by Jeff Gunzel
Remaining on her knee, Viola snatched Thatra’s wrist with both hands. “I no longer wish to be a useless burden to you or the others,” she said. “I can’t live day to day knowing I’m a sheep living among wolves. Teach me to be a wolf! Take me on as your student and I will be forever grateful.” Ice-cold lips kissed the back of Thatra’s hand.
Thatra also dropped down to one knee, wanting to look her in the eyes as an equal. “Of course I will,” she whispered, her hands sliding up Viola’s arms to rest on her shoulders. “But not because I expect your eternal gratitude, and not to place you in my debt. I will do it as your friend and for no other reason. Listen...” she added sharply, giving her a light shake. Viola’s eyes rose to meet her gaze. “You owe me nothing,” she said softly, before the two of them rose together. “Come, let’s go back. I don’t trust the men by themselves. By now I’d say there’s a good chance they’ve probably burned down the camp.” With a shared laugh, they turned to head back.
When they got back to camp, the fire had been reduced to a steaming pile of cooling ash and the horses were mostly packed and ready. The only thing left was a single bedroll still laid out on the ground. Liam stood over it, flicking a syringe he held in one hand. “Ah, and so they have returned,” he said dramatically. “Viola, if you please, my dear,” he said, gesturing down to the bedroll at his feet.
“B-But I feel fine,” Viola protested, shaking her open hands towards him. “I don’t see any reason to do that n—”
“And if you didn’t feel fine, then I’d say we’ve waited too long, agree?” Liam asked. “Viola, please, we need to get going. The sooner we do this, the sooner we can be on our way.” Her eyes flickered towards Xavier. She really didn’t want him to see this. As if willing her inner fear into reality, he approached her the moment she looked away.
“Beautiful,” he said, his eyes rising up towards her hair.
“W-Wha—” she stuttered, startled by his sudden boldness.
“The flower,” he said, his fingers lightly brushing her hair. “It looks beautiful on you.”
“Oh!” she chirped, her hands rising up to touch the yellow blossom. She had completely forgotten it was there. But never mind that, why was her face burning again? It didn’t seem like she would ever get used to this feeling.
“Ahem,” Liam cleared his throat, waggling the syringe between his thumb and finger.
“Does it hurt?” Xavier asked, glancing at the needle then back to Viola.
“Nuh uh,” she hummed, shaking her head.
“Well then,” he smiled, placing his hand on the swell of her back. “If it doesn’t hurt, then let’s just get it over with so we can go.” He led her over to the roll and helped her lie down. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Once Liam injected it into her neck, her body reacted in its usual way. Her chest heaved as blackish veins spidered their way up her neck and face. With a final gasp it was over, and she came back to her senses. Her eyes darted around, quickly finding Xavier, who had obviously been watching her the whole time.
“Welcome back,” he said, smiling as he reached down to help her up. Relief washed over her like a cold waterfall. He really didn’t care! After seeing her at her absolute worst, he really didn’t view her as a monster after all. She wanted to sing, to cry, but she did neither.
“I’m ready to go,” she said, a new spring in her step as she let go of his hands and skipped towards her horse.
* * *
Deathly silence engulfed the room, save for the echoing drips of water coming from the corner. A single white candle flickered at the table’s center. Now a wilted misshapen mass, it had been burning there for hours. A sickly flame danced just above the clear pool of melted wax, sporadically lighting up Orm’rak’s facial features when he shifted position.
Hands clasped in front of his face, the laberath took a deep breath as dank, musty air filled his lungs. As images of pain and suffering danced through his mind, his entangled fingers tightened, knuckles cracking with tension.
Viola screamed as the ropes around her hands and feet tightened, further stretching her naked body vertically. Yet her cries of terror were but a distant echo to Orm’rak’s ears as he stepped in front of her, knife in hand. Eyes bulging with fright, her head thrashed about as she tried desperately to shed her bonds. Though her mouth was gaping wide open in an endless wail, the only sound that touched Orm’rak’s ears was a mild hum from somewhere off in the distance.
Touching her cheek with the back of his hand, he slowly ran his fingernails down her neck and between her breasts before stopping near her navel. A seeping red line trailed the path of his fingers, subtle evidence of the shallow scratch he caused. “You’ve cost me dearly,” he said, his soft voice clear as a bell while her desperate screaming remained muffled, far away even though her body was right in front of him. “And for that, I shall take everything from you.”
He slid the tip of his knife beneath the inner skin of her left thigh, then carefully moved it up along the inside of her leg. Her face contorted in agony, foam collecting at the corners of her mouth while her head thrashed back against a thick wooden pole. The blood-curdling scream that should have been fit to shatter crystal only faintly touched his ears, its musical, distant sound coming as no more than a gentle hum. Like an artist giving a masterpiece his full attention, Orm’rak dragged the knife along her skin ever so slowly, making sure the depth was perfect and the lines were straight.
All alone with nothing but his dark fantasies of revenge, Orm’rak grinned, hearing the hiss of the flickering candle as a slight breeze caused the low flame to lick the pool of melted wax. He moved his hand over the fire, allowing the heat to singe his fingers before pulling it back. Pain was real. Pain could be measured. Pain kept him grounded in a world in which he no longer fit.
Completing the cut, the corners of a nearly perfect square curled back as blood ran freely from the freshly sliced skin. Pinching two corners, Orm’rak carefully peeled downward as the moist square tore away from deep red muscle. Staring into Viola’s eyes, he began to chew on the fresh, leathery piece. Her teeth chattered, eyes rolling back in her head as her body began to go into shock.
It mattered not. He would wait until her senses returned before repeating the flaying process on her other leg, then stomach, then face... Shock would generally take a victim’s life long before one could get that far, but Orm’rak would be patient. He would allow her to recover in between sessions, waiting days if necessary. He would do whatever it took to keep her fragile body alive so he could complete the process. He wanted her conscious and sane until the very end.
For hours he played out the scenario over and over in his head. Sometimes he skinned her alive piece by piece until her quivering body released its final breath. Other times he boiled her alive, holding her head underwater as her face bloated and her hair fell out in clumps. Although the fantasies provided a temporary sense of satisfaction, they were indeed just fantasies. There could be no replacement for true revenge.
“Because of you, neither I nor what’s left my people have any future in this world,” Orm’rak whispered, sliding a large green-and-gold ring off his finger. “But if I have no future, then neither do you.” He glared at the ring’s green gem, its center sporting a line of black so it resembled a cat’s eye. He tossed it onto the table, watching it rattle around before quivering to a halt. Once a symbol of the laberaths, it no longer held any meaning to him now.
“I will no longer burden myself with loyalty to an extinct race. Because of you I am now a rogue bound to no one, therefore my loyalty lies only with myself. Once I see the light extinguished from your eyes by my hands alone, my only objective in this world will be complete. After that, the ghatins can do what they want with your lifeless husk, but not before I’ve had my revenge.”
Reaching down to the floor, Orm’rak retrieved a wooden bowl containing a sprinkling of blue dust along with a small knife. “You will not escape me again,” he growled, placing the items on the table. Wrappi
ng his fingers around the blade, he made a clean slice across his palm before holding a bloody fist over the bowl. A steady stream of blood trickled into the bowl, fizzing and bubbling the moment it touched the blue power.
Setting the knife next to the bowl, he reached into a leather pouch strung to the table leg and retrieved a glass slide containing a single white hair. His eyes narrowed as he stared at the one remaining item he was able to salvage even after Viola had tried to drag him to his death. With all his anger and hatred centered on that single hair, he slid it from between the glass plates and threw in into the bowl.
The mixture of blood and powder swelled to a violent, roiling boil. Eagerly, he brought the bowl to his lips and began to drink. With fizzing bubbles running from his chin, the contents burned his throat all the way down. He might as well have been drinking acid, but even that wouldn’t have stopped him in the heat of this glorious moment.
Nearly empty, the bowl slipped from his fingers and bounced off the table. Doubling over, he began coughing uncontrollably as the concoction seared his insides like fire. Misting saliva spraying with each cough soon turned into thick streams of blood oozing from his mouth.
He pushed off the table, falling back in his chair before slamming hard onto the floor. His body shook with violent convulsions, head striking the floor as his hands trembled. Then suddenly, all the violent movements stopped as his cold body lay still, motionless. A minute later he sat up with a groan, his red eyes frosting over for an instant before returning to their original color.
Face covered with sweat, he pulled himself up using the edge of the table. “I can feel the wretched taint flowing through your veins,” he grunted, a victorious grin parting his lips. “You are part of me now. Wherever you go in this world, I shall be aware of your presence at all times. Run if you wish, but there is nowhere to hide.”
Rising to his feet, a glowing aura seemed to radiate from his body. With the only candle dwindled down to nothing more than a smoking black wick, he left the pitch-black room and walked down the empty hallway. He felt renewed somehow, as if his life had been given new meaning and purpose. Killing had always been a simple part of life’s circle, and a thing so trivial that he rarely ever even thought about it. But this time, revenge was the only thing driving him. Hundreds of humans had died by his hands without a second thought, yet this particular hunt was going to be something special.
Nearing his feeding chamber, he could see the light shining from the wide-open doorway. With the city practically abandoned, there was simply no reason to keep it sealed anymore. Racks that once held suspended humans in a state of living death were now empty. He stepped into the light, his eyes scanning the room filled with his creations.
Hundreds of undead turned to him, their necks all cracking at once with a sickening crunch. For an instant, Orm’rak’s eyes shone a soft, red glow. Hundreds of eyes mirrored that brief shine right back at him, giving them all the momentary appearance of cats hiding in the dark. Without saying a word, Orm’rak turned away. With a collective moan they obediently followed, men, women, and even children swaying along clumsily.
Orm’rak’s final plan was in full swing, an entire food source sacrificed so he could assemble a small army of obedient soldiers. At this stage of their wretched lives, they could serve no better purpose. They had been kept here only to serve as a convenient source of food given how far the laberath city was from the surface world where the humans dwelled. But Kraindoel would no longer serve as Orm’rak’s home. In truth, he would probably never come back here again. And on the surface world was an endless supply of food, so not a single body here needed to be spared.
Yes, he would assimilate himself to life on the surface world. Yes, a small part of his original plan had actually come to fruition, seeing as he was now going to finally leave this underground tomb. But it was all secondary when compared to the singular goal that drove him now.
He and his army of undead were going to find, torture, and eventually kill the mutant freak that took his life from him. He would see to it that Viola experienced suffering like no other.
* * *
Hunching forward on her horse, Viola flipped another page in yet another book. Riding had become second nature to her, but it didn’t feel much like a learned skill. It was just something she did now. As usual, their pace was slow, so all she really had to do was let the horse move naturally on its own. Aside from possibly falling asleep and tipping off, there really wasn’t much else for her to worry about.
Already she was tearing into her second book, The King’s Silent Hand, having finished the first. Although Viola could understand how someone might find these books dry or even boring, she was spellbound by the wealth of information. She had always been curious by her very nature, always wanting to know more about the world she had never been allowed to partake in. But here, right at her fingertips, were all the answers she had so desperately sought over the years: acknowledged rules of war, how the varying governments worked, and even how they had been manipulated throughout the centuries. After she had been hidden from society for so long, these books were like a whole new world that had opened up to her. To Viola, it felt a lot like telling a child she could not open a box no matter what. Now all the child could ever think about was opening that box. And now that she had that box to herself, she devoured all the information she could.
When a slight movement ahead caught her eye, she glanced up to see Owen twirling his finger in the air. It was time to stop for the night. She blinked once or twice, straining her eyes while gazing around at the dwindling light shining through the treetops. How long had her nose been buried in this book? She thumped it closed and stuffed it back in her side bag. That was enough exercising her mind for one day.
Owen found the spot less than ideal, given the lumpy, uneven ground, but it would do well enough. Here, the forest was far less dense than had been the case for most of their travel so far.
Sparse trees provided only minimal cover, and Liam wasn’t sure he cared for Owen’s idea of a good camp spot. But the hunter was already dismounting and tugging at the bags strapped to his lavics. With a shrug, Liam slid off his horse and began doing the same.
As Xavier started setting up camp, Viola led the horses over to some nearby trees to secure them. Using nothing but a canteen and her bare hand, she began watering them one at a time.
Over the past few days, Viola had found that this was probably the best way for her to help out. She liked animals, and they in turn seemed to like her. No one else seemed to want the dirty chore, but she didn’t mind. Their thick, slimy tongues tickled her hands as the beasts drank. However, Owen’s lavics was his own problem. She didn’t want to go near the thing.
When Viola was finished cleaning her slimy hands on the grass, she went to join the others, who had already started a small fire. “Are you ready?” she asked Thatra, hopeful.
Caught off guard, Thatra glanced up, looking like a chipmunk with her mouth full of nuts. Wide-eyed and embarrassed, she quickly swallowed the peanuts she was chewing. “What? Now?” Thatra asked.
Grinning, Viola nodded her head.
“But we’ve been riding all day. Don’t you want to relax first, maybe have something to eat?”
Viola shook her head.
“Fine,” Thatra sighed, tying off the bag before rising to her feet. “But only for a little while, then we call it a night. Wait here a moment.” She marched off for a time before returning with two large sticks. “These will work,” she said, snapping off a few twigs still clinging to one of them.
“The first time we did this, I was just testing you,” Thatra said, tossing one of the sticks to Viola. “This time we’re going to go harder, so I don’t want to use real weapons until you’re ready to handle them. This is real training, understand?”
With a nod, Viola marched away from the fire and took up her position twenty feet away. She thumped the stick on the ground a few times to try and get a feel for her new weapon. She was c
ertainly the last person who needed to be judging its usefulness, but as far as she could tell, it seemed solid enough.
Conversation around the fire died down as the men turned to watch. “Care to place any bets?” Owen said, prodding Liam with a sharp elbow to his ribs.
“I think not,” Liam replied with a wheeze, fighting the urge to hold his side. With the brotherly rivalry that had developed between these two, each was reluctant to give the other even the slightest bit of satisfaction. “I’m glad to see Viola taking such steps to improve her standing, but this is a fool’s bet. You’ll not be taking any silver from me this day.”
“Then how about a gold piece instead?” said Xavier, clutching a gold coin between his middle and index fingers.
“You can’t be serious,” Liam said, flashing a sideways glance as Xavier twiddled his eyebrows. In a marvelous display of dexterity, the puppet master made the coin flip several times across the backs of his knuckles. Suddenly, he closed his hands into fists, then opened them slowly, wiggling his empty fingers to prove the coin had vanished into thin air.
Liam smirked while watching the puppet master display his empty hands front and back, then pull down both sleeves to prove it wasn’t there either.
Owen rolled his eyes, having seen his apprentice’s parlor tricks hundreds of times before. They were great for gaining coins when holed up in small towns and villages, but he didn’t like being forced to see them again while sitting around a campfire.
Xavier reached behind Liam’s ear, and drew back a closed fist.
“I assume you’ve found your coin?” Liam said dryly. Despite the feigned boredom in his voice, the youthful sparkle in his eyes betrayed his true thoughts. He was plenty entertained by Xavier’s antics.
Xavier flashed open his empty hand. “I have nothing,” he said, his eyes glancing down at Liam’s hands lying on his lap. The mystic’s face flushed as he opened his own hand, revealing the gold coin. “If Viola quits first, it is yours to keep,” Xavier said with a wink.