by Sohan Ahmad
Z’hiri barely broke her stride. “Only Katia matters to me.”
Heartless woman. He loathed the blue woman’s callous words, but every glance towards Katia’s face reminded him of his mother. I will not abandon her. Despite their differences, their steps hastened in equal measure until they returned to the crypt that was their quarters. In the blue woman’s cell, an old mute stood, gripping a thin wooden rod and pail of water within folded hands, as if he had known they would find Katia.
“I’m in your debt, Kondar. Please make ready, we have less time than usual,” Z’hiri said as they placed Katia gently atop a flat stone slab. The old mute nodded before turning to the fire that simmered in the darkness behind him. He placed the cold pail atop the hot red coals, gazing unflinchingly as the water slowly came to a boil.
“What are you doing?” Cyrus did not understand. “There’s barely enough as is. We need that water to clean her wounds.” However, the old mute did not waver from his post.
Z’hiri offered no further clarity, instead handing two pieces of rope to the boy. “No questions. You can ask them after.” She would say no more on the matter, only issuing orders she deemed necessary. “Help me bind her before Kondar is finished.”
How can she be so calm? Cyrus was in the dark, too ignorant to hesitate, but once Katia had been restrained, the blue woman placed a small cylinder of wood between the girl’s teeth.
Again, Cyrus glared at the blue woman, but the only words she would say were, “Trust me, boy. This is not the first time.”
Kondar finally rose from his squat by the fire, soaking a rag thoroughly in the bubbling clear liquid before wrapping it tightly around the wooden rod. “Stop, you’ll burn . . .” Before Cyrus could finish his warning, the amber glow of the open flame revealed the ashen gray in his beard and hands encased in layers of leather as weary eyes squinted against the fire’s light. When the old man’s blade of steaming cloth approached its sheath, Cyrus shouted once more, “What are you doing? Keep that away from her!” He looked again to the blue woman for the meaning of their actions. “Z’hiri, stop him, please. I beg you.”
“I won’t say it again, boy. Shut your mouth and do as you are told. Katia dies if we don’t do this. Hold her down!”
With a glance and a nod, Kondar slipped the fashioned instrument into the young woman’s canal with the steadiest of hands, scrubbing away at the seeds that sought to take root. With every kiss, the wood between her teeth cracked and rattled until finally, it shattered under grinding gears of white. Her open lungs scorched the air like crackling thunder and would have woken the dead if such a feat were possible. It took everything they had to keep her quaking body still. If not for the endless screams, she would have surely bit through her tongue, but thankfully, it never came to that.
Kondar removed the rod and tossed it to the cold, dank floor as he fell backward, sweat dripping from his brow. “Is it finished?” Z’hiri asked, her eyes beginning to glaze. To which he nodded with a smile as lightless as their crypt, devoid of pink or yellowed white. A moment later, Katia’s slender body stopped its tremble, releasing all tension as her limbs dangled limp against the stone bed. “Thank the Dragon’s Star,” the blue woman sighed, placing a gentle press of her lips against the girl’s moist forehead. “Old friend, please find bandages and more clean water. I need words with the boy.”
Kondar obliged as Cyrus glared at her wrinkled face in terror. “What have we done to her?” he asked, rubbing the damp glaze from his palms against his tunic.
“What we had to, child,” Z’hiri finally explained. “If we did nothing and her belly began to bulge, she would feed the kennel fangs. That’s the master’s way.” Wiping a trickle from her cheek, she asked, “Do you still hate me, knowing what I know?”
I want to, but he could not. No, I saw the Betrayer’s cruelty firsthand. I should have never doubted Bale’s warning. “How did you know she would survive?” Cyrus asked, his eyes washing over the sleeping Katia.
“We didn’t,” the blue woman answered with a chuckle and a tear. “Kondar and I have done this too many times, my nights still drown with their screams. I can’t remember how many we’ve saved and how many we’ve killed, but still, we try each time,” she lamented, caressing the damp strands of black and crimson curls on the sleeping girl’s head. “The poor thing. Even if we stop their seeds from spreading this time and the next, she’ll never know the love of her child gazing back at her. Not after what we’ve done.” Z’hiri could no longer speak, using what resolve she had left to restrain her tears as she watched over Katia, grasping the girl’s hands in hers.
How can such a monster be allowed to exist? He asked, hoping the Goddess would answer. But when she did not, his anger cooled to a simmer. “No more. I won’t live in this nightmare, I can’t. No matter how long it takes, I will be free of this place.”
We’ve all said the same and we’re all still here. The blue woman thought, lifting her heavy head with a desire to lecture his foolishness, but his eyes would not allow it. He’s serious? “The last one to say that made it less than a mile before the dogs gave him freedom. Just how would you make this dream come true?”
“With your help,” he answered, his voice tempered without an ounce of doubt.
Z’hiri burst into laughter. “Are you mad? Why would I help you?”
Cyrus glanced at her for a moment before turning toward the beauty that slept atop stone. “Because I will take her with me.”
“Fool!” she shouted, her fist curled in fury, ready to strike. “You think I do all this to discard her life to a child’s fantasy? Get out.”
“Better a chance at freedom than dying slowly in this crypt. How long before she’s broken forever like those girls you abandoned in the yard?”
His words pierced her pride, and she would hear no more. “Get out!” she yelled, “Get out. Get out.” Until he finally did, bumping past Kondar as he departed for his cell upon furious feet. The old mute looked upon the blue woman with great sadness, shaking his head to say more than his stolen words ever could.
Later that morning, Lucivius and his men finally woke to the sounds of the surviving slaves laboring throughout The Climb. Cyrus put aside his grievances from the night prior as he fed the horses, pigs, and dogs, both bronze and beast, trying his best to devise a plan for his escape. After delivering water to the guards of the garden, Z’hiri happened upon him and brushed by with a whisper: “When the sun begins its set, find me by the rose patch.” She continued walking, uncertain and uncaring as to whether he had heard her or not.
It would be many hours until the sky fire cooled, but he was ever patient, completing his duties under the watchful eye of the Betrayer and his litter. No matter his task, they followed like vultures, waiting for his resolve to fail, but it never happened. Finally, after morning yellow began its amber descent, Lucivius retreated to his chambers. Please still be there, Cyrus prayed as he moved swiftly toward the bed of blue flowers.
If the blue crone noticed him, she did not show it. “I’m here, what do you want?” Cyrus asked in the faintest of whispers. Still, she said nothing. He waited, but her tongue remained quiet until finally he would wait no longer. Before he could rise, she grabbed his arm and placed the point of her index finger against her plum lips.
Again, no words or whispers were uttered, but her eyes spoke loudly enough for even the deaf to hear. “Shh,” she said at first before placing white gloves within his reach. Then she glanced at three swords that surrounded them, reminding him of the bronze presence that kept her mute. Cyrus realized his error, placing his hands inside cured white leather, just as the chained brethren besides him, for the petals of blue roses numbed to the touch.
Once his eyes were prepared to listen, she glanced straight ahead toward a crease along the perimeter wall that hung lower than the rest, chipped and battered from battles of old. I pray you know how to climb. She dared not linger long and risk discovery as her gaze quickly latched onto the path of one s
entry, then the next, and then the last. The blue woman traced each step with an archer’s eye, drawing a precise and measured map of their movements within her mind.
When the picture was clear enough to see in the dark, she rose from the soft and moistened soil with a basket of blue roses. She departed west toward the herb master’s den without as much as a glance toward the boy, but he would not sit idle. Moments later, he followed, careful not to draw notice from the garden’s night patrol, until he found her slowing her trot. “I trust you saw what needed be seen,” she said in a firm murmur. To which he nodded in agreement. “Good, I’ll ask the herb master to put you in the blue patch. The master won’t refuse him. Once you begin, you must do what I did. Commit to your mind every step of the bronze dogs who guard it.”
“What of the wall?” he asked impatiently.
“Quiet, fool,” Z’hiri stopped him, “before you destroy us both. Just do as I say. When the time is right, you’ll know everything you must. Now go, the herb master is peculiar, best he not see your face. Return to your duties, and I’ll find you in the morning.” No more was said; her pace hastened, and she was gone.
Cyrus heeded her words with care, but doubt stirred within his gut. I don’t like this. There’s too much I don’t know. But damn it, what choice do I have. I have to trust her. Just then, his clouded steps sent him crashing into another. He stumbled backward and fell, crushing the cool evening grass.
“Apologies, apologies,” the other voice said.
Grimmon? Cyrus wondered as his vision cleared. Oh no! Did he hear us?
The blind builder offered his hand to the boy, lifting him to his feet. “Forgive me, smart boy. Be on my way. Yes, I will. Good night, smart boy,” he said with a twitch and fidget toward his chamber of gadgets.
Before the builder could take his fifth step, Cyrus called out, nearly shouting, “Grimmon, wait.”
The Xenoan would not, but before he cleared sight, he offered a reminder in as strong a tone as his throat allowed. “Cyrus! Builders don’t ask. Builders build.”
At that moment, the old man’s crooked back seemed taller than the pillars of the Cathedral. “Thank you, Grimmon,” the young slave whispered in the quiet of the dimming light.
Soon, darkness reclaimed its throne to lord over the night as a scattering of stars lay smothered within clouds of mist. It was difficult for the boy to believe that so much had happened over the course of two days, but that following morning, Z’hiri delivered upon her promise. By the Betrayer’s order, he joined the other slaves, harvesting the exotic petals of the Devil’s Garden.
“Careful, child,” the old slave, he first saw upon his arrival, whispered. “The blue roses numb. Red lilies safe, but not mix with wine. They drive you wild with lust. Not breathe the black tulips, they make tired.”
“But they can make you sleep if ground to powder,” Cyrus followed.
“How you know,” the old slave asked?
The queen’s healers used to mix it with her water. “Someone told me once,” he lied. “What about the green ones over there?”
“Ahh,” the old slave replied, “Master’s guests love. Breathe too much green spores on violet vines and see things not there.”
“Gratitude,” Cyrus said, “I’ll be careful.” How long before we’re ready? He wondered.
After three days of rest, Katia returned to work. The speechless flower found herself in the gardens alongside Cyrus, but the blue woman would go unseen for weeks. Where is she? Did the master find out? Such thoughts continued to gnaw at him, but I have no choice. There was little he could do. I must trust her.
Days upon days, he worked the soil under the daylight scrutiny of Lord Mammon’s repulsive gaze, while in the twilight, he stalked the guards of the blue patch until he became their shadow. Their steps are mine, but where in the pits is Z’hiri?
Nearly a month would slip through his dirt-covered fingers with no answer until one night, on the eve of the autumn’s first day, the blue crone waited inside his cage with Katia at her side. “Are you ready, boy?” Z’hiri asked. “Tomorrow night will be the only chance before the chill returns.” The season that followed Isirian summer was in name only, lasting less than a fortnight before fleeing from the icy winds of the coldest and longest winter in all of Colossea.
Cyrus had dreamed of this night since their last conversation. “Tell me what I must do.”
Z’hiri grinned at the bold glow in the boy’s green eyes. Bless your courage, child. May the Dragon’s Star grant me the same. “The master holds a gathering of his fellow rat lords to celebrate the end of summer. You’ll have to be a good little toy for his guests. Don’t let your emotions get in the way. Remember, you’re still his slave.”
“I understand,” Cyrus assured. “I won’t do anything stupid.”
“Good,” Z’hiri said. “Once they taste the first course, you’ll take Katia and climb the wall where I showed you.”
There are still too many questions. The boy worried. “How do you expect me to slip out? He’ll never let me out of his sight.”
“What do you think I’ve been doing since we last met, boy?” Fool, keep your mouth shut! He can’t know the cost I’ve paid; it will only slow his steps. Brave or not, he’s still just a child, the blue woman reminded herself before continuing. “I have made plans, that is all you need to know. Just be ready to move quickly once the time comes. You’ll only have the night before they discover you’ve gone. Now, I still have much to do. Any other doubts?” she asked, hoping there were none. Have I thought of everything?
Only one remaining on the boy’s mind. “What about you? Will you not come with us?”
On any other night, she may have shed a tear. “Don’t go soft on me, boy. This is no child’s tale where happiness awaits. The impossible requires sacrifice, and my debt is long unpaid. Katia’s safety is all that matters to me now. Promise me that you’ll protect her at all costs.”
“You have my word,” Cyrus assured, his eyes glazing over as he took hold of Katia’s hand. “Thank you, Z’hiri, for everything.”
Katia reached out with her free, trembling hand, hoping to grab hold of the blue woman’s frock, but it was too late. Z’hiri had already fled, leaving her in the boy’s charge, too frightened to face the girl again. Thank me once you’re free of this place, Z’hiri wished as she returned above ground where the old mute waited. “Come, my friend, we must not fail them.”
Autumn’s first morning was unusually gentle under the calm of a windless, clear sky. Green leaves had already begun to wither brown as creatures of the wild returned to the light after months of taking shelter in the shade. The Climb buzzed with motion as Lucivius prepared for his guests. Butchers butchered pigs and hens as the cooks minced, roasted, and stewed meats, potatoes, tomatoes, carrots, and onions to feed twenty of the most unsavory lords from East and South. Not a soul was idle, especially the guards who funneled from the gates to the tower as the last of the Dragon and Serpent’s elite entered the rat lord’s banquet hall just outside the twisting ruby spire.
It was as a colorful a place to dine as any within the four kingdoms. Candles bathed the chamber of plush cushions and silk rainbows that sprung from the ceiling with their gentle light. Scarlet linens dominated the tables of polished cedar that sat the twenty lords while blue leather lined the arms and backs of each chair. Copper cutlery was painted gold to give the illusion of finery that simply did not exist in southern keeps and castles. Lucivius desired an elaborate show for his guests, and so they would have one.
Cyrus, Katia, and a handful of other slaves were dressed like the dolls of wealthy daughters, painted and powdered as they pranced around the feasting hall in satin bows and ribbons. Only one among the men of coin recognized the royal bastard. “So, it is true what they say. The prince’s favored slave belongs to you. You must share the tale of such fortune once our bellies have filled.”
I remember you as well, General Cress. Tall and broad of stature like Archonis, his st
eel was less seasoned and his manners less refined. A mane of auburn brown draped along his long, white neck in a tail as a robe of jewel-studded leather caressed his inked skin. This is no time to be proud, Cyrus reminded himself. The disdain in his eyes was harder to control, and the man would have noticed if not for the Betrayer’s intervention.
“Now, now, General. You know as well as I how much the Cardinal loves his secrets,” Lucivius reminded his fellow councilman, ever mindful of Ramses’s warning. “Perhaps one day, if your master, Cassius, claims the throne, I can share it. Instead, why not enjoy a cup of my finest wine and take one of the girls of your choosing to a black box. There is one, in particular, that has been scented to your liking.”
The sworn sword of the prince’s uncle chuckled at the rat lord’s offer. “Snake charmer indeed. Very well, but I care little for the pretty dolls that dance your hall.” Pointing instead to one of the kitchen girls preparing the banquet table. “I do so like the dirty ones. Never have to worry about breaking them,” Solomon Cress laughed as he departed, dragging the poor girl by her hair.
Coward! Cyrus loathed the man. Every inch of him wished to save the girl from his entitled clutches, but the blue woman’s signal kept him true to the task at hand. The impossible requires sacrifice. He gritted his teeth and motioned to Katia.
The two slipped between the guests toward the steam of roasted swine where Z’hiri stood with two small sacks in her hands. “Look at the lustful fools. They’ve no idea the herbs we’ve placed in their food and drink. Once the second course is served, they’ll be helpless. That is when you will take these and climb the wall. I could only gather enough food and water for a day’s journey, I pray it keeps you. Now, hurry back before your absence is noticed.”
He and Katia did as they were told, smiling and pleasing the Betrayer’s companions like puppets on a string until the smell of chicken and potato stew perfumed the hall. It’s time, Cyrus whispered in his mind, glancing toward the black-and-crimson flower with a nod as they returned to their sacks among a chorus of delirious chatter and drunk laughter. Neither lord nor bronze dog noticed as they snuck clean from the tower toward the blue patch where the cracked wall waited.