by M. Bennardo
He falls.
For one quick moment, a feeling of power, of possibility, rushes through her. Then she shoves it deep down inside. Shame floods her. One of the guards nudges the man with his foot. He does not move. The liar smiles.
“Do you see what you are?” he says.
She closes her eyes. She doesn’t want to see.
She doesn’t want to know.
* * *
The night guard pauses in front of her cell again. Isabel wipes away her tears.
“They will take you from here when you agree. You will have meat, wine, clean clothes.”
She shakes her head. She is not a monster. But she thinks of the man, the way it felt to take his life, and she shudders.
* * *
“Will you serve?”
“No,” she whispers.
“You don’t really want us to tear up your pretty flesh, do you?”
“I will not serve,” she says between clenched teeth.
It is her turn to scream. To leave a trail of blood on the stones.
* * *
She dreams of the field of knives. Of Ayleth, her blood pouring from a wound Isabel can no longer heal, her arms outstretched. Isabel tells her no, but Ayleth doesn’t listen. She grabs Isabel’s hands and falls to the floor, her eyes open. Unseeing.
In her dream, Isabel laughs.
She wakes with a cry in her throat; her mangled body answers with a shriek of its own. She catches movement from the corner of her eye—the night guard, walking away.
* * *
Death came for her father in the shape of a lingering illness that caused his limbs to wither and his skin to turn grey. Her mother forbade her to help.
“I cannot lose you both,” she said.
So Isabel held her magic in, no matter how hard it fluttered, yearning to help.
The twisted thing inside her now scrapes and pushes, burning to hurt.
* * *
He taps the bars of her cell.
“What do you want?” she asks.
“Why do you fight?”
She doesn’t answer. He would not understand.
“They are looking for your friend.”
A whimper escapes before she can steal it back. Not Ayleth. Anything but that.
“Why do you care?” she whispers.
“The king’s sister is next in line for the throne. She does not share her brother’s penchant for cruelty. She would be a good queen, I think.”
She looks up. He is staring at the window.
“The king is coming to the prison tomorrow. He is not happy with the progress of late.” The guard steps close to the bars.
He looks into her eyes.
“He does not wear gloves,” he says, his words so low that, save for the movement of his mouth, she might have imagined them.
The breath catches in her throat.
He gives her a small half-smile, the expression strange on such a harsh face. “You remind me of my sister.”
As he walks away, she steps back with her hands held between her breasts. Why would he tell her such a thing?
How long until they find Ayleth? How long until they force Isabel to watch while they press the blades against Ayleth’s skin? Her eyes burn with tears, and she covers her mouth to hold in the sound.
The waves crash upon the rocks. The wind blows in through the bars on the window. The cell fills with the smell of the sea.
She thinks of the girl who could make fire. The dark haired woman. The old woman crying for someone to save her. She thinks of all those living in fear, the ones they haven’t found yet.
* * *
In the morning, she hears a strange coarse laugh. Heavy footsteps move down the hallway. She steps close to the bars. Waits. The metal is cold beneath her fingers. The footsteps move closer.
Will they kill her once the king is dead?
She looks down at her hands. Her weapons. Not perverted. Perfected. The monster inside her extends its claws.
Let them try, she thinks. Let them try.
Copyright © 2012 Damien Walters Grintalis
Read Comments on this Story on the BCS Website
Damien Walters Grintalis lives in Maryland with her husband and two rescued pit bulls. Her short fiction has appeared or is forthcoming in Strange Horizons, Fireside Magazine, Daily Science Fiction, and others. She is an Associate Editor of the Hugo Award-winning magazine Electric Velocipede, and her debut novel, Ink, will be released in December 2012 by Samhain Horror. You can visit her website, damienwaltersgrintalis.com, or follow her on Twitter @dwgrintalis.
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COVER ART
“Lost Citadel,” by Jonas De Ro
Jonas De Ro is a Belgian digital artist specializing in concept art and photography. He also has experience in animation, visual effects, and sound design. He has worked on commercials and music videos and is currently a concept artist for the upcoming science-fiction movie Jupiter Ascending, directed by the Wachowski siblings (The Matrix). Visit his website to view a selection of his works..
Beneath Ceaseless Skies
ISSN: 1946-1076
Published by Firkin Press,
a 501(c)3 Non-Profit Literary Organization
Copyright © 2012 Firkin Press
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