Allowing his eyes to take him from the sight of the woman, Isaac looked around, and the fear he once thought he’d left behind for good grabbed hold of his heart, squeezing it until Isaac felt sure that it would burst. Other than the two cots and a bucket in the corner, the room was empty, three walls so close to his head as to put him in a state of near claustrophobia. Had they put him back in Whispers?
Dreading what he’d see, Isaac rotated his neck to the left, millimeters at a time, fighting a desire to leap upon the cot and bury his face in its sullied sheets. Completing the turn, Isaac found himself looking directly into Kross’s flat eyes.
Or rather, almost directly, for the thick iron bars separating the two of them were difficult to see past.
Now, the fear did squeeze, and Isaac rushed to the bars, pressing his face against them, pushing until it felt that his skull must alter its shape, elongate, fit through the opening. Other than his mouth, devoid of its normal meal of green, Kross looked to be the same, a chubby face on top of a rail-thin body. He wore a white robe, cinched across the front with a loosely tied belt so that the top hung open and exposed his spindly chest, collarbones visible.
Neither of them said anything for a while, just looked at each other, Isaac with questions he wasn’t sure that he wanted answered, but then Kross broke the silence. “How’d they get you?”
“I don’t even know who ‘they’ are,” responded Isaac. “I went to bed in Dradenhurst one night, and I woke up here.” The nightmare flashed behind his eyes, torches of men screaming unintelligible curses at him. “Where are we?”
“The better question is, who’s holding us here?” Kross pulled at a collar just below his chin.
Putting a hand to his neck, Isaac traced the outline of his own collar. Had that really been a nightmare, or was it a memory?
“We’re Cao Fen playthings now, Isaac. Property, nothing more. See that tub of lard over there to your right? That’s Astra. Too pretty of a name for her, if you ask me. She can manipulate her density, which is probably why she’s so damn fat and can still be capable of movement. Not something you see every day. Down the block, few cells from us, there’s a man that claims to be immortal, and I should know – I’ve cut off his head myself, woken up and seen him the next day.”
“But where are we?” Isaac tugged at the collar, testing it.
“Quiet. This matters, to you and to me,” Kross said. “I’ve been here a few months. That bitch of a Queen sent me here after she betrayed me in her own castle. Should have seen it coming, I guess.”
“Well, she’s dead now.”
“Is she?” Kross raised his eyebrows. “That’s delightful news, first I’ve heard in a while.”
“Please, tell me where we are?”
“I’m getting there, if you’ll wait just a second. Ever hear of the Coated?”
Isaac’s face paled. “Why?”
“Well, I hate to break it to you,” Kross said. “But that’s who we’re here under. They’re going to experiment on us until the day we die – Blessed are their specialty, you know. Been running tests on me since the day I could walk again, and they haven’t quit yet.”
“Tests?” Isaac tapped his collar. He couldn’t tell what material it was made from.
“Oh, nothing too major. Putting me in a room filled with six men, all armed, and seeing if I could escape. Running me through open fields, people surrounding me on either side, trying to reach a goal in the center. They push and prod, and we have to use our power in each and every scenario. That’s what they’re focused on. I can’t count the number of people I’ve killed since I’ve been here.”
Isaac felt the blood drain from his face. “What? That won’t be a problem for you, will it?” Kross continued. “You can’t see it, probably can barely even feel it, but that collar ‘round your neck? It’ll have you doing whatever they say. Better go ahead and embrace it, because you’ll be here for a long while. You’re a tool now, just like me.”
Kross fell silent after that, lying back on his cot with his face toward the ceiling. Isaac didn’t move, trying to keep his breathing steady. The Coated? There must have been a huge time gap in between his capture and his arrival here, wherever he was. Why didn’t he remember any of it? What about Teacher – Alocar and the others? Where were they?
Slowly, inevitably, the thoughts stopped whirling around his mind, stumbling over each other and falling to the ground, worn out in their chaotic weaves.
He awoke the next morning with a crazed face peering into his, a many-colored coat flapping around the man’s body, billowing as if hung out to dry on a windy day. One of his eyes was pure yellow, no whites visible, the other a deep cobalt. Isaac started, found he could move, and reached for his power, but pain shot through his entire body and he fell to the floor, twitching, unable even to scream.
The man with the many-colored coat bent near him again, rubbing his hands together. “Oh, my pretty little Blessed. We’re going to have an enchanting time together, this I can see. Come come, the day awaits.”
And then the screaming began.
Angras
“The mask . . . melted to his face . . . no way of removing it . . . done all we can do . . . can’t put him on the throne, not like this . . . what would the people think . . . father’s dead . . . the Queen . . . a Cao Fen takeover . . . what are we going to do with him?”
I ran. Escaped. My skin fused like lumpy clay, Slate’s final gift.
“Angras? Angras!”
No reply. I lashed out, broke my knuckles against a tree. No pain. What was a drop when compared to an ocean?
“Where have you gone! You promised you’d always be here for me!” River water ran over my feet. I gazed at them, at their mocking, smooth skin.
“Angras?”
And then faintly, as if from a distance. I’m here.
“What have I become?” The water lapped at my feet.
Nothing but what you’ve always been, remember?
Memories flooded me, of butchering a village’s children, of a mother in bed with another. I fell to my knees. Ground my palms against the jagged river rocks. Red disappeared in the current.
Blackness sheathed my arms and legs, living shadow.
Two together is better than one alone, right?
“Angras!” The blackness had enveloped everything, leaving only my face and neck exposed, mask reflecting sunbeams from the water.
“Angras?” Tears stung my healing cheeks.
He didn’t answer, and then I realized that he’d never answer again.
I was Angras.
Acknowledgments
Confession: I never read acknowledgements. After a good book, I’m either depressed that it’s over or I’m scouring Amazon for a sequel. However, because this book wasn’t the work of an individual but rather the effort of a group, I feel obligated to include one. Hopefully my incredibly blunt manner will entertain without getting in the way of truth.
When I was younger, I would have friends over at the house. Being of the modest sort, many of my friends would decline seconds at dinnertime, though they were hungry. Normal people would have said okay and gone on their merry way, but my mother is different. And so, after she’d delivered approximately seventeen unsubtle invitations to eat more food, my friends would acquiesce, allowing themselves to do what they desired all along.
That’s my mother. If she thinks something is good for you, then she’ll nag you into doing it. No shame. Sometimes, it makes me want to push her down a steep hill, but more often than not, it’s for my own benefit, and so it was with this book. Her kindhearted browbeating resulted in this book’s publication and, even more importantly, gave me something I love doing, a rarity in my life.
Lacey Skorepa, my editor. I could write a paper on what I owe her, but she would probably chide my lack of conciseness. If you value insightful editing, margins stuffed full of scathingly witty notes for improvement, and an unrelenting pursuit of perfection, then she is your editor. Without her,
this book would be in shambles, and the fact that she has a copy of its first draft is enough to buy my silence from now until I die.
I’d be in the wrong if I didn’t mention the rest of my family. My father, silently nodding, offering both timely and timeless advice. My brother, king of exaggeration and convinced that I’ll get big one day. And my sister, who helped edit my book in its later stages and was also the only person to read it before publication, if only to ensure me that it wasn’t complete garbage.
Finally, I’d like to thank my students and friends who have supported me in real life, social media, e-mail, and any other way they could find, helping me with everything from cover art to author pictures. You were all invaluable.
Sometimes, simple is best. Thank you.
Last Part!
If you get a chance, I’d love for you to keep up with me past this novel, whether because I just seem so interesting or simply for information on my upcoming books, the second of which will be due out in the latter half of 2015.
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Fallen Victors Page 28