The Rise of the Fallen (The Rotting Empire Book 1)

by Peter Fugazzotto

  “You came to us because we were all one. Once,” he answered. He shifted his weight and squeezed and released his own swollen hands. Blood had crusted around his wrists where the manacles had rubbed against his flesh. “We answered the call because we were all Demon Guard.”

  “I should have found another boat and sailed on. To the far south of the island.”

  “He would have found you.”

  She laughed. “Would have been better than this. I would have faced him alone. I could have chopped his head from his shoulders and ended all this. We never would have come back. I made a mistake.”

  “Wouldn’t have been that way. He’s not so easy to kill. He came with soldiers. You would have been outnumbered.”

  “But it would have just been me facing him. And I would have my swords. A fighting chance. And I would not have led you here.”

  “We came on our own, Maja.”

  “I should have seen the trap. The boy sitting there all alone. The room empty. We were uncontested all the way to the top of the tower.”

  “We all should have seen it. It was not just you.”

  “You warned me, Wayan. You told me it was a trap and I pushed on.”

  “I thought they would come at us with swords. I thought they meant to trap us. I too figured we would have the chance to swing our swords. To die with sword in hand.”

  “Not this,” answered Maja. “Not this. Not in a thousand years. Did we even leave? Did we ever escape? Was that all a dream? The word of the God-Emperor, fleeing through the tunnel, the journey to the south, those early days at Land’s End. I never should have left you all. I should have stayed. With you. Then I never would have returned to bring all this. I am so sorry. I should have just disappeared to the east. I should have listened. I’m sorry.”

  “Our time was running out.”

  “I brought this on us, Wayan.”

  “We were prisoners at Land’s End. Never trusted. Only a matter of time before assassins came in the night. We had betrayed the God-Emperor and you know as well as I that one cannot erode the faith, the belief in his immortality, his infallibility. We were a blemish to his perfection. No such thing should have happened under his roof unless we were unfaithful. We were only marking time there. Our days were numbered.”

  “You can’t believe that,” said Maja. “He freed us.”

  Wayan shook his head. “Doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “How do we get out of this, Wayan? How do we escape this time?”

  He smiled slightly, his lips trembling. “I love you, Maja. Never stopped. You know that, don’t you?”

  His words were interrupted by a loud clanging and the sound of metal being scraped against stone. The hair on the back of Maja’s neck stood up. She stared up the passage leading out of the Hellhole. The scraping grew louder and she heard labored breathing. Figures emerged from the gloom at the top of the stairs of the Hellhole.

  Khirtan stepped forward, wrapped in a pale cloak. Behind him, several soldiers in yellow armor dragged a metal cage in the shape of a person, its inside filled with sharp metal spikes pointing inwards.

  “Did you miss me?” asked Khirtan.

  34

  KHIRTAN STARTED WITH Gima’s foot. Her left foot. He dipped a wooden spoon into a bucket on the floor. He tilted the spoon over her left foot so that the thick oil drizzled on her skin. He made a widening circle until her entire foot was glistening.

  When he was satisfied, he stepped back nodding.

  He put the spoon back into the bucket, carefully hooking its curved end so it would not sink.

  He turned to the furnace behind him, poked a small stick in and pulled it out flaming.

  When he touched the end of the stick to Gima’s foot, it exploded in flames. She could not stop screaming.

  Maja turned her head. But she could not block out Gima’s high-pitched shrieking. Maja closed her eyes and tried to imagine herself far away, but the screams ran beneath her skin, sending shivers up her spine.

  Bui, to the left of Maja, muttered beneath his breath. “Going to kill that son of a bitch. Burn him, cut off his limbs. Chop off his cock and shove it down his throat.”

  “Quiet. He’ll hear you. Don’t let him hear you. You’ll be next,” whispered Maja.

  “Can’t be afraid of him. Don’t give him that. Never. Not even at the moment of death. Only hatred will get us through this. It’s our only chance.”

  “Bui, I never should have led us back here.”

  “Shut the fuck up, Maja. Too late for that shit now. Pitiful whimpering.”

  “We have no way out.”

  “Death is the way out.”

  Gima’s screams reached a higher pitch. Her flesh sizzled and popped. The flames continued to eat away at her.

  “He’s not stopping,” said Maja.

  “No room for fear, only killing,” said Bui.

  Maja could not tear her eyes away from the torture of Gima. Her skin has blistered and sizzled and then charred black, peeling away, and then the muscles and tendon burned, the blood boiling, burning until the flames reached bone.

  Only when the bone turned black did Khirtan dump a white powder over what remained of the foot. The flames went out immediately.

  Gima’s screams became broken whimpers, her face contorted in unknowable pain.

  Khirtan turned from her, dipped the spoon into the barrel, and poured oil over her other foot.

  “In all things, balance,” he said. “I’m so happy you returned, my sweet. I’ve dreamed about finishing what I started and now we can.”

  Maja woke to rough hands pulling at her limbs. A soldier in yellow armor held one arm while another undid the manacle. When they finished, they moved to the next arm and her feet. She stared at the ground. She refused to look at the torture table. She did not want to know if she was next. If she did not look up, maybe it would not happen.

  Then she was unchained. She should have been fighting back. This was her moment for freedom, the chance she had been waiting for, but she was listless. Her head hung heavy. Her arms fell to her sides. Her feet felt encased in lead. She slumped to the floor. Blood surged back into her hands and the humorous pain of pins and needles gloved them.

  Wayan mouthed something but she only heard garbled words. The room tilted to the left. Even as they worked on the final shackle around her foot, she felt as if she would pitch to the cold stone.

  Her face tingled. She dragged the back of her hand across her mouth. Spore. White sticky spore. She had been drugged. That was why she could barely move. She wondered if this was how she would die.

  The men hoisted her up, draping her arms across their shoulders. She wished they would take one of the others. Anyone but her. She was supposed to be the last one. She hated herself for thinking these thoughts.

  But they did not stop at the table in the center of the room. She could not help herself and she glanced at the torture table. Gima’s charred bones sent up wisps of smoke. Maja smelled the burnt flesh and blood. She remembered the bubbling flesh, the screams, the eyes that beckoned for a death that would not come quickly enough. Maja bent to dry heave but the men dragged her past the table.

  She craned her neck to look back at the others, at Wayan, but it was too late. Was Hanu no longer hanging in his chains? Had she missed something? She could not turn. The soldiers half-carried her out of the room, through doorway, and up the narrow stairs.

  For a brief moment, she was in the courtyard. The sky, blue and clear, was too bright and she was forced to gaze at the ground. Her eyes teared and dagger-like pain pierced her skull. She smelled the sea, its salty tang, and a hot breeze coursed across her bare skin. She wished she were on the waves, racing far away. To the east. The unknown lands. She stared at her feet stumbling through the sandy red dirt, small clouds erupting with each step.

  A rooster crowed. She smelled rice cooking and her mouth watered. She could not remember the last time she ate. She had no sense of how long she had been in the Hellhole. Had
it been hours or days?

  The soldiers, grunting with her weight, brought her into the tower, and she was swallowed in coolness. She wanted to walk on her own, to regather the lost strength, but after a flight of steps, she could no longer lift her feet, and the men, cursing, were forced to lift her higher on their shoulders. She buried her face in one of their shoulders and allowed her face to rock against him, hoping to brush the fungal drug off her face.

  She would fight like Bui had said. She would explode in hatred. She had no fear of death. She just needed some of her strength back.

  Suddenly she was in the chamber at the top of the tower. The chair in the center of the room was empty. The men lowered her into the chair and bound her arms tightly with rope. After they finished, she twisted her arms to test the bonds. They had not tied them as tightly as they should have. But she was weak and after even a few seconds of twisting, exhaustion washed over her and she gave up, panting. She would wait. Test them later.

  The soldiers left the room. Maja’s eyes adjusted to the light and she looked out the window. The sea ran smooth to the east, undulating. In the distance, small islands shadowed dark against the horizon. The islands lay within reach of a boat, and once there, she could sail beyond. What she should have done instead of what she did.

  Near the window she saw that more trophies had been added to the Duke’s wall. Her twin swords crossed, Bui’s mask, and even Hanu’s hook. She stared at the scores of weapons on the walls. So many warriors swallowed in pain and death.

  A shuffling noise from the right broke her thoughts and she turned, straining against the ropes, even then testing the bonds, loosening them slightly.

  The Duke emerged from the door leading to his room. His cheeks were slightly flushed, plump, and he dabbed at his lips. She smelled spiced chicken. Her mouth watered. Her stomach gurgled and contracted. He ran his index finger and thumb over his mustache several times, smoothing it out.

  “Admiring the view?” he asked.

  “I was looking at the wall and thinking about how the Empire might have been different if all the heroes would have survived.”

  He dragged a stool away from the wall and sat down beside her.

  He ran his fingers along the waist of his shimmering vest, tugging and adjusting.

  “All the heroes?” he asked. “Is that the way that you see it?”

  “You’re a murderer. A political snake. Hanging in the wings waiting to bring down the reign of your own cousin so you can slither into his rightful throne.” She nodded her chin at the bloodstained swords and spears, the cracked shields, and the dented masks on the wall. “And all these men and women, all these trophies, stood in the way of your ambition. Pieces on the board that needed to be eliminated to win your game. And now you approach the end game. Finishing off the last of the faithful Demon Guard. Killing the true heir to the throne. Your guise is thin. Your true heart easy to read. You are a snake.”

  “Are you done?” he asked. He walked over to the wall of weapons and armor.

  “Untie me and then I can be done. Hand me back my swords and we’ll see how long you wear that smile.”

  The Duke ran his hands over the weapons on the wall, his fingers lightly touching the handles, the scarred wood, the dented metal. He turned to Maja, the light from the sea glinting in his eyes. “The God-Emperor wanted to kill you. After the incident. You know that, don’t you? You were an insult, Maja, not only to him but to his idea of the throne. To a pure Yavasa. You were. But what do you know?”

  “He saved me. The Queen turned him. Her kindness turned his heart.”

  “You were the spawn of the foreign devils. You were the fake piece played in the game. He thought he had gained a tool to lever what he wanted, and then you told us that you were merely the daughter of the ship captain. His rage that day. She saved you from his knives. Her little pet.”

  “My father had no choice! He never would have left me.”

  The Duke sighed long and stared out over the dark blue sea. At the edge of the sky, storm clouds unfurled. “All you see are the shadows.”

  “What?”

  “Like a shadow puppet play,” he said. “You see the shapes, the movement, and hear the song. You think the shadows are the story. But I see behind the screen. I see the puppets themselves, held up by sticks, and there crouch the puppeteers, fingers wrapped around the sticks, twirling, pushing and pulling, creating the illusion of a story, the illusion of a reality for those sitting dumbstruck on the other side of the screen.”

  “And that’s what you are? The puppet master behind the screen?” she asked. “The master of illusion?”

  He returned to the stool and brought a cup of water to her lips. She wanted to close her lips tight but it had been too long since she had a drink and her throat ached, her lips cracked and bled as she talked.

  The Duke continued. “You give me far too much credit. I’m the stupid soldier with the sword, not much different than you really, and I cut down the screen to reveal the lies. I am destined to show the world that the puppet master is a man, just like I am, no god, and that everything he spins is a lie.”

  “So this is your reason for murder?” Maja asked. She rotated her arms. Her bonds were slightly looser. She slid her arms and had more play than she expected. But even so she felt weak and she worried that if she broke free that she would still be no match for the Duke. Maybe if he returned to the window, she might be able to bump him out.

  “I let you and the others live,” he said.

  “The God-Emperor saved us. His word. You could not disobey. You had gone too far.”

  “I could have killed you. His word did not matter.”

  “Then why didn’t you?” asked Maja.

  “You let them kill my son! You betrayed me! You needed to suffer.”

  “I did more than suffer. You cut my child out of me.” She balled her fists and strained in the chair, arching her body towards him, and at the same time pressing her arms against the ropes trying to loosen them.

  “You needed to pay the price.”

  “So that’s what this is? Revenge! All because your child was accidentally killed instead of the First Son. We never failed in our duty. We protected the God-Emperor’s son. We never should have been handed over to you.”

  “It was not an accident. They meant to kill my son.”

  “No, you’re wrong. The poison was for the First Son. Your son lifted that cup to his own lips. He was not the target of the killers.”

  The Duke lifted up the stool and slammed it to the ground. “No! They came for my son. My son. My beautiful innocent child. They wanted him dead, and you, you devil, should have been there to protect him. You were supposed to have made sure the lemon water was tasted. But you weren’t. You were secretly meeting with your lover. Wayan. You stepped out of that room and allowed them to poison my boy.”

  “Why would anyone want to kill your son? What did he matter?”

  “Because he and I hold royal blood. We were the line that could replace the God-Emperor. He was the future of the empire. The knives were moving to scrape the disease from the throne, and now they are sharpened and ready to cut”

  “You talk treason.”

  “I talk against removing a cancer. Something evil that is a blight on this world.”

  “You’re crazy!”

  “Maja, you’re blind. You see only the shadows. You see only the play. The God-Emperor is evil and he needs to be removed from the throne. He is no god. He is a vicious killer. He had my son killed. A boy. Murdered.”

  “No! Bagi admitted what he did. He said the foreign devils paid him to poison the heir’s drink. He confessed to his crime. Why would he do that and sentence himself to death?”

  “Because the play was for him to confess and the God-Emperor to be so touched that he would spare his life. But the God-Emperor fooled him. He took his head instead.”

  “You make all of this up. You lie!”

  “He is old now, a decrepit man, and his
days are numbered. But these last days are dangerous. I had thought that with the First Son being eliminated, I might just bide my time and wait. But he will not die. So now we have the boy, the hidden heir, and Sri is our chance to end this mad rule.”

  “You’re not going to kill Sri, are you?”

  “Better than that, I am going to use him to kill his father. And you are going to help me.”

  35

  MAJA NO LONGER fought against the ropes that bound her to the chair. Her will to fight had drained out of her. The Duke had returned to stare out the window over the sea.

  “The God-Emperor is a blight on the land, and you must help me destroy him,” said the Duke.

  “You would use Sri as bait?” Maja asked.

  “He is a pawn in the game. The bait to expose the king.”

  “He’s just a boy.”

  “Are you blind? Have you not seen the look in his eye? Or the way he moves? The boy is evil. It burns in his heart. He is evil. Like his father. The blood runs thick. If he ever reaches the throne, he will be ten times worse than his father.”

  “So you’re going to kill him?” Her lips trembled. She knew the truth. She knew what the Duke said would happen. She had seen the creature that lay behind the mask of the boy. But she also believed that his destiny could be redrawn. If he had the chance to return to his family.

  “If you escort Sri back to the capital, you will be granted access to the palace once more. You will be able to walk up those steps and slip a blade into the black heart of the king.”

  “Why would I ever do such a thing?”

  “For your companions.” He ran his hands across the masks on the wall. “Your Demon Guard can be free again. Do what I ask and all this will stop. You fulfill this mission and I will let you all go. Even give you a boat so you can sail away to the far islands to the east and beyond. You can be free of this wretched kingdom. You will finally be able to escape your past.”

  “And if I refuse?”