The Glass Blade

by Ryan Wieser

  “You will need to change and step into the pool, girl,” Hydo ordered. Jessop eyed the glass tub before her, confused by its liquid contents. At first look, it appeared as water, but upon closer inspection she found it to be thicker and containing small shining specks of… glass? The sludgy matter was so reflective she could see, once again, her own face staring back at her.

  She held in her hand the white linen robe one of the Councilmen had handed her upon entering the room. She ran the thin material between her fingers and took a deep breath. She may have not known what substance the pool was filled with, but she understood the purpose of it. Once she was within the liquid, the Council members would all be able to simultaneously use their Sentio to explore the depths of her mind, searching as a unit; the fluid would bind their powers together and lead to a more efficient search. Were they to all rifle through her mind as individuals it would take days, and were they to try to do it at the same time without syncing their abilities through the liquid, one of them could push at a memory whilst the other pulled and they could refract her mind. They could accidentally kill her, or drive her insane. And having seen someone with a mind corrupted by Sentio, she would have preferred death.

  Jessop knew it would hurt. She knew it would take all the power she had to control the pain, to control her mind, to hold on while they twisted and racked and sifted through her. She was not afraid of what they would find, for she had everything in order, and she was not afraid of the pain. She was only concerned because she did not know the extent of her own resistance—how long she could suffer without fighting back.

  Jessop knew what she wore in the vat of crystalline fluids did not matter—stripping was simply another tactic formulated by Hydo to break his subjects. She rolled her shoulders, loosening up the tension she felt building between her thick muscles, and then she undid her cloak. It fell to the floor and billowed about her boots, which she stepped out of. She would never let them think she cared. She had learnt that no matter who saw or maimed her form, her body would always be hers.

  She hooked her fingers around her tunic and pulled it up over her head. She ignored their shadowy forms and uncomfortable gazes, knowing they stared at the intricate scar between her breasts, if not just at her breasts. For a second, she thought she caught a pair of glowing eyes watching her—but she couldn’t bring herself to look back through the group. She released her belt and slowly lowered her blade to the floor, keeping it near the pool edge. Finally, she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her breeches and shimmied out of them. She stood and with her shoulders back, she took a slow breath. She stared straight ahead as she undid her already loose braid, ignoring the images of her naked body mirroring her around the room. She could hear one of them breathing heavily as her long hair fell loose around her form. And with slow, deliberate movements, she pulled the thin linen robe on.

  She exhaled silently and crouched down to the floor, sitting as she twisted, and lowered her feet into the pool. The liquid was freezing, its icy embrace sending shivers through her body. It was gelatinous; the shimmering specks were suspended in the congealed translucent fluid. She glanced up to the Councilmen as they began to slowly inch closer to the pool’s edge in silence. Jessop knew that the cold was intended to shock her system and ultimately weaken her mind—making it harder to conceal thoughts and memories from the Council. Hydo Jesuin really had thought of everything. She put her hands on the glass ledge and slowly lowered herself in, resisting the urge to hiss as the icy slush enveloped her.

  The Hunters formed a semi-circle around the pool. She took a deep breath as she moved to the center of the tub. The liquid was hard against her chest and soaked her robe. Her dark hair began to travel slowly about her shoulders in thick black ropes, collecting the crystal flecks.

  “Submerge.” Hydo’s low, tense voice carried around the room.

  Jessop took a deep breath, then another, and with her third, she immersed herself. She kept her green eyes open and used her arms to force her body down. As soon as she was fully under, it seemed as though the unknown liquid came to life. With mystical abilities it tore around her, no longer slow and thick. It ripped through her robes and encircled her strong torso. It lapped against her back and attacked her eyes and ears, forcing a white-hot pain through her. The crystal flecks were shards of glass, tearing through her robe, ripping the linen and scratching her taut skin. She grabbed at the garment and ran her hands over her body, trying to wipe the specks away, but no matter how hard she fought, they clung to her. She struggled to stay under, to keep her eyes open despite the pain. Through the icy liquid, she saw their hands enter the pool, all of them showing her their palm, and the inverted F scar that was carved into each, and then—

  Jessop is twelve years old and looking into the gray eyes of a teenage Falco Bane. He examines the charred marks under her eye and across her neck; her frayed hair and marred appearance…

  She’s fifteen and someone is nursing bleeding wounds on her back. The wounds will scar, she’s told. She hisses as the ointment is applied, the cuts are deep—she was lashed hard. She bites her lip and dreams of vengeance. She bites her lip, and she sees the flames.

  She’s seventeen, and intimately alone with Falco. The long silver scar runs through his brow, over his eyelid, down his strong cheekbone. His hands move over her slowly, trailing across her thigh, gripping her bare hip.

  Jessop couldn’t breathe. She looked around the pool, her heart racing. The pain was otherworldly and the claustrophobia too much to bear. She felt trapped, as though the possessed liquid was somehow holding her down while her mind was forcibly lit up with a thousand memories, all of them being searched for something unique, something the Councilmen wanted to see. She closed her eyes and saw flashes ripping past her; faces, names, words, screams, and certain memories began to form but rippled into entirely different ones, ending in mismatched recollections.

  Her skin sizzles under the hot wires and her neck is on fire. She’s eighteen, and her brand is nearly complete. And now she’s older—maybe twenty—she is fighting with a man… he attacks her brutally, she doesn’t waste time in her defense—she kills him swiftly.

  Jessop clapped her hands over her mouth, silencing a scream. The unnatural fluid crept between her slender fingers, clawing through her thick lips and searching through her mouth. It felt as though a thousand knives were carving away the layers of her mind—of her sanity—in search for Falco.

  She’s twenty-three and Falco is yelling, she’s crying. He throws a glass, it shatters against the wall, and with a swipe of his hand, shards are flying through the air.

  Twenty-four and a dead woman lies on the floor between her and Falco. They are silent as the blood pools out between them. She watches as his gray eyes fixate on the lifeless corpse.

  Jessop cried out and choked on the liquid as it cut her throat and tongue. She grabbed her face to fight the pain. She tried to keep her thoughts organized, reminding herself that she had survived worse. As if on cue, her body began to shake violently. She could feel her nails digging into her cheeks, tearing at her neck, ripping at her robe. She curled deeper down and into herself, tucking her face into her chest. She wished she could drown in this mystical pool, but it was not possible. This was a pool for torture, not death.

  Falco is sleeping… she reaches over his broad body, her hand coming around the blade’s hilt, she is twenty-five, and finally ready to disappear into the night.

  The liquid had filled Jessop’s throat, providing the sensation of choking as she swallowed large gulps. She knew she needed to emerge. With a forceful kick, she rose from the liquid, her hair flying back from her face over her back, sending a trail of crystals across the room. How gruesome the sound of her own guttural coughing was, her body fighting to expel the liquid and find oxygen, startled her.

  And the Council, hands still in the pool, continued to try to read her.

  “Sto—op—Stop!”
Jessop coughed. But none of the men retreated.

  “I—arg—can’t—brea—” she choked and still they ignored her. She tried to force herself towards the side of the pool, but her feet slipped on the slick glass. Her muscles ached and tears ran down her cheeks as her throat burnt with each hacking cough.

  “WHAT IS THIS?”

  The booming voice caused the Council to yield, allowing Jessop the moment she needed to catch her breath. The fluid immediately returned to its thick, gelatinous state and she trudged through it, her legs on fire until she reached the edge. She leant forward, coughing still as she pushed herself onto her toes and flung her weak arms out before her. Her fingers pulled at the glass floor with a squeaky cry, and she forced her diaphragm onto the ledge. As she had hoped, it pushed the liquid up her esophagus, and she threw up a mouthful of the vile fluid. It traveled unnaturally, with life, from the glass floor back towards her, sliding over the ledge and back into the pool.

  Jessop ignored the horror and let her face rest on her extended arm. It took her a moment to realize her head was rattling because her entire body was shaking, covered in thousands of miniscule cuts. The remnants of her robe twisted around her. Through the distorted glass she could see her bare body, glistening under the trace remains of the material. She could see the linen was ripped to shreds. Few strips of the fabric clung around her hip and thigh as she shook violently.

  The Councilmen moved away from the pool slowly. One came around the pool. “Kohl, how have you been released from the medics so swiftly?”

  She recognized the voice immediately. It was Hanson Knell.

  Jessop followed him with her eyes as he passed her, slowly trailing her gaze over them from her weakened position. Her head rolled between her tired arms, watching the Councilmen retreat from her as the young Hunter approached.

  “Swiftly? They treated me with lasers yesterday. It’s been an entire night—how long have you had her in there?” he demanded, crossing the room. His hazel eyes fell onto her and he looked at her with such apology.

  Jessop clung to the side of the glass ledge. She couldn’t believe his words—it had been an entire night? She had stepped into the pool minutes ago—how had night already passed?

  “Time does pass differently in this room—you know that, Hunter Kohl. It is easy to lose track of the process.” This time it was Hydo Jesuin speaking.

  The only thing that gave away the time-passed was the pain she felt in her own strong muscles. She could feel it in her limbs, the ache of survival, the hours that had gone by.

  Jessop clawed at the glass floor but she was physically exhausted. She bit her lip as she struggled to push herself out of the pool. The remnants of the robe tugged at her legs as they fell from her, trailing down her calves and off her feet. The pain and cold rippled through her bare body. It felt as though her arms would collapse and she would slide into the dangerous pool once again. Her fingers fought against the wet glass, twitching violently as they scratched at the floor, and her forearms, despite their muscular form, shook precariously under her.

  She didn’t care that she fought to liberate herself from the pool naked. Her breasts shook between her strong arms and the curve of her bare thighs tensed, more pronounced as she got a knee onto the ledge. Every inch of her skin glistened as the glass flecks clung to her, making her shimmer iridescently in one hundred reflections of surrounding glass. What was a body, even one that was naked and glistening, compared to all they had seen? Whether they eyed the curve of her form or the white lash scars on her back, or the Hunter’s sigil on her neck, or the bizarre scar between her breasts, it did not compare to the wounds they had already witnessed in her mind. The scars were not what she tried to hide, the histories behind them were.

  She kept her eyes down, ignoring their speculative, haunting gazes. She was in pain, and she was weak, and their torture had nearly broken her—she was exactly how she needed them to see her. She fell forward, finally entirely out of the pool, and collapsed on the glass floor.

  Suddenly, strong arms curled around her. Her muscles froze under his tight grip and her breath caught as he lifted her, curling her body into his embrace. Her own strong form finally felt a forgiving sensation of relief—no longer needing to fight. The Council had been resilient—but they had seen nothing of Jeco. That was what mattered most.

  She turned her gaze up into the hazel eyes of the young Hunter. He looked her over with his golden eyes and shook his head apologetically. He readjusted her in his arms and she heard the clinking of metal as he picked up her sheathed blade. He laid it over her shivering chest and Jessop wrapped her hand around the hilt.

  He stood with her in his arms, holding her tightly against his chest. Her dripping mane of dark hair clung between them, soaking his tunic. She could feel their eyes on her still. She may have been weakened by their tortures and to their eyes was beautifully female in her shapely design, but Jessop had constructed her body into armor; she was a moving muscle, as deadly as any man who dared ever try more than stare.

  And they all stared but him. Not the young Hunter, whom she had saved in the tavern. His eyes stayed unwaveringly concentrated on her face. He held her tightly against him and she realized he was attempting to shield as much of her body with his large arms as possible.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  Slowly, with a heavy breath, Jessop relaxed in his arms, trusting his strong body to hold her weakened one safely. The thick muscles of her back and thighs ached, having been wildly overexerted. She felt her neck tighten up and she had to rest her head, cautiously letting it ease against his large shoulder. She closed her eyes and she could feel wisps of his pale blond hair dancing across her face.

  “She saved us, Hanson,” the young Hunter hissed, his quiet voice filled with disappointment as it traveled, breathy, over her cheek.

  “Kohl, we had to verify her claims.”

  Jessop kept her sore eyes shut, but she listened keenly.

  “And? Did you?”

  The young Hunter’s anger surprised her. She fought off a yawn, tucking her face deeper into the curves of his broad chest.

  “What the girl says is true, she was tortured and held captive for some thirteen years… she escaped and found us.” Hydo Jesuin answered, his voice sounding almost embarrassed. They had hoped she was lying. She almost smiled.

  She could feel the young Hunter shaking his head slowly. “Then you’ll excuse me if I liberate her from this torture chamber.”

  “Kohl, remember your place,” Hanson warned.

  Jessop could feel the young Hunter shaking. “My place is far away from men who would torture a hero for information.”

  “KOHL!” Hanson erupted.

  “You’re Hunters—you should know better!”

  Jessop was astounded. His intrepid criticisms of his mentors, his unbridled tone—he seemed fearless. He held her firmly against his body, his grip on her tightening with each angry word. She had expected him to be subservient—the Hunters ruled with might—and yet Kohl O’Hanlon did not fear castigation. He was outspoken and temperamental and simply not whom she had expected him to be.

  “Kohl—” Hanson growled, but the young Hunter had already pivoted tightly on his heel, turning his back on the Assembly Council. He tucked his chin over the crown of Jessop’s head, and she could feel his thumb gently running back and forth on her arm as he carried her from the room—he was trying to soothe her.

  Let him go, Hanson, let him calm down, Jessop heard Hydo Jesuin push the thought to his comrade.

  The young Hunter readjusted his grip on Jessop and carried her weak body out of the room—saving her as she had saved him.

  CHAPTER 3

  It took three attempts before the biometric scanner pad would read her water-beaten handprint and unlock the door to her new quarters. “It needs to be set to your print, so that only you can secure the room,” he e
xplained to her. She stood shivering beside him, with his black vest draped around her shoulders. The glass hall was empty and an icy breeze traveled through it, chilling her bare feet against the smooth floors.

  Kohl rubbed her hand with his tunic, trying to dry the skin back into its recognizable form. She watched him as he tenderly dabbed at her palm and couldn’t help but notice the scar in his own palm, the inverted F. The scar that gave him entrance to the Glass Blade. He was a fully-fledged Hunter, trusted by the Council he had just chastised on her behalf.

  She shivered as he slowly turned her hand over in his and pushed it up against the biometric scanner pad. The silver pad vibrated softly under her skin, and with a ting, the door slid to the side, opening.

  “Welcome.” The automated voice startled her as the heavy metal door began to slide to the side.

  “Say your name, so it can register you as the tenant,” the young Hunter instructed.

  She cleared her throat and fought against her shivering lips. “Jess—Jessop.”

  She looked up to the young Hunter, and he nodded approvingly. “Perfect.”

  As the door fully opened, Kohl swung his arm out, directing her to enter. She stepped into the room slowly. One whole wall was made entirely of glass, a window over Azgul, but the others were painted gray, even the floor beneath her. Beside the window was a small bed, with a black cover and pillow, and beside that, a glass side-table with a carafe of water and a drinking beaker. To the left there was a metal door. The young Hunter followed her gaze and as he stepped up to the door, it automatically slid open, revealing a gray and glass bathing room.

  Jessop turned from the bathing room and approached the bed. She slowly lowered Falco’s blade onto it, running her weak fingers over the metal slowly.