They had taken her somewhere. Somewhere away from Torin.
The Sun Sword. P’helios’ inner moon. The temple of the Sol.
Pulling her knees closer to her chest, Kala chewed harder on her bottom lip, willing the dull ache in her chest away. What did she do now?
“In your hands, Kala Rei, the Sun Sword brings ultimate judgment.” The memory of Torin’s words slipped through her mind, strong and absolute, bringing with them a bittersweet tension in her soul. He’d been angry with her when he spoke them. Very angry. They’d been seated in his ship’s galley, their meal cold, the silence crackling between them. Once again she’d dismissed the Sun Sword and the prophecy of the One Who Burns and his invincible patience had finally cracked. “The One Who Burns restores life where there is death. Brings death where there is life. The One Who Burns wields the power of the sun and you must accept that truth or all will be lost.”
She’d glared at him. She remembered that moment very clearly. She’d wanted to throw her plate at him. Four months into her training and she still could not fathom how a man like him could place his faith and devotion in something as ambiguous and nonsensical as a prophecy. Nor could she fathom how he could possibly believe she was the “One” the so-called prophecy carried on about.
She still couldn’t. He’d turned her into a lethal warrior, he’d showed her what it meant to be worshiped, he’d given her true and absolute pleasure, but she still couldn’t understand how he could believe she was the One Who Burns.
Her confusion was irrelevant however. Uloch had hurt the man she loved, possibly killed him. Zroya had defiled her and planned to do so again. There was no confusion about what she was to do next.
A cold sense of calm unfurled in her gut. Torin had trained her for one purpose and one purpose only—to be the wielder of the most powerful weapon in the known universes. Six months of her life had led to this moment. This truth. Whether she was the One Who Burns or, as Zroya believed with such fervor, the False Fire, she knew what she had to do now.
Closing her eyes, she rolled onto her back and began a slow count to one hundred, flexing and coiling the muscles in her body as she did so.
Her captors would come for her and they would take her to the sword Torin Kerridon believed hers to wield. Of that, she had little doubt. Uloch had ordered her kept alive for a reason and she doubted it was just to fulfill his puppet’s sexual appetites. They would take her to the Sun Sword and she would take it in her hands—whether they wanted her to or not.
Until then, she would wait. And prepare herself for the weapon’s final truth.
A cold, bleak smile pulled at her lips at the thought. “The One Who Burns’ mercy will be just,” she murmured into the darkness. “But it will not be swift.”
Are you sure that’s who you are?
Kala’s smile turned bleaker. She honestly didn’t care anymore.
What may have been short minutes or countless hours later, a deep rumble vibrated through the icy floor up into her body. She opened her eyes, welcoming the pulling sensation in her belly. The ship was coming out of hyper-flight.
She counted to one hundred twice, focusing on each muscle in her body individually, before a sliver of white light cracked the darkness to her right.
Kala folded herself into a sitting position, hooking her elbows around her knees to watch Zroya stride into the room. He stopped but a stride away from her, his gaze roaming over her with insolent arrogance. “I see you found the clothing I left for you. His lips curled into a smug smirk. “It is the attire of an Idekian slave.” His teeth flashed in the dim light, his smirk stretching wider. “Quite befitting don’t you think, given your position?”
Ignoring his provoking observation, she gave him a wide smile, flicking a quick look at the charged de-atomizer in his right hand. “A gun, Zroya? Really?” She let her smile turn nasty. “Your…sword…not good enough?”
He laughed, the sound empty and unhinged. “Now, you know better than that, False Fire. My ‘sword’ has already punctured your body and left you broken and bleeding. Shall I demonstrate its power again?”
Kala shrugged, keeping her face neutral. Relaxed. “If you feel you must. I have to admit though, I got bored the last time.”
Zroya’s handsome face became a mask of stunned disbelief and she suppressed the urge to attack. As much as she wanted to strike out and shatter his nose, his cheeks, his jaw, her body still needed to recover from the beating he’d given her. If she attacked him now, he’d defeat her once more. She couldn’t have that.
“Use your opponent’s weakness.” Torin’s voice. In her head. Again. “Watch for it and choose your moment well.”
Kala ground her teeth, her heart clenching. God, she wished she knew if he was alive.
Focus on the moment, Kala. On Zroya.
Her own voice reprimanded her and she returned her attention to the man standing before her. “Is there something you wanted, Zroya?” She cocked an eyebrow, letting him see her disdain. “Or can I go back to sleep?”
His fist smashed into her jaw. Almost too fast for her to see it move. “I look forward to seeing you grovel at my feet, Kala Rei. The cunt who dared pretend to be the One Who Burns begging me for mercy.” His full lips stretched into a smile. “I especially look forward to denying you those pleas.”
With blurring speed, he snatched a fistful of her hair and yanked her to her feet, grinning into her face. “Now, it is time. We have arrived and there are preparations to be made.” He jerked her closer, so close she could smell his putrid breath. “Ready for the fun to begin?”
Kala moved her face closer still, letting her stare drill into his. “Absolutely.”
He spun her around and shoved her from the room, the de-atomizer’s barrel digging into the small of her back.
Marching her through the ship, he said not a word. Kala felt his strung energy radiating through his body, down his arm, passing through the weapon he rammed against her back. That he carried a gun at all told her he was nervous. A small smile played with her lips. Good. She liked that.
“The False Fire is ready, my master,” Zroya suddenly spoke behind her and Kala realized they’d stopped in the very room in which she’d first arrived on the ship.
The stench of decaying meat wrapped her in a choking blanket.
“You have done well, child.” Uloch’s raspy voice scratched at her right and she turned her head, finding the withered old man standing beside her, stroking a freshly gutted rabbit. His gaze skimmed over her and if he noted the blood seeping from her nose, the bruises marring her cheek, he showed no signs. “The False Fire will serve us well. And when the Sun Sword is free, when it is in the hands of the One Who Burns, Zroya, you may do with her what you will.”
The shift in the de-atomizer’s pressure told Kala that Zroya had bowed. “I eagerly await that moment, my master.”
The old man smiled, his white eyes holding her gaze, his tongue flicking at the air. “The severed brother shall reap the rewards denied him of his kin,” he murmured, expression unchanging, “the departed brother’s charge rendered impotent by the weakness of his want, the sleeping blade awaiting to be claimed.”
Kala threw Zroya a look over her shoulder. “Is this the way he always speaks? Or am I getting special treatment?”
Uloch’s smile vanished. “Enough.” He lifted one hand. “The prophecy calls.”
Without warning, Zroya smashed the butt of his de-atomizer against the back of Kala’s head. She sank to the ground, black blotches of pain detonating in her vision, her knees and palms connecting with the icy metal with a crack.
“Fuck,” she burst out, glaring up at the leering Zroya as he sauntered around to stand before her. “A little heads-up would have been nice.”
His stunningly handsome face twisted with sadistic mirth. “Oh, sorry, cunt.” He bent at the waist to gaze into her face with melodramatic sympathy. “I’m going to hit you now.” He laughed. “Better?”
Kala smiled. “Much
,” she said and slammed her forehead into his nose.
“You fucking—” Zroya staggered backward, eyes wild, blood gushing down his face.
“Zroya.” Uloch’s rasp stopped him.
A vicious snarl split Zroya’s face. He stared at Kala, hate and bloodlust burning in his glare. “I apologize, master.”
Kala gave him a wide grin, ignoring the dull ache in her forehead and the sharp pain in the back of her head. “I don’t.”
“Your bravado is to be commended, Kala Rei.” Uloch moved to stand before her, Zroya bowing out of his way. He studied her, stroking the gutted rabbit’s hollowed out innards, his fingers playing over the creature’s ribcage in rapid twitches. “But it is unnecessary. What is to transpire requires nothing of you except your presence.”
“If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll pass.”
The old man chuckled. “The prophecy does not give us such choices, Kala Rei.” He caressed the ribcage of the dead rabbit again, fingertips slicked with sticky blood.
Kala raised an eyebrow, watching the movement of his fingers with rising curiosity and growing unease. “So, is now a good time to tell you I don’t believe in the prophecy?”
Uloch chuckled again. “Let me change that for you.” He nodded, his eyes firmly fixed on her face. At the slight action, Zroya moved behind her and snaked his arms under her armpits, jerking her to her feet. She bucked, fresh pain stabbing into the back of her head, but Zroya only laughed and yanked her harder to his body.
“When this is done,” he murmured in her ear, “I will tie you to my whipping post and show you what my…sword…is truly capable of.”
Kala ground her teeth, staring hard at the old man standing before her. “Promises, promises.”
Uloch dipped his hand deeper into the rabbit’s guts, his lips moving with silent words. He took a step closer to her, his stare boring into hers. “With blood shall be seen pain,” he rasped, withdrawing his hand from the dead animal’s carcass. “With pain shall be seen past.” Eyes clouding, he reached for her head with blood-stained fingers.
No. Kala bucked in Zroya’s hold, fighting his cruel arms. She did not want Uloch touching her with those fingers. She did not—
His fingertips brushed her cheeks just below her eyes and red agony sheared through her. Paralyzing her. Consuming her and she was…
She was afraid. She cowered under the broken bed, eyes squeezed shut, biting her lips as the men threw her mummy across the room. Her mummy had told her not to make a noise—“You need to be quiet, honey, quiet like a little mouse. Don’t make a noise, Kala-bear and it’ll be fine”—and she was trying, she really was, but all she wanted to do was run to her mummy and make the men go away. Tears stung her eyes. Snot burned her nose. She cowered lower, her hands balled into fists, her heart thumping in her throat. She wished her mummy had never brought her here, but they had nowhere else to go. The sickness had come to their town and they’d had to get away before it got them too. Now the men had found them and she knew what they wanted to do.
A scream tore the air, her mummy’s scream, followed by a laugh that made her tummy roll. “You want this, cunt. I know you do,” one of the men said and she heard a wet, meaty whack. Her mummy screamed again, the sound cut short by another whack. “Hold her still, for fuck’s sake,” the man grunted. “She’s gonna kick me balls off!”
She bit her lips harder, blood coating her tongue as she rammed her fists to her ears. She wanted to run away, but she couldn’t leave her mummy. She couldn’t go. Her mummy had told her to stay quiet. The tears squeezed from her eyes and, before she could stop it, a high whimper vibrated in her throat.
“Oi,” one of the other men burst out. “There’s someone else ’ere.”
The second he uttered the words her mummy screamed: “Kala! Run!”
She squirmed from under the bed and leapt to her feet, running for the gaping doorway on the other side of the derelict shack. The biggest man leapt at her, rotting teeth flashing in the dying sunlight. He snared her long plait and yanked her backward.
“Leave her alone, you bastard!”
Her mummy’s screech tore into her terror. Petrified, she thrashed in the big man’s arms, kicking, squealing. He laughed and threw her at the man with the sores on his face. “Bit of dessert for us, mates,” he chuckled.
The skinny man’s hands ripped at her clothes and she grabbed one of his arms, sinking her teeth into his filthy skin.
“Fuck!” He flung her away. “The little cunt bit me!”
“Leave her alone!” her mummy cried, her voice high and broken. “Oh, God, please, leave her alone.”
She scrambled up and threw herself at the laughing man, punching him as hard as she could. “Let my mummy go! Let my mummy go!”
He laughed again and hauled her off the ground by her hair, her long thick hair. “How bout we go with you first then?”
“No!” her mummy screamed. “You leave her alone, you bastard! You leave her alone!”
The big man tossed a look over his shoulder at something she couldn’t see. “Shut her up, will ya, Macca.”
A solid crack broke the air and suddenly she couldn’t hear her mummy anymore.
“Mummy?” Terror welled up in her belly. Stole her breath. “Mummy?” She kicked out, slapped her fists against the man’s arm. Tears burned her cheeks. “Mummy?”
“Got me a little piece of girlie-girl, mates.” The big man grinned, throwing her to the ground. He slammed his foot into her tummy and blood burst from her mouth. “She’s gonna be tight, real tight.” He stood over her, his feet on either side of her hips, grinning down at her. “And I get first go.”
Hands grabbed at her. Horrible hands with ragged, dirty nails. Horrible hands that grabbed her wrists and rammed them into the filthy floor. Horrible hands that grabbed her ankles and jerked her legs wide apart. “Mummy?” she squealed. “Mummy?”
The big man laughed. “Call me daddy, girlie-girl.”
And he dropped down on top of her and she…
She gasped, jolting in Zroya’s hold. She glared at the old man before her, her heart a pounding sledgehammer trying to smash free of her chest. “What the fuck did you do to me?”
Uloch gave her a small smile. “Well, that was interesting, wasn’t it, child?”
Hot rage poured through her, turned her blood to acid. She threw herself at him but Zroya’s arms locked tighter under her armpits. “You bastard!” Her roar tore her throat. She thrashed in Zroya’s grip, teeth bared, stare locked on the smiling prophet. The freshly exposed memory devoured her. Tore her apart. Memories she’d long ago buried deep within her tormented soul. Everything about that day came back to her in a tsunami of senses. She couldn’t escape. Not then, not now. “You fucking bastard.”
Uloch tilted his head to the side, fingering the rabbit carcass. “Such a young thing to experience something so brutal.” He lifted his hand and Kala flinched. “So heinous.”
Zroya chuckled behind her, the low sound vibrating through her body. With each tremble, she felt his erection nudge her arse, and a wave of contempt and hate rolled over her. She ground her teeth, refusing to break Uloch’s stare. “What doesn’t kill us only makes us stronger.”
He raised his eyebrows. “A commendable attitude toward something so barbaric. Do you think your mother shared the same sentiment? Or was the last thing on her mind as the men fucked her to death the screams and sobs of her daughter?”
Kala glared at him, straining against Zroya’s hold. She could hear the woman her traumatized psyche had erased from her mind crying in her head. Begging, pleading. Bargaining for Kala’s life even as the men violated her until she was silent. Each sob sliced into her. Cut her. “Shut up.”
“Did they even let you see her body before they took you away?” he went on, a quizzical, almost concerned expression on his face. He stroked the rabbit’s matted fur. “Did they let you say goodbye to her lifeless corpse?”
She clenched her jaw, her nostrils
flaring. “Shut up.”
“How long did they keep you for, Kala? How long did those men use you for their own gratification?”
“Shut up.”
“Was it days? Months?” He brushed one long red-slicked fingertip down the side of her face. “Years?”
Kala narrowed her eyes, a prickling fire razing over her flesh. Memories assaulted her, but she shut them from her mind. Her soul however… “Days,” she snarled.
“How many?”
“None of your business.”
Uloch traced another line down her face. “I can find out if you like, Kala Rei. We can revisit each one. Linger on every minute if you so desire.”
Terrified fear and incinerating fury destroyed her. She turned wild, bucking, kicking, throwing Zroya off balance. No, no. Not again. Not again. He hauled her feet off the floor, laughing and then slammed them back down. The shock jarred her ankles, her knees. Her hips screamed. Her spine buckled. She cried out, tears squeezing from her eyes.
“Hush,” Uloch crooned, fingering the rabbit carcass again. “We have more to do. More to see.” He raised his blood stained hand to her face, his eyes growing cloudy. “With blood shall be seen pain. With pain shall be seen fate.”
She shook her head, Zroya’s erection drilling into her as she shrank from Uloch’s fingers. No. God, no. No.
He touched her chin, shoved his fingers to her lips, into her mouth. Putrid rot oozed over her tongue, slipped down the back of her throat and she…
She ran, the man chasing her. He shouted at her, called her vile names, yelled vile words at her back—what he was going to do to her when he caught her, what he was going to make her do to him. She ran, her heart thumping in her throat, making it hard to breathe. She thought she’d been safe hiding in the collapsed building’s basement. She thought she could sleep, rest. She’d been wrong. A stitch speared her side, ripping deeper with every gasp she pulled. This is what she got for becoming complacent. This is what she got for thinking she was finally safe. Months and months of being left alone and thanks to one moment of sheer complacent stupidity the man had seen her. God, she had to get away. She couldn’t let him catch her. She couldn’t…
The Sun Sword Page 13