by Heath Pfaff
Prologue
Condemned
Lillin Etzel had lead a privileged life where no one expected anything at all from her. Pitty she threw it away. That was what people would have said about me if they were asked. If, that is, they had anything at all to say about me. On some level I must have been keenly aware of that while growing up. A part of me knew that I was unspectacular to look at, and I wasn’t smart or particularly good at anything. My family was doing well, and I didn’t want for material things, but I also didn’t have anything to mark my passing in the world.
My father had sat me on his knee when I was little and told me about the way of the Iron Will, the law of our land. He’d told me how a person’s desire to succeed was all that was necessary for them to carve a path from childhood to adulthood, to make them successful and happy. Yet I was handed everything I wanted without effort or work, and though I knew what ambition was, it had never been necessary for me. Any risks I took held no consequence, because my parents would always come to the rescue. So, I didn’t strive for success, or fight to carve a path for myself, because I felt success was owed me. If I wanted something badly enough, I needed only to ask and my parents would provide it. I both resented and embraced this.
I was spoiled, though at the time I would have protested violently if someone had suggested that to me. I ate up my father’s talks about “carving a path” even though I didn’t have any idea what that actually meant. I went to my lessons and told my friends about my great plans to own a shop of my own, and to host fancy events where boys came from all over to call on me, and I invariably disappointed most of them. I prattled on about how I would make a name for myself doing this or that, the daydreams varying by the hour, and then I would come home and eat the pastries my mother had made, and enjoy the simple privilege of never having to work for anything at all.
I would tease my brother about how bad he was at maths, and laugh at my sister for her poor attempts to emulate my mother’s cooking, but I never bothered to look at myself. It is far easier to judge others, to hold others under an intense light of scrutiny, then it is to look at your own failings. In fact, judging others was a wonderful way to avoid looking at yourself at all. I thought I was strong. I thought I understood the Iron Will, but I knew nothing of strength and I knew nothing of Will.
My petty rebellion against the life I’d been handed was little more than the whim and folly of a petulant brat. I think my siblings knew that, even my younger brother. They both had real ambitions, goals that could only be obtained through hard work. My desires were all self serving. It should have been little surprise that fate twisted so dreadfully in my path. I thought I could both be a rebel driven by Will, and always have my sheltered safe life there to catch me when I fell. I was wrong.
I ran harder than I ever had in my life. My heart was pounding in my ears, and my legs felt like thin sapling branches, shaking with every punishing footfall as though buffeted by some terrible wind. It felt like they might give and break at any moment. In my right hand I held tightly to a new, if rumpled, dress I’d just stolen from one of the good shops down in Wendell Market. I’d had my eyes on it for weeks and had finally worked up the courage to take it for my own. It was far from the first thing I’d ever stolen, but it was the largest and the most expensive thing I’d taken, and the store was the fanciest I’d ever risked taking from. In that moment I was filled with mild regrets. No matter how hard I pushed myself, I could still hear the store’s security guard not far behind me.
“Stop and answer for your crime!” The man shouted at my back, which only served to spur me on faster. I couldn’t let myself be caught. My parents would lock me in my room and they wouldn’t let me out until I was old enough to be married in another year or two, and that would only be after the city let me out of service labor. The dress was expensive enough that I would be stuck in that for months.
My parents, I knew, would spend days telling me how disappointed they were, and that if I’d just asked they would have gotten me any dress I wanted. I was so sick of them trying to do everything for me. I was sick of them constantly trying to hand me everything and yet keep me completely under their wings. I didn’t want to be their little princess, given everything I asked for just because I told them I wanted it. I felt a powerful desire to take what caught my eye, consequences be damned. I definitely didn’t need my parents to hand me a life. I was strong, and I knew that I could make my own way in the world.
“Stop you little bitch!” The man at my back yelled and his voice sounded closer. “Things will go easier on you if you just give up.”
“Stov off!” I yelled, not bothering to look over my shoulder to do so. I sounded out of breath, even to my own ears. I ducked down an alley and ran on until I spotted an open door. Finally, a place to take cover. Once inside I might be able to find somewhere to hide, a place to catch my breath which was burning in my lungs with each lunging gasp. I ran through the open door and into a dimly lit building that was clearly some kind of warehouse. Had the place been busy it would have offered me the ideal place to vanish, but instead I was left with only a few possible hiding spots, and very little time to get into one. I jumped behind a large wooden crate and tucked myself as close to the back of the object as I could.
I was breathing hard from the running, and my heart was pounding in my ears. It all seemed far too loud. How would anyone be able to miss the sound of me gasping for breath, and the thrum of my heart hammering against my ribs? I forced myself to breath slower, but a moment later I was gasping even louder to catch up with the breathing I’d suppressed. I felt as though I was on the verge of passing out.
I did my best to listen, struggling to hear over my own body’s attempt to betray my position through heart and lung, for the sound of my pursuer. His heavy steps stopped as they approached the door I’d ducked into. As I sat huddled tight to the crate that was my hiding place, I just hoped he would decide to run by, but in my pounding, fearful heart I knew he wouldn’t. The alleyway was too long, and I’d ducked into the room too quickly. It was the only place I could have gone that he wouldn’t have been able to see me the very moment he rounded the corner. Still, I held on to that slim hope. How badly could he really want me for stealing one dress? It was just some cloth and frill. It wasn’t even that pretty.
“I know you’re in here.” The guard’s voice echoed through the empty warehouse. The sound of him pulling the door shut behind himself as he entered was so loud that it made me jump. A heavy drop bar engaged a moment later, the loud thud of it slamming into place echoed all around. I was locked in. Of course I could unlock the door and get out, but how long would it take me to lift the locking bar and open the door? It was heavy, probably had to be cranked by pulley to open. That would take too long. I’d never be able to make my escape now. I was cornered. Pure fear flowed through my veins, streaks of ice that made my fingers feel cold, and sweat bead at my brow anew. My chest felt tight, my legs shaky.
“What’s going on in here?” A strange voice called. “Get out of my warehouse!”
I allowed myself a surge of well needed hope. Perhaps the newcomer would kick the guard out and I would get out of this without getting in trouble yet. My parents would never need to hear about any of this, and I could take a few weeks off from stealing. Next time I would be more careful. Instead of shopping the bigger market, I would target places with less security. I didn’t even want the dress anymore now that I was really thinking about it. Sure my friends would have been envious, but it didn’t look like the kind of thing that really suited me. The colors were too muted. I preferred bright, fun colors, not dull black and lace.
“Sir, I have chased a thief into this building. I will leave as soon as I apprehend her.” The guard said, and my stoma
ch clenched.
“Fine, whatever, but don’t break anything, and get out as soon as you’re done. Also, try not to beat her here. I have a shipment coming in any time now and I’d prefer not to have to mop up blood before I unload.” The man said, obviously exasperated with the entire situation. Hope slipped away.
“If she gives herself up now,” The guard called. “I won’t even beat her.” He made sure his voice was loud enough for me to hear. Did he really think that was going to work? I wasn’t afraid of a beating. I could live with a few bruises and scrapes, but I had no intention of doing service labor. I wasn’t going to be a puppet for my parents again, a nice doll for them to dress up. I wasn’t some animal that could be forced into whatever task people wanted to put me to. If I’d wanted to be a slave, I would have tried for the Warden’s school. I’d heard their training was the next best thing to slavery.
They had their big fancy school at the edge of the city, a gleaming white palace, ornate but not majestic in anyway. It was like a monolith watching over the people of Black Mark, a tower from which we could be watched and judged by their cruel, dull eyes. Their Will, the Iron Will, was terrifying and cruel, taking nothing but strength into account. No, perhaps better a slave than a Warden.
“I don’t want to hurt you girl. That dress you stole is worth more than a month of my salary. When you steal from that store while I’m on shift, me and my family take a share in the losses if I don’t bring you back. I have three kids, and they need to eat. Come on out, give me the dress, and take your cuff on the hand. It won’t be so bad.” The guard made another attempt to lure me out, but I tucked myself harder against the crate. His voice had been closer that time. Was I supposed to be sympathetic because he’d get a cut in his paycheck? Why should I care about him? He was just a fool with a bad job that couldn’t take control of his own life enough to better himself. If he couldn’t feed his wife and kids, then his wife should look for someone who could. By the Blackened, I could have fed them better myself.
A boot scuffed on the ground to the left of the crate that I was hiding behind and I froze absolutely still. I didn’t even breathe as the guard stepped around the edge of my hiding place. Maybe, I thought, he wouldn’t look back if I pushed myself hard enough against the wood at my back. I could feel the individual textures on the boards as they pressed into my flesh. It had to be enough.
It wasn’t. He looked back.
Our eyes met for a moment and then I exploded away, flying to my feet with every bit of energy I could muster. I still had the dress clenched in one hand, though I didn’t really care about it anymore. Now I just wanted to get away. The guard was only a step behind me and I felt like I had to arch my back forward to keep out of range of his grip.
“Stop!” He shouted, and I felt his hand latch onto my shoulder. I spun frantically, tearing myself free from his grip, but the turn had allowed him to close the gap between us to nothing. He was towering over me, his hands reaching to get a better grip on my clothes. I screamed and dropped backwards, narrowly avoiding his attempt at a firmer hold. I landed hard on the ground, my ass hitting something long and metal, something slightly sharp at one end, I noticed as it tore my dress and cut my leg. I grabbed it, hoping it would work as a weapon, and brought it up before me as the guard bore down like some monstrous darkness coming to blot out the light from my life forever. For a second my entire world was just the terrible man’s angry face, and then his weight slumped on top me and I kicked and screamed as I lost my grip on the metal bar and it tore from my hands, wrested away by my attacker.
“Get off me!” I yelled again, but the guard wasn’t moving. I felt something warm and wet was trickling down onto my shoulder, soaking into my clothes. I screamed again and kicked, throwing my fists and rage against the man, trying to get him off of me, and finally it worked. He rolled over onto his back, eyes staring up at the ceiling, a look of shock locked on his face. A metal pry bar was wedged in the left side of his chest, the top of it totally missing within his body. It was then that I realized what that warm wetness had been. Blood.
My scream faltered and my face slackened as a sudden realization landed fully upon me. He was dead. I’d never seen anyone dead before, but I knew in an instant that the guard’s life had ceased. There was a terrible stillness about him. His eyes, still open, were cold and unseeing. I looked down at myself. I was covered in blood. It was soaked into my clothes, and the dress I’d stolen was damp to the touch, though the black color didn’t show the red. I reached out a hand and touched the guard’s shoulder. He didn’t move.
“You can have the dress.” I said in a shaky voice that didn’t sound like mine at all, as though that might bring him back from where I’d sent him. I dropped the black fabric in his open hand. “I’ll turn myself in for the dress. I’m sorry.” I told him, and I could feel the burn of tears coming to my eyes.
“By the Blackened, she’s killed him!” A voice shouted, and then there were other voices, all equally angry. Someone grabbed me roughly by the shoulder and threw me to the ground, and a second later someone kicked me in the stomach. More kicks and punches followed, a flurry of abuse that I barely felt.
I could do nothing but stare at the man I’d murdered until a blow landed squarely on the back of my skull and the world vanished from before my eyes.
Chapter 1
To Be Dead
1.1
I awoke in agony and confusion, thrashing around, trying to understand what had become of me, but the world I found myself in made no sense. Everything was dark and dreary. The air smelled of mildew punctuated by the unmistakable reek of death, like a butcher’s shop before the trash was dragged away for the day. It took me a moment to understand why I couldn’t move, but soon the realization was heavily upon me that I was dangling from a wall, chained by my wrists. I struggled to get my legs straight beneath me and push myself to a standing position, but it wasn’t easy. My entire body hurt, and my wrists, which were bound by metal cuffs, and my shoulders, which had been supporting all of my weight for who knew how long, were throbbing in agony.
Tears streamed from my eyes as the last memories from before I’d blacked out settled back into clarity within my mind. “Somebody help me!” I screamed at the wooden door that was just a few feet in front of me. The room I was in, the prison cell, wasn’t even large enough for me to lay down in had I been unshackled from the wall. It was tight and oppressive, frighteningly small, and I felt alone and scared. “Mommy!” I called, not even embarrassed to sound like a skirt hugging child. “Daddy!” I tried, when the first call didn’t provide any feedback. Wasn’t anyone listening?
“Please, I didn’t mean to kill him!” I yelled, and no one answered me. There was no one to hear the pleading tones in my voice. I let out an inarticulate scream and tried kicking out at the door, but it was just far enough away that my foot just sailed through the air, sending me falling forward to be caught by the cuffs at my wrists. My right wrist popped loudly, sending a jolt of pain through the entire arm. I forced myself back to my feet to stop the pain roaring through my wrists and shoulders, though the effort of holding my arms up so they weren’t hanging against the metal shackles was too much to keep up for long. Soon I was once again at the mercy of the metal binding me to the wall. I wept. Time passed, though there was no way of telling how long. It felt like an eternity, but the door to my cell finally opened. The light that spilled in from the corridor beyond burned at my eyes as though I was staring directly into the sun. I winced and flattened myself against the wall.
“Mother?!” I pleaded, hoping my family had finally come to comfort me. I had never missed them so keenly before.
A female’s voice answered, but it wasn’t my mother. “You don’t have a mother, Lillin.” The voice said calmly.
“Of course I have a mother!” I snapped back instantly. “You have to let me see her. . .let me explain. . .”
“Shut up.” The words were accompanied by a smack so hard that I careened into the w
all at my side, bright points of light exploding in my vision. “You don’t have a mother. You don’t have a father, and you don’t have a sister or a younger brother anymore. Your family has disowned you and stricken you from their book of names, as well they should. Having a murderer in the family would have ruined your sister’s chance at marrying into a good name and ruined your parents business. You can stop asking for them now, because they’re not coming. No one is coming for you, girl.”
My jaw hung wide as those words sunk in. The reality of the situation was finally hitting me, and it was agonizing. My parents had disowned me. I had no family anymore. There had been a time when I’d dreamed about that happening, being free of my family and able to carve my own place in the world, but now I was actually faced with the reality, and I was afraid and alone, it seemed like the most horrifying fate that could possibly befall anyone.
“It’s not true. They love me.” I said, and I started to cry again, this time the sobs shook my entire body. I couldn’t stop them.
Another smack rang across my face, splitting my lower lip and sending a trail of blood flying from my lips to the floor. “I said shut up. I have others to consider today, and I’m not going to waste my time on some crying fool. Listen closely because I’m not going to repeat myself.” The woman’s voice was hard, cold, and unforgiving. Her eyes were a dull green color, muted by a white milkiness that almost made her look like a corpse
I forced down the choking sobs that wanted to escape me, the pain and a rising anger stifling them for a moment. I brought my head up to look more closely at the woman though it was difficult through the tears that still clouded my vision. The moment I really saw her, really took in her features and those eyes, I recoiled as I realized what the woman was. She was dressed in dark gray from head to toe, and her skin was so pale it looked like she’d never once seen the sun. It was almost ghastly, like something dead for a long time. In the dull green of her eyes was a tiny black dot, clear and sharply focused on me. I knew this look from stories, but I’d never actually seen one of them in person. She was a Warden. This was further evidenced by the sigil she wore on one of her shoulders. It was a black line rendering of a clenched fist wreathed in the fire of Everburn. She would have another just like it on the back of her cloak.