Cursed

by Sue Tingey

  I waited and waited, but nothing happened. Then, just as I was on the verge of dozing off through sheer exhaustion, Kayla screamed. Not out loud—I’m sure she didn’t give Amaliel the satisfaction—I heard her inside my head. Again and again she screamed, and each time a little piece of me died, because that was how she was feeling: that a little piece of her was dying with each scream. I didn’t know what it meant. But I did know that if I had the chance I was going to do serious damage to Amaliel Cheriour. Once again I started to work on the nuts and bolts holding my shackles together. I worked on them until my fingers were slick with blood and I had to give up as I couldn’t get a firm grip. So I tried making my hands as small as I could and forcing them out of the cuffs, but there was no way this was going to happen. I have small hands, but the cuffs were even smaller. It made me wonder whether sometimes they kept children in this awful place; I guessed they probably did.

  Kayla’s screams stopped. She was distraught; I could feel her pain, but I’m sure that wherever she was she was holding it in, too proud to let Amaliel see. Unfortunately it didn’t stop me feeling it.

  Footsteps in the corridor that stopped outside my room announced a visitation, my turn? I wondered. The door opened and two brown-robed Sicarii entered followed by another in gray. Once he was inside he waved for the two minions to leave.

  He stood looking at me for what seemed an age. I couldn’t see his eyes or other features; like Amaliel, the Sicarii in gray kept their faces bathed in shadows and I suspected there was good reason for this. Any creature so evil they could torture, murder and then curse their victims with an eternal half-existence must have their awful cruelty etched upon their souls, so it wouldn’t surprise me if their faces were similarly marked.

  “So,” he said with a voice like he had a wet fur ball stuck in his throat, “the rumors are true.” I leaned back against the wall and ignored him. “You’ve been marked by both the Deathbringer and Guardian.” Again I ignored him. I’m a firm believer in the old adage “if you haven’t anything sensible to say, keep quiet,” perhaps it was a tip I should share with him.

  He wandered over to the bench and stared down at the various pieces of metalwork. If he thought this would scare me he was right, but I set my expression into what I hoped was a nonchalant, disinterested look.

  “And you say Amaliel knew this before he sent us to capture you?” Now he had my attention. This wasn’t about me; this was to do with Amaliel.

  I looked up at him. “Of course he knew. Everyone at Lord Baltheza’s court knew.”

  He let out a low hiss and I wondered what would happen if he removed his hood; perhaps it would reveal the countenance of a snake? I rather hoped I’d never find out.

  “And you are the Soulseer?”

  “So I’m told.”

  “You have seen the dead here?”

  Now I was puzzled, but I tried not to let it show. “Of course.”

  Another low hiss. “Tell me, how do they appear?”

  “Vulnerable, scared and angry—very angry.” I’d let him stick that in his pipe and smoke it. Let him be afraid for once.

  He gave a snort that sounded more like a whistle through congested sinuses. “Angry, but unable to act.”

  I curled my lips into a half smile. “Maybe, maybe not.”

  Hiss. “What do you mean?”

  I looked away and began to fiddle with the cuffs of my shirt. “In my experience the dead can sometimes make their presence felt.”

  “No, not these dead,” he said, but he didn’t sound so sure.

  “We’ll see,” I told him.

  “Amaliel said,” he hesitated and took a few steps toward me, “Amaliel said you were lying.”

  “About what?”

  “Being the Soulseer.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “He said you were trying to cause disquiet amongst us. He said you were trying to make us distrust him.”

  I let out a small ripple of laughter. “He seems to be doing a pretty good job of that all by himself.”

  Another hiss. “I think you’re dangerous.”

  I looked up at him and gave him a full-on bitch smile. “You’d be right, and sadly for you I’ll apparently be even more dangerous when I’m dead.” I didn’t want him getting ideas when he had so many sharp instruments close to hand.

  “How sssso?” It sounded like I’d rattled him.

  “I’m the emissary of the dead, you figure it out.”

  There was a noise in the corridor outside and his head snapped around to face the door. Keys rattled in the lock and the door swung open, revealing a brown-robed Sicarii. He held the door wide, his message clear; get out now. The Sicarii in gray gave me a brief backward glance and left, the door shutting with a solid clunk behind him. The keys rattled again and I heard the drawing of bolts. They were certainly taking no chances with me, and it did make me wonder—not for the first time—if being the Soulseer was a bigger deal than I’d thought. Jinx had been on the brink of telling me something before he … Before he’d been shot.

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I couldn’t think about that, I just couldn’t, not now. I had to concentrate on the problem at hand, which was getting myself, Kayla and Vaybian out of this bloody place and to safety. And where was Angela? I had to find her too. All well and good in theory, but being shackled in irons, chained to a wall in a double-locked cell did limit my options somewhat. Though, if the Sicarii were at odds with Amaliel maybe I could use this to my advantage—if I got the chance.

  First things first: what I needed was something to help me get the bloody metal bracelets off my wrists. I glanced across at the wooden bench and got to my feet to take a better look. I crossed the room as far as the chain would let me, but the bench was well out of reach and my hands were being pulled to one side and back behind me. I tried stretching out one leg, but even standing on tiptoe with my leg extended as far as it would go I was nowhere near. I wasn’t sure even Shenanigans could have reached if he were here, and he was a good foot and a half, maybe even two feet taller than me.

  I slumped down and leaned against the wall—back to square one. I made another half-hearted attempt to undo one of the nuts from the bolts connecting the shackles, but only made my fingers bleed again—red blood.

  I fell back to contemplating my alleged heritage. I wasn’t bleeding blue blood, like Kayla would. And her blood was truly blue, a deep sea blue. And this was the thing: if I was her sister and Baltheza’s daughter, my blood would also be blue. It put me in a rather precarious position. One: Baltheza would be pissed. Two: Kayla would probably be pissed, meaning that two of the most important people in the Underlands could become my enemies. Baltheza might, because he had probably been cuckolded and I couldn’t imagine that would go down well—even though my mother wasn’t his wife—and Kayla might because she had believed me to be her sister and loved me accordingly. Then again—Kayla must have known my blood was red—we’d grown up together. Of course, I had been disguised as a human—maybe red blood was part of the disguise?

  All this conjecture was making my poor head ache even more. I couldn’t worry about things that wouldn’t be important if I didn’t manage to get myself out of this mess. And sister or not, I had to get Kayla and her green captain out of it with me.

  I doubt that even ten minutes went by before I heard someone coming. Probably a couple of the minions; Amaliel and the gray Sicarii glided everywhere they went and didn’t make a sound … I wondered whether this was something they practiced or whether it was a skill awarded to you upon joining the Truly Evil Club. “You are now pronounced Truly Evil and may you forever glide from place to place.” Then, as the key turned in the lock, I wondered if I was finally losing it.

  The door opened and Amaliel entered. Two demons built like sumo wrestlers—and wearing as little clothing—were with him. Both were a fake suntan orange and their skin glistened as if freshly oiled, and both had jet black hair tied in a single braid that almost rea
ched their hips; I would have said waists, but they were far too rotund to have them. There, the similarities ended. One had almost no nose, just two nostrils in a pig-like stump, and beady little eyes. The other had a Harris Hawk beak and eyes to match. He even had a smattering of feathers across his cheeks and where his eyebrows should have been.

  As mesmerizing as they were, it was Amaliel who had my attention as he moved straight to the wooden bench, his right hand hovering over the utensils as if trying to make up his mind which to pick up first. Fear shot through me and I prayed that I’d be brave, though in my heart I knew I could never be as stoic as Vaybian. Amaliel would only have to squeeze my fingers in on themselves and I’d probably yelp. If he had a red hot poker in his hand I’d tell him anything he wanted to know—and probably make up stuff to make him go away. Fortunately they hadn’t brought a brazier with them, but I wasn’t holding my breath that one wouldn’t be rolled in if he wanted.

  “Unchain her.”

  Hawkman pulled a pair of pliers from the belt of his loincloth and began to work on undoing the bolt through the cuff on my right hand. Once he had freed it, he started on the other.

  I resisted the urge to rub my wrists when he had finished. Instead, I crossed my arms and tried to look badass.

  “Bring her here,” Amaliel commanded and both demons grabbed me by the upper arms and forced me over to the bench. He gave a nod toward the demon to my left. Pigface grabbed hold of my wrist and held my hand out in front of me. Amaliel’s palm moved across the bench and then stopped above a double bladed instrument similar to a pair of small agricultural shears.

  “Do you play a musical instrument?” he asked. I shook my head. I couldn’t speak. If I’d tried it would have come out as a squeak. “Pity,” he said, taking my hand and rolling my fingers into a fist except for my little one.

  I tried to pull away from him, but the two demons could have been blocks of stone. He moved the shears until the blades were positioned just below my finger nail and above the first knuckle. I knew what was coming and I steeled myself. I wouldn’t scream. I would not scream.

  He reached out and took hold of my chin and raised my head so he could look me in the eyes. “Now, listen to me very carefully. I want you to remember how this feels. I want you to remember the pain. Do you understand?” He made that awful gurgling sound I now knew to be laughter, paused to study me and then said, “Yes, I think you do.” He moved my head again so I was looking down at my hand. “Keep your eyes open. If you don’t, I will work my way through each of your digits until you do.”

  I stared at my little finger and the two blades surrounding it. He wasn’t going to do it, was he? Of course he was. He loved this. It made him feel powerful.

  I didn’t scream, but my legs gave way beneath me and I would have fallen if it wasn’t for the two demons holding me. As it was I watched in awful fascination as the tip of my finger dropped to the floor and blood pumped from where it had once been. Then it began to hurt and I only just managed to hold back the whimper building up at the back of my throat.

  “Hmm, interesting,” he said, bending down to pick up my fingertip and examining it. “I think I’ll give this to Henri. It mayn’t be as satisfying to him as your hand, but perhaps I can oblige later—with your head.”

  He pulled a piece of linen out of his robe and handed it to me. “You had better staunch the blood; I don’t want you bleeding to death. Where would be the fun in that? Now, I am going to take you to see your … I would have said sister, but I’m wondering now if this is the case. You’re certainly no child of Baltheza’s.”

  I clutched the linen to my ruined finger and wrapped it around the bleeding end the best I was able. I didn’t dare look at it, as I knew without a doubt that if I saw the bone sticking out I would either faint or be sick. Both probably.

  They marched me along the corridor and through another couple of doors until we reached a door with a grill at the top. Amaliel peered inside and laughed again.

  “Now, remember the pain of losing the tiny little bit of flesh and bone at the tip of your finger and the pain you are feeling now.”

  I licked my lips. What was he trying to tell me? What had he done to Kayla? Oh God, what had he done to her?

  He opened the door and gestured for me to go in first. It was very similar to my cell except the chamber was divided in two by iron bars stretching across its width. Behind the bars there was a bed, and huddled up in the corner of the bed was a figure.

  My heart was hammering, what had he done to her?

  “Lady Kayla, I have brought your sister to see you.”

  She stiffened and then gradually raised her head. “Oh my God,” I murmured to myself and took a step toward her.

  “Lucky?” her voice was a tremulous whisper.

  I took another step toward the cage and she got to her feet and walked toward me to grip hold of the bars. She lifted her chin up high as she glanced Amaliel’s way.

  “Oh, Kayla,” I said, and my voice broke. Now I knew why he had cut the tip off my finger. He had shorn her head. Her beautiful locks were now messy clumps of green and red interspersed with the limp bodies of the vipers that had grown from her scalp. Blue blood still leaked from the lifeless stumps staining what was left of her hair.

  I crossed to her and she took hold of my right hand through the bars. I kept my left hidden behind my back. I didn’t want her to see; compared to what he had done to her it was nothing.

  “I’m all right,” she said, “it’ll grow again.”

  I wanted to ask, “What about the vipers?” but I didn’t. I didn’t want to hear she had lost them forever. It would have been too hard for both of us.

  “Now,” Amaliel said, “this is how it will be. You”—he pointed a bony finger at my chest—“will do whatever I say, whenever I say it, or your sister and her lover will pay in body parts. Do you understand me?”

  I nodded.

  “Do you understand?”

  “Yes. Yes, I understand.”

  “Good.”

  “Vaybian,” I said. “Can I see him?”

  “If you wish,” and he gestured for me to leave the cell.

  I squeezed Kayla’s hand and mouthed the words, “I’ll be back to get you.”

  She mouthed back, “be very careful.”

  Then I left her and it had never been so hard.

  Vaybian was in the next cell, an identical one to Kayla’s. He was sprawled out on his back across a bed in the corner of the room. As soon as we came in he swung his legs off the bed and got to his feet.

  “What did you do to her you bastard?” Vaybian said. “I know you did something.”

  “She’s all right,” I said, but as soon as he saw my face he knew I was lying.

  “What did he do to her?”

  I felt my eyes filling up and brushed the tears away with a swipe of my hand. I had to be strong. I just had to be. “He cut off her hair.” I took a deep breath. “You know.”

  The look on his face was awful, and if I hadn’t known it before I knew it now: he loved her with all of his heart. The pain he was feeling for her was palpable.

  “One day I am going to kill you,” Vaybian said to Amaliel.

  “You’ll have to join the queue,” I said.

  Amaliel only laughed. “I very much doubt you will leave these caverns alive. For one thing, your wellbeing relies on this one,” he said gesturing to me. “Every time she disobeys me or displeases me, you or Lady Kayla will pay in blood, and I’m a very exacting master—it won’t be long before there’ll be a pile of the bloody bits and pieces I’ll take from you.” Vaybian looked at Amaliel with the same disgust and hatred as I was feeling toward him.

  My finger was throbbing, I was tired, I was scared and my heart ached; for Kayla, for Vaybian, and most of all for my men. I wondered where they were. Was Jinx all right? And if so, would he and the others be coming for me soon? If they weren’t then there was no help to be had and it was down to me, Kayla and Vaybian to save
ourselves and Angela. As for Philip, I’m afraid he was on his own. As Jamie had pointed out, I wasn’t Superwoman.

  Hawkman and Pigface led me from the cell and we followed Amaliel back along the corridors—passing my last room—until we reached the huge main chamber. Amaliel glided to the center and climbed up onto the plinth supporting the altar. Except for the four of us the hall was empty.

  “Tell me, Soulseer,” Amaliel said, raising his hands and gesturing around the chamber, “what do you see?”

  As tempting as it was to make some flippant reply, I didn’t dare. I didn’t want any of us to lose any more body parts. I glanced around me. “I see a large empty hall.”

  “No spirits?”

  “Not at the moment, but no doubt they’ll come when they realize I’m here.”

  He turned to face me, his red eyes burning into me. “You seem very sure of yourself.”

  “If I know nothing else, I do know the dead. They’ve been around me since the moment I was born.” And sure enough, the first of the spirits began to drift out from the shadows as I spoke.

  “You must escape,” they whispered.

  “I think you can let go of me now,” I said to the two sumo wrestlers, “I won’t be going anywhere.”

  They both glanced at Amaliel who gestured with a wave of his hand for them to release me. I took a step away from them and turned so neither Amaliel nor his two stooges could see my lips and mouthed the words “Can you help me?” to the spirits.

  “Help you, help you,” their voices chanted, but could they?

  I mouthed something again. “Can you leave this place?”

  “Never, never, never,” reverberated through my head.

  “What do you see now?” Amaliel asked, jerking my attention back to him.

  “The dead.” I could see no point in lying.

  “And what do they tell you?”

  “That they want to be free.”

  He laughed and I felt something deep inside of me stir and my body began to warm as anger coursed through me, making my chest and throat ache with the tension of holding it in.