordered the accused be brought to justice.”

  “What! Now?” Eric asked with a very foreign-sounding hint of panic in his tone.

  “Yes. These are the wishes of the king.” The man bowed.

  “Did he give reason for this change in plan?”

  “Yes, sir. There is a rebellion occurring. The king held trial for the accused only moments ago and expects the execution to take place immediately.”

  Execution? My execution?

  “Advise the Council we will arrive within the minute.”

  “As you will it.” Shaun bowed, then ran up the stairs.

  Jason disappeared from sight and Eric stood above me again. “Almost over, Ara.”

  The tight, skin-cutting clamp from my ankle released, and blood rushed back into my toes, chilling them first before a numb tingle tightened like pins around them.

  Eric sliced the tip of his thumb with his teeth and wiped some of his own blood over my lips, shaking his head.

  “Hey!” Jason grabbed Eric’s arm. “No blood.”

  He dropped his hand and looked at me, mouthing the words, “I’m sorry.”

  I nodded.

  As Jason released my wrists from the clamps, I laid dead still, my hands and arms unreactive, hollow and weak. He looked right into my eyes, narrowing his. “It’s time for you to show my brother what you’re capable of.”

  David? David’s here?

  “Yes. You’re going to kill him.”

  Shock sunk through my heart and caved my chest. “No!”

  “Yes.” He lifted me from the sticky, bloody mess of the chair; the cold touch of air made the tepid moisture all over my back feel like slime. “When you’ve killed him, I will give you some peace before I hurt you again.”

  My body jolted as he readjusted his arms around me, lifting me so my head rested on his shoulder, my legs over his forearm and my shoulder tucked neatly under the apex of his arm. All I could do was cry. I closed my eyes, wishing so hard that I could fight him. “Please don’t make me do it, Jason.”

  “Stop talking.”

  “Please. I know you don’t want to—I can feel it.” I hope.

  “Sweet, Ara. Sees so much good in everyone.” He squeezed me tight, his lips against my face. “What if there’s not—what if I really am just as evil as everyone believes.”

  “I don’t believe it,” I whispered.

  Jason stiffened and his teeth crunched together in his mouth. “Well, what you believe doesn’t really count. I’ve proven myself a worthy servant to the king, and now, I will make you kill David.”

  “No. I won’t do it.” I could feel the fight rising inside me.

  “You will.”

  “No!” The strength to survive suddenly rushed through my veins like cold ice. I thrashed about, kicking my arms and legs, wriggling to get free of his hold.

  “Stop it.”

  “No. Don’t, Jason, please don’t make me do this. I love him. I love him. Please?”

  His unyielding grip prevailed as we walked into the dense, cold shadows of the corridor in the world of free air.

  I’m out. I’m out of that room. If I can just get down... My hand shifted from his grip; I lashed out, scraping my nails across his face.

  “Rah!” he roared, and the ground hit my spine with a breath-taking jolt before I realised he dropped me. My eyes flashed open to his face above mine; he grabbed my wrist. “If you do that again I’ll—”

  “Let me carry her,” Eric offered, bending down.

  “No,” Jason yelled and shoved a palm to Eric’s chest. “She stays with me.”

  Eric’s eyes met mine as Jason hoisted me off the ground—over his shoulder.

  “You’re hurting me,” I yelled, digging into his back with my fingernails. “Stop it! Let me down.”

  Jason rolled me off him, shoving me against a wall then squatted, grabbing my face sharply. “You are such a pain in the arse.”

  I pushed at his hand, twisting my face away, but he squeezed my cheeks harder, my gashed lip popping under the scab, making blood prickle out.

  “Show him,” he whispered through his teeth, into my hair. “He’s in there, right now, show him your thoughts; show him what I did to you.”

  “No.” I shook my head, pushing my feet on the ground—attempting to shuffle away.

  “Show him,” he raised his voice a little more.

  “No. I don’t want him to die with that on his soul.”

  “You will!” he yelled and bashed my skull into the wall; the room spun. My head felt heavy, full of cold-rushing-away-with-warm liquid. “Ara, don’t pass out on me again,” he warned.

  My eyes rolled to the back of my head as Jason’s face blurred from the edges, inward.

  Chapter 24

  Torture, by definition, means; to distort something; to inflict pain. It can be taken in many forms, and the worst, by far, is the torture of knowledge; knowing what will happen, and not being able to run. He wants me to kill David. And I don’t know how to stop that from happening.

  My mind meandered back to my body, and one eye peeked open a little. Strangely, in what felt like a cosy space, the soft orange glow over my bloodied hand was enough to make me feel a little safe. If it weren’t for the cold stone ground under my bruised face, I might be able to fall asleep for a little while.

  “She’s not breathing,” a voice said.

  “She is. She’s fine,” Jason muttered from above me; I could feel his boot pressing firmly down on my ribs—stopping my lungs from expanding.

  “Get off her,” the other voice ordered.

  His foot came down harder. “Make me.”

  My nose stung as I held my breath—so tight, hurting
more at the front of my chest, right down the middle. My ribs felt cracked all the way around, like a steel ribbon wrapped my lungs.

  “Why is she so uncovered?” someone asked. “What have you done to her?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  “Did you—” the soft, anguished voice paused. “Did you touch her?”

  No. Tell the man no.

  “She’s waking up,” Jason said. “She’s listening.”

  “Ara, my love? Please—don’t get up. Stay down,” the voice begged.

  “David?” I murmured.

  Jason rolled me with his foot, the air expelling from my lungs with a short cough as I bent my knees and pushed up off the ground.

  “Ara?” David gasped, fright expanding his tone.

  I looked up from the grey stone floor and turned my head to see the colour drain from his face. Kneeling by the fire, his hands bound, my David looked at me as the wide-eyed, open-mouthed shock slipped away to an angered scowl—half masked by what I read to be excruciating pain.

  I burst into tears at the sight of him; his hair messed, a deep gash across his eyebrow, and clouds of dirt parted by red trails—clear over his brow and the hollows of his gaunt cheeks. “David? What did they do to you?”

  He smiled and shook his head, his onyx eyes flooded with warmth. “I’m fine, Ara. I’m okay. It’s you—oh, my love, I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry, David.” I revelled in his name on my lips, ignoring the sting of my dry throat. “I’m sorry, I should never’ve trusted—”

  “Shut up,” Jason ordered.

  “Don’t blame yourself, Ara.” David ignored his brother, edging forward, reaching for me, but shot back with belligerent force, Jason’s foot at the heart of his chest.

  “No,” I screamed as he fell, narrowly missing the fire behind him.

  “Do not attempt communication with the Lilithian, brother!” Jason moved back quickly and stood beside me.

  David struggled to his knees again, roaring with anger—clearly holding back his cry of pain.

  Lightning flashed outside the long, wall-length window beside me, and for a second, I caught a glimpse of the revulsion David witnessed; my swollen lip and eye looked infected, weeping, while black-filled cuts scattered across my skeletal frame, barely covered by the ripped, discoloured dress, parting at the chest to expose a jagged scar. But the colour of my eyes shocked me most; black—like David’s.