A Warlord's Lady

by Nicola E. Sheridan

  He took me then, as he often did, crooning love-words into my ears.

  Though his words filled my ears as his body filled mine, my mind knew the truth.

  When he left me, in the early hours of the dark tropical morning, I’d made my decision. I was leaving.

  I knew if I did not leave now, it would not just be my ears and body he filled, it would be my heart as well.

  Chapter 7

  ‘How did you escape, Sabra?’ Faustus asked again.

  Sabra looked up, dazed. Another damn flashback. ‘I…’ Sabra began. Sweat beaded on her upper lip, arousal at the memory pooled between her legs.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Sabra whispered, a roar of heat washing over her.

  ‘I know, you stated that in your book, but I want to hear it from you.’

  Sabra felt confused. Why? She looked up in to Faustus’s assessing blue gaze, his eyes as cold as chips of ice.

  Best tell the man, Sabra decided. His facial features seemed to harden, and he was beginning to develop the look of a nasty piece of work.

  Sabra threw her murky mind back. It would perhaps help her if she actually understood how she’d escaped in the first place. ‘Well,’ she began, scratching the itch near her nose. ‘I decided one night that I couldn’t stay. I didn’t have a plan, so I thought I’d at least make some effort in surveillance. Perhaps if I knew how the Warlord’s compound operated, I’d find a weakness.’ Sabra paused, noticing the skin on her hand had turned the same institutional grey as the room. She ignored it.

  Sentience activated what-not.

  Questions bubbled in her brain, but she cast them aside with another nervous glance towards Faustus.

  ‘The next day, I actually got dressed. The Warlord did supply me with lovely clothes that I’d never felt the desire to wear.’

  Faustus raised an eyebrow, clearly not interested in the fashions of a Laotian Warlord. Sabra forged on. ‘I went for a walk. There was a dirt access road a few kilometres’ walk from the house. So I walked there. I figured, perhaps, that I’d hide in the pile of refuse and cardboard boxes, wait for the waste management truck to come, camouflage and leave with the rubbish. After all, I was just a chattel, another of the many women the Warlord had in his collection. It was unlikely he’d miss me now he had all those…others.’ Sabra drifted off, bewildered by the sharp spear of jealousy that stabbed through her.

  ‘Go on,’ Faustus urged.

  ‘Well, I’d seen the waste truck come before, and judging from the piles of refuse, it was due to come soon.’ Sabra paused. ‘Here’s where it got confusing.’

  ‘Go on,’ Faustus urged again, his hands gripping the edge of the bed, his knuckles turning white. His interest clearly piqued.

  ‘There were a few of Cain’s guards around. They looked at me, knowing I was one of Cain’s women but left me alone. Except one.’

  Sabra sighed with a grimace, and brushed her hair from her eyes. She saw at this moment her hair was the same grey as the room and suspected her whole body was, too. There was no need to hide her abnormality here. Faustus knew more about her than she did about herself, so she didn’t even try to return her skin to its normal colour.

  ‘What happened then?’ Faustus prompted. He’d wheeled the wheelie chair closer to her, and beyond the floral musk of his magic she could smell the man. The sharp tang of sweat spoke of desperation beneath his calm exterior.

  ‘I don’t really know. One of Cain’s men approached me, and then I don’t know. I was so determined not to go back, I’m not sure what happened. All of a sudden the guard looked confused. He called my name and walked towards me but he couldn’t see me.’

  ‘Were you camouflaging?’

  ‘No, I was fully dressed.’

  All that could be heard was their breathing, before Faustus spoke again. ‘What did you do then?’

  ‘Nothing, I just stood there.’ She sighed. ‘Soon Cain’s men were everywhere, looking for me. They were all calling my name.’ Something gripped in the region of her heart. ‘Then Cain came out. He couldn’t see me either.’ She remembered the anguished look on his face, his furious tone as he’d ordered his men to begin searching the jungle surrounding them. They searched for hours as she stood there, completely invisible.

  ‘He couldn’t see you? Did he use magic?’

  ‘Of course he did. It didn’t detect me. Nothing could, yet I was just standing there.’ Sabra paused, looking thoughtful. ‘After a while the waste removal truck came, and I climbed into the back with the garbage and left.’

  ‘When did you become visible again?’ Faustus asked softly.

  Sabra shrugged. ‘I guess I became visible sometime in the journey to the garbage tip.’

  ‘Then what did you do?’

  ‘I hopped out at the garbage tip and ran to one of the workers there, saying I’d been kidnapped. He couldn’t speak English, so he took me to his supervisor. He barely spoke English either…’

  Sabra was about to continue and explain how eventually she got to the police station, and then to the Australian consulate where Elka came and assisted her home, when Faustus interrupted her.

  ‘Had this invisibility ever happened before? Has it happened since?’ Faustus leaned towards her, his hand gripped her bicep and squeezed. His hand was cold and he was so close that she could see the small pores in the skin of his nose.

  Gross.

  Sabra hesitated, her eyes flicked towards the tray of medicinal things. She didn’t really want to reveal all her secrets to this man, did she?

  ‘No,’ she lied, ‘never.’

  Faustus looked disappointed. ‘Never mind. It will. Perhaps if we pose some scenarios for you, the ability may be triggered?’

  ‘Unlikely,’ Sabra murmured softly, her skin crawling at the suggestion. ‘If it didn’t kick in when the undead Elka grabbed my ankle, it’s probably not going to.’

  Faustus’s face flinched at the mention of Elka.

  ‘Elka isn’t dead, is she?’

  Faustus lowered his eyes, and looked away for a moment. ‘No. In fact, she’s alive and well. Though, her attempt on your life was regrettable, and she is sorry about it. She has been punished for her lapse in judgement.’

  ‘Lapse in judgement? She tried to strangle me. Who is she anyway?’

  ‘I think you know who she is…’ Faustus murmured.

  ‘She’s Mags, isn’t she? Maggie South.’

  Faustus inclined his head.

  ‘But she works for the government…’

  ‘No, she works for me.’

  ‘What the hell is she? Mags had her head blown open and so did Elka! What could survive that?’

  Faustus raised his head and looked straight at her. ‘She’s an Aufhocker.’

  ‘I beg your pardon? No need to swear,’ Sabra snapped.

  ‘No, she is an Aufhocker, a-u-f-h-o-c-k-e-r. Have you ever heard of them?’

  ‘Obviously not.’

  ‘She is a magical being originally from Germany, and she cannot be killed.’

  ‘She can change shape?’

  ‘Yes, shape-shifting is one of her many talents. Speaking of the Aufhocker…’ Faustus murmured, ‘here she is.’

  A mix of emotions flooded Sabra as Mags walked into the room. She had a cigarette hanging limply from her red mouth, her skin was paler than before, and her bleached blonde hair was limp.

  ‘Mags…’

  ‘Sabra, I’m sorry.’ Mags walked up before her, and rested a red-nailed hand on Sabra’s arm. ‘I really did only want the best for you.’

  ‘Really?’ Sabra growled. There was no apology Mags could give her that would make her attempted murder forgivable. ‘You’ve worked for the mafia all this time? Even when you were Elka?’

  Mags nodded and took a deep inhalation of smoke, before blowing it out directly in Sabra’s face.

  Sabra blanched and tried to hold her breath.

  ‘Yep,’ she replied.

  Sabra turned away from Mags, and spun around to face Fau
stus. ‘What do you want me here for? Why has Mags been following me for so long? What did you mean by me being a product of the government? I’m certain you didn’t tie me to this hospital bed for the pleasure of my company or witty conversation. I’ve answered enough of your questions. Answer some of mine.’

  ‘Maggie, would you prepare the injection while I enlighten our friend?’ Faustus asked, and Mags dropped her cigarette and smudged it out on the linoleum floor. Sabra stared at the burnt brown smudge it left.

  In a flash, the leather restraint straps reared up like striking cobras and quickly coiled themselves around Sabra’s wrists. Before she realised what had occurred, Sabra found herself yanked down and strapped flat on her back once again. She yelped.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she cried.

  ‘Not a bright cookie, is she?’ Mags croaked in her whisky and cigarette voice.

  ‘Sabra, you are a product of a biotech institute. Your DNA is very special.’

  Sabra tried to focus on Faustus’s words, as Mags fiddled with the wrappings of a syringe.

  ‘For over 50 years, the government has been breeding people with certain characteristics.’

  ‘Breeding people?’ Sabra squeaked. ‘But I grew up in a foster home.’

  ‘Yes, 28 years ago the government began the SABRA breeding program. IVF was still a new technology, but they harvested eggs and sperm from interesting magical beings to create a new hybrid person who had the characteristics they wished. What the government was after was an individual with the ability to distort the perceptions of people around them, without the use of magic. As magic is traceable, a psychic ability to distort perceptions would be extremely valuable to a government — individuals to use as spies or whatever. They paid surrogate mothers to incubate the progeny from the breeding program. Then, for five years, the offspring were raised and studied to see what special abilities they had. The program met with failure. None of the children had the required ability. So they were turned over into state care, or foster homes.’

  Something sad flip-flopped in Sabra’s belly.

  ‘How do you know I have that ability?’

  ‘Well, dear Sabra, you explained it to the world in your book. When you became ‘invisible’ during your escape attempt, you hadn’t just camouflaged, like the ordinary Chameleon the government presumed you to be. It became apparent to the Australian Government, and us, and probably countless other underworld organisations, that you unknowingly used a sentience activated body reaction. That is, you altered the guard’s perception of you. You used their sentience to make yourself appear to have disappeared.’

  ‘I did?’

  ‘Yep,’ Mags smiled.

  ‘So when you wrote your memoirs and explained, no matter how briefly, how you’d escaped, it became clear to the government that you were one of the rejected, SABRA breeding program children. They wanted you back, but needed to coax you into their care. Fortunately, the mafia has known about the SABRA breeding program for years, and we have been…um…collecting rejected offspring — in the hope that we can succeed where the government failed. Sentience Activated Body Reaction Armour would be incredibly useful to us…’

  ‘Why did Cain want me then?’

  ‘The same reason, I suspect. Perhaps he’d been searching for rejected offspring as well. I can’t be certain whether he knew about the SABRA program or not. I can only presume he did — it was one of the Australian Government’s worst-kept secrets. He’s looking to expand his territory, you see. I suppose he could do with a secret weapon such as you. Screwing you senseless was probably just a bonus, as he no doubt hoped you’d beget him a powerful heir. You know what these primitive magician warlords are like…’

  What little hope she had that Cain Dath wanted her, for her, Sabra felt crumble and die. She’d known it was an idealistic hope, but his passion for her seemed so real. Was it all just a passion for power?

  ‘So Mags has been following me?’

  ‘Yes, as I said, the mafia has been hunting down the discarded SABRA program offspring, and we were planning on taking you on your return to Australia.’

  It was a creepy thought. All her life she’d felt people had been watching her. She’d thought she had a paranoid nervous problem, and she’d always gone to great lengths to cover up her abnormality so no one would even suspect she was a Chameleon. She needn’t have bothered. She realised now that at different times in her life people had come to test her. Her mind flew back to when she was 10: Mister Roberts, a strange relief teacher in year five, at Beckenham Primary School. He’d taken her aside many times, talking about her chameleon abilities. She’d thought he was just trying to make her feel good about ‘being different’, but now she thought about it, he’d asked some very strange questions.

  Then, when she was 15, working at Coles as a check-out chick — she’d been accused of stealing from the till. She’d been taken away by the ‘police’. Only they were plain-clothed, and had never shown her a badge. She’d been taken to a building in the city somewhere and placed in a room alone for hours. Nothing had happened, and she was released and given back her job. No one ever accused her of stealing, or even mentioned it again. It was weird.

  A similar scenario happened when she was 20, and again at 25. Were they the government? Were they the mafia? Or, were they Cain’s men?

  Faustus appeared to be waiting for her to say something.

  ‘What are you going to do with me?’ Sabra croaked.

  Mags’ brown eyes looked compassionate briefly before they hardened again.

  ‘Well, you’ve shown your abilities are unreliable. Perhaps your offspring may be more reliable. Your ovaries contain that very desirable DNA, and the breeding program that was started at your birth can continue, once we harvest.’

  ‘You’re going to harvest my eggs?’

  ‘Technically, it’s called an oocyte harvest.’ He nodded and took the syringe from Mags’ hand.

  ‘Do you even know what you’re doing?’ Sabra struggled wildly, unable to take her eyes off the wickedly evil point of the needle.

  Faustus ignored her. ‘When was her last period, Maggie?’

  ‘How would she know?’ Sabra roared and instantly recoiled.

  Mags leaned in close, her nostrils flared as she inhaled deeply, her nose just millimetres above Sabra’s wildly coloured skin. At this proximity, Sabra could see the many faint wrinkles in her skin. It was clear she was many years older than what Sabra had ever realised.

  Mags pulled back and fixed Sabra with a stare. Her red nails clicked against the stainless steel table thoughtfully. ‘Smells as though she’s early in her cycle. A week and a half until oestrus, maybe.’

  Sabra felt her skin flush with embarrassment. ‘How could you possibly know that?’

  ‘One of my many and varied talents,’ said Mags as she shrugged. ‘So Faustus, you’d best hurry with that needle there. The days and eggs will soon be ticking by.’

  Sabra cringed.

  Faustus smiled and gave the syringe a theatrical squirt.

  Sabra had to delay them; she hated injections and she still held a small hope that someone, somehow, would get her out of here.

  ‘What is in that injection?’ she said quickly, momentarily distracting Faustus from wiping the crease of her arm with a cold alcohol wipe.

  Faustus paused, and held her gaze. ‘This is a gonadotropin-releasing agonist analogue.’

  The description did nothing to ease her concerns. ‘In English, please?’ Sabra snapped, alarm at the word ‘gonad’ making her blush purple.

  ‘It will stimulate your ovarian follicles,’ Faustus replied. A slight smile tugged the corner of his lip, as if this was all vaguely amusing.

  ‘And get those little ovaries of yours ripening a whole bunch of eggs.’ Mags grinned at her. ‘Isn’t this exciting?’

  Sabra felt all colour drain from her skin.

  Lord. This is a nightmare.

  She struggled wildly, trying to free her arms as Faustus desc
ended upon her with the injection. She felt a prick and then a whoosh of chemical, and she screamed, ‘No!’

  ‘Oh, calm down,’ Mags snapped. ‘It’s not any different to the type of treatment thousands of women have every day in their pursuit of children.’ The word echoed the repulsion she evidently felt at the concept.

  ‘How will you get my eggs out?’ she whispered. ‘When will you get them out?’

  Faustus chuckled. ‘You’ll need a few more injections of these over the course of a number a days, and we’ll give you an ultrasound. When the eggs have ripened, we’ll harvest them.’

  The idea of anyone harvesting anything from her body made Sabra want to be sick. ‘Harvest? How?’

  ‘We have a gynaecologist on our books who will come in to perform the procedure.’

  So it was all organised. If only she’d listened to Hollis, and gone into Cerebral Management, none of this would be happening.

  ‘If you’re thinking that you’d have been safer with the government, think again.’ Faustus advised sagely. ‘We have intelligence that indicates they were preparing a battery of tests to assess your, ah, talent, once you accepted the offer of sanctuary in their Cerebral Management Facility. Really, Sabra, you shouldn’t have written that book. You literally told the world about your ability.’

  Sabra groaned. The reality of exactly what was going to occur hit her with horrid force. She’d be a mother, to countless children, none of whom would ever know her. They’d be raised in loveless labs, or discarded like she was in foster care. She didn’t want that to happen.

  ‘Who will have my children? Do you have surrogates? Who will parent them? Whose sperm will be used to fertilise them?’

  Neither Faustus nor Mags answered her.

  With a gently-uttered spell, the leather straps slid from Sabra’s wrists and ankles and she sat up once again, rubbing the tender spot of the injection site. She swung her legs over the side of the bed.

  ‘Then what will you do with me after you’ve harvested my eggs?’ she asked softly.

  Faustus turned his cold blue eyes onto her. ‘We’ll harvest them again.’