by Taylor Leigh
Victoria stared at the horrible people looming over her. Thedric and Molly looked at her in astonishment; Andrew simply stared with a cold, measured look. His hand touched her headscarf, still stuffed in his pocket, then pushed it aside and pulled out a white handkerchief which he placed to his mouth and nose.
It was too much for her to bear. She burst into tears. The one called Thedric grabbed her by the front of her dress and hauled her to her feet. He placed a knife to her neck. ‘Must be a Druid disguise. Did you paint your skin?’
Victoria shook her head wildly. She groped at her belt for the knife, found it—and dropped it to the earth.
Andrew scooped it up. ‘This knife is made of metal,’ he mused. ‘No Druid would have this.’
‘Not unless they stole it!’ Thedric snarled, pushing Victoria up against a wet tree trunk. ‘Is that what you did? Killed one of us and kept his blade?’
Again, all Victoria could do was sob and shake her head. She tried to explain, but her words kept getting caught up in her tears, making it nearly impossible. It was rather undignified.
Andrew turned the knife over in his pale hands. ‘This kind of blade isn’t ours. It’s not any type of metal we mine here, not even in the surrounding villages. It’s too crude for our craftsmanship. It’s not our style.’
‘I don’t trust it!’ Thedric growled. ‘It’s all too suspicious.’ He pressed his knife tighter against her skin. Victoria yelped.
‘Wait, don’t kill her,’ Andrew said slowly. ‘This woman isn’t from Scottorr, you can tell that by the way she’s dressed, obviously.’
Scottorr! Isn’t that what Tollin had called this place? She was surprised by the wave of hope that hit her.
‘Obviously?’
‘Yes, if you used your eyes for once, you would see that. Honestly!’
He was met by blank stares. Andrew sighed dramatically.
‘Yes. Notice, her fabric is light, fine material, not suitable for outdoors, especially not this climate. It’s also not any fabric that is made here, which you can plainly see; otherwise it would most certainly be the latest fashion. Also, her eye makeup, Molly, as you can see, is unlike anything that would be considered acceptable here. Notice the red is clay, not ochre, and defiantly not something we have at hand. Then there’s her accent, it’s not of the Druids or any other village, no-one could fake that so convincingly, not in this mental state at least, which is real, by the way, she’s not faking, you can tell by her eyes.
‘Her skin colour, by the way, Molly, is no reason to be suspicious. Just because no-one this dark is in our village doesn’t mean there aren’t people like this on Scottorr. The villages farther south are a good example. Perhaps they’re related…’
He paused for a moment in thought and then nodded to himself, coming to some silent conclusion.
‘If she’s from the Red Planet then she could be very valuable, and if she is from there, then the Traveller might know something about her. You don’t see many people planet hopping, after all. Killing her would be a complete waste and I won’t allow it, just because in your brutish brain that’s the only way you can think of handling problems. ‘
Thedric stared at Andrew with a mixture of loathing and awe. ‘Oh, come off it! You’re making that up!’ He eyed Victoria suspiciously. ‘Where are you from?’
Victoria weakly pointed up towards the sky.
‘She is from the Red World!’ Molly cried.
Thedric turned to her. ‘Oh, she’s just saying that!’
Molly shrugged. ‘Well, it makes sense to me. Not like she can do any real harm anyway. Are you thirsty? Do you want something to drink?’
Molly handed a water skin to Thedric and he held it up to Victoria. She wanted to reach for it but Victoria felt the ground spinning beneath her. She was sick with terror. She let out a gasp and lurched forward, out of Thedric’s grasp and fell to her hands and knees, retching. Victoria could taste the acidic sickness of dread in her mouth and gagged again, trying to fight the darkness that swarmed in on her.
Chapter Seven
When the weak day dawned, Reginald was awake and dressed. He had no doubt there would be a long line of citizens wishing an audience with the Queen and he needed to be first. He hoped being related would have its privileges, but his aunt wasn’t one who was overtly affectionate towards him. Better to not take chances.
The reason he wanted to see the Queen so badly concerned Victoria’s departure. After she had left they’d hardly spoken a word about it, as if she didn’t exist. Reginald had spent the better part of the previous day wandering round the castle trying to find a window that faced the right direction to watch her journey, but he could see little. Then the Passing had hit and he’d been forced to go down into the depths of the palace to wait it out. And when they’d come back upstairs there was no word from Victoria.
As he walked up to the great doors of the Queen’s audience hall he felt a bit nervous. It took him a moment outside to compose himself and get his words in order. He then nodded to the guard and pushed against the strong doors.
It was dark on the inside of the throne room. A thick, overpoweringly sweet smell choked him as he entered. He didn’t see how anyone could stand being in the place for longer than three minutes, much less all day. At the far end of the room he saw the throne and moved towards it, one hand over his mouth. Through the smoky haze he could make out a body slumped over the side of the throne. He approached warily.
‘Aunt? It’s me, Reginald. Look, I’m sorry to come in here unannounced but something’s been nagging at me. Have you heard back from Victoria? Did she make it there safely?’ His voice seemed to echo too loudly in the chamber.
The Queen didn’t look to be feeling all that well; perhaps it was a bad time. She raised hooded eyes to him. Eyes that were a sickly yellow. ‘Victoria?’ her voice asked slowly.
‘Yes, you’re daughter. Are you all right?’
‘Who are you?’ The Queen’s voice was a snarl now. Reginald noticed how black her lips were, like she was drinking ink.
‘Your nephew, Aunt. Don’t you know me?’ Reginald felt his heart nearly leap out of his chest at the sight. It was such a turnaround from last night. What had happened to her? ‘Perhaps I should call the physician.’
Her long, sharp fingers drew along the stone throne. Wrapped round one of them was a bright red ring, which flashed in the dark light, catching Reginald’s attention. Something flickered inside of the stone, and for a mad moment, Reginald thought he saw something staring back at him through the glassy red depths. He forgot himself and reached for it.
As soon as their skin touched, it was as if his aunt had been jerked to life. ‘Get out of here!’ Lucinda shrieked in a wild voice. ‘Get out! Get out! Get out!’
Reginald backed up in a panic—straight into another form. He whirled round and to his horror, saw his father, in much the same condition. His father’s head was lowered and his eyes were yellow and glazed. Reginald stared in shock for one brief moment, and then dodged around his father and out the door. He put as much distance between him and the audience hall as possible, his heart near bursting. Then he stopped to think.
‘They must be in some sort of trance for religious reasons or something. Probably was stupid of me to go in there unannounced.’
Reginald wasn’t very convinced. He shivered at the memory of his father’s face. He had never in his life seen his father that way. Rovin was not someone who was interested in those types of ceremonies. He’d always called them barbaric, so why did he seem to be under their influence?
The lack of information on Victoria’s arrival to the temple, coupled with his relative’s drugged state, was disturbing. Perhaps what she’d overheard about the Denizens last night was what had him on edge. Something just felt wrong about everything that had happened recently.
While all the trials that the young of Scrabia had to face were deadly and miserable—the ones he’d been through himself had almost left him dead, he had the sca
rs to prove it—sending the Queen’s daughter out into the wilderness a month before her wedding on the night of the Passing seemed insane. Simply pushing her out the gates of the city to find the highest placed temple with no map was just a recipe for disaster. Reginald wasn’t sure she could even find her way around the castle by herself. She was just a palace brat, after all. He doubted she’d ever been outside the gates before, besides her trips to the arena. No, he needed answers, and his aunt’s odd state wasn’t helping.
Reginald could think of only one place to go for them, and, if Victoria was right, he would be walking into the proverbial lion’s den.
The castle had its own temple so the dignitaries inside didn’t have to journey down the long, spiralling road to the nearest one in the city. He had never been inside the room, but he’d seen it on his occasional strolls. In Reginald’s province, which was still considered quite wild by the other larger surrounding provinces, there were no such temples. He was rather vague on the protocol but he was a son of royalty, after all. Didn’t he, the future king, have a right to go in and inquire about his future Queen? All he knew was that the temples communicated with each other by signals on a daily basis. If Victoria had arrived at the temple, like she was supposed to, the priestesses inside would know.
Of course, he knew it was rather thick of him to seek them out if there was something nefarious going on, but what choice did he have, really?
After a good deal of searching, which took over two hours, he found the doorway to the temple. It was hidden in an alcove, flanked by two huge basins of fire and covered by a thick maroon curtain. Reginald could smell the overpowering scented air from the inside, even through the bulky fabric. He took a deep breath, not wanting to inhale too deeply when he stepped inside. He could feel his palms sweating. His throat seemed to be closing.
No reason to be afraid, he told himself, what could they possibly do to him besides give him a reprimanding? He was royal blood, they should be happy he was in there. He stuck out his bottom lip and nodded, then, steeling his nerve, he reached out and pulled the curtain back.
The smell was overwhelming. His eyes began watering before he even stepped through. Inside, the room was dark and smoky. It was like a foul, living thing, both repelling and drawing him in with an absorbing force.
His eyes darted about the shadows. There was a large altar in the centre of the room and a trench running along the floor beneath it. More curtains were draped at the back of the room, shrouding tunnels that ran off, like arteries from a heart.
‘Hello? Hey, anybody here?’ Reginald was surprised how muffled his voice was in the dimness. ‘It’s Lord Reginald, son of Rovin! I’m pledged to Lady Victoria!’
Nothing.
The thick air pushed his voice back to him, mockingly. Where was everyone? Reginald wiped sweat from his brow. The smell was making his head swim. It smelled like incense and spice and wine and something else underneath it all. A masked smell he couldn’t quite make out. One could go crazy breathing in that smell all day.
He glanced over to one of the basins of fire in the corner. Little balls of yellow were drifting up from the flames and fizzling out in the air. The smell from the basin was strong. He moved towards it and peered down. The fire was spitting up some kind of organic matter. He caught one of the balls in his hand; it looked like a spore. He held it to his nose, coughed. Bad memories of adverse reactions to it flooded him. He brushed it away.
‘Hello?’ he cried louder in the darkness. There had to be someone here, they never left the temple. The smell was making him gag. He couldn’t take much more of this.
A noise somewhere behind him caused Reginald to whirl round. Something shifted slightly. Reginald frowned in the darkness. A few lights, nothing more than colourful glowing rocks hanging from the ceiling, lit up one of the corners of the room he hadn’t seen before. He noticed something lumpy draped over a small table. A large goblet was spilt next to the shape and Reginald could see yellow spores leaking across the table in a gelatinous mass.
‘Hello?’ Reginald walked closer to the shape. It shifted again. Reginald felt fear tingle at the base of his spine. As he got closer he realised what he was staring at. A woman was leaning over the table.
Reginald gulped. ‘Hello, ma’am, are you all right?’
The shape let out a gargling sound. Reginald stopped in his tracks. The noise didn’t sound healthy. He wasn’t good with people who weren’t feeling well. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked again in a quiet voice. The priestess let out another rattling noise and lifted her head up from the table. Ropes of saliva trembled from her chin. Reginald swallowed a scream.
The woman’s face was wan and yellow. Great dark circles swept under her yellowing eyes. Grey tinges crept round the sides of her face, as if the veins under her pale skin were infected with some dark parasite. Her lips were stained black and hung open in a stupid, limp expression. Saliva dribbled from her slack jaws onto the table.
Reginald backed up, breathing heavily. ‘I’m terribly sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you!’ He heard himself yammering.
The woman pushed herself up awkwardly and took a staggering, unsure step towards him.
‘You!’ another broken snarl came through her swollen throat. She stumbled towards him, her bare feet slapping across the floor. Reginald tripped over a fire filled basin, knocking it over. It sent up a flurry of spores and sparks. He heard another snarl behind one of the curtains in the back. More of them were coming. The woman’s crooked fingers hooked towards him. Reginald saw her bloody fingernails up close as they clawed for his face. He pushed her away in a panic and dived for the curtain.
‘Get him!’ the woman wailed.
He made it through to the dry, clean air outside and took a deep, hysterical breath. He could hear the women behind the curtain snarling and rasping still. He pushed himself up and scrambled down the hallway, mind reeling. Things made no sense in his mind.
Something was obviously very wrong and he had no-one to go to. His father and aunt both in a daze, Victoria was gone and the religious leaders were obviously out of the question to ask for help. Where was he going to turn to now? The realisation that he was completely alone filled his mind. He slumped down to the floor and let out a groan. The silence of the palace crushing in on him like an oppressive fist.
Chapter Eight
Victoria pushed herself up dizzily. The urge to vomit was gone, replaced by only a dull sense of nausea. Nausea and fear.
‘You okay?’ Molly asked. ‘You had us worried there for a second!’
Victoria turned to look at her. She saw the girl clearly for the first time; it was as if her blackout had wiped the blind terror from her mind, leaving her with only a numb, accepting clarity. Molly’s hair was a beautiful reddish blonde and her eyes were the biggest crystal blue Victoria had ever seen. Blue eyes were rare on Scrabia and these no doubt put all of them to shame. The three people standing in front of her all shared this rare trait, which filled her with cautious fascination.
‘You think she’ll infect us with something?’ Thedric asked, glancing nervously towards Andrew. He was strong, sported a beard, shaggy blond hair and a hooked nose. Now that he was no longer angry, Victoria could almost imagine him friendly, kind, even. His nervousness now betrayed a softer side.
‘I’m not sick,’ Victoria choked out. ‘At least, I wasn’t till I got here.’
‘If she’s from the Red World she is susceptible, as are we,’ Andrew said, words muffled by the cloth still covering his face. ‘No doubt we have different viruses and diseases on each world that we’ve never been exposed to.’
Andrew was the most intimidating of the three. He was tall with a strongly sculpted, aquiline, face, almost gaunt, the picture of arrogance. His eyes were the coldest, most deadly blue Victoria could possibly imagine and they held no compassion. His skin, as she noticed before, was the palest of the three with a nearly sickly pallor, considering the dark circles that rimmed his eyes. Of course, after
the fight he’d just participated in, she imagined he didn’t look quite his best. His hair was also blond, cut in a nondescript way, covering his tall forehead and parted down the side.
There was a cold, measuring quality to him, and though he had been the one who had spoken up for Victoria, she felt no kindness from him at all. When he spoke, his voice was deep and thoughtful, but emotionless.
‘So you’re saying we could all get sick from her?’ Thedric asked.
‘The Traveller hasn’t become ill,’ Molly pointed out.
‘He’s different somehow,’ Andrew mused.
‘Should we kill her?’ Thedric asked.
‘No,’ Andrew shook his head. ‘It’s probably too late anyway.’ Reluctantly he lowered the cloth from his face and stuffed it back in his pocket. Victoria got a view of his full lips and shaped throat. ‘We should bring her to the keep and figure it out there.’
Victoria felt more tears welling up in her eyes. She suddenly wasn’t sure if she was sick, or if she’d be right ever again.
Thedric pushed forward with a coil of rope in his hands. ‘Well, now that we’ve got that lovely image of plague in our heads, give me her hands.’
Andrew directed his eyes to the cloudy sky. ‘Do you really think that’s necessary, Thedric? She’s completely helpless. Doubt she’d make it very far on her own, considering the condition she’s in.’ His eyes flicked over her again.
Thedric wrapped the rope around Victoria’s wrists. ‘And it could be a clever plot. Can’t be too trusting, Andrew. You’ll end up dead that way!’ He cinched the rope tight, making Victoria gasp but he winced, apologetic. ‘Now, tell us, Andrew here thinks you’re a companion of the Traveller. So what are you, spy or friend?’
Victoria thought wildly. Traveller? She had no idea who they were talking about. She knew no-one on this world…unless…What if it was Tollin? What had he said, when he introduced himself? ‘I’m just a traveller of sorts,’ It was a long shot, she knew, but she found herself nodding her head yes. ‘I’m travelling with him, yes.’