Second Life

by Emily Reese

“To defy her betters.”

  Rip.

  “When she entered into my territory, she became more to me than a distasteful upstart.”

  Rip.

  “By interfering in my plans, she became a fly in my ointment.” Regulus stopped and looked up at Reave. “You are familiar with that metaphor, a fly in the ointment?”

  “Yes, Lord,” Reave nodded.

  “Good. Your education has always been a bit suspect,” the Elder answered and continued his task. “Now, Reave, do you know what we do with flies that irritate us?”

  Rip.

  “No, My Lord.”

  “We pull their wings off.”

  Rip.

  “Followed by their legs.”

  Rip.

  “And only then, when they are completely at our mercy, do they understand.” In a move swift enough to be missed by the human eye, Regulus stabbed his letter opener into the desk, a dull thwang echoing as the handle vibrated from the force. “We are not someone to be trifled with.”

  “I understand, My Lord,” Reave said with a low bow. As he rose, Regulus could see the shine of excitement in his black eyes. Propensity towards violence was one of the reasons he chose Reave to be his second. That, and the wherewithal to know his place.

  “Now then, I believe I have a visitor waiting, do I not?”

  Reave bowed again and opened the door to the waiting area. A hesitant, waif-like figure passed over the threshold, eyes darting everywhere, fingers worrying at a ratty lock of hair.

  “Ah, M my dear!” The girl flinched at Regulus’ warm greeting and froze. “No, no, do come in! I’m so happy we’ve finally found you and brought you home.”

  Servant of the Three: Sneak Peek

  “ASTRID! PAY ATTENTION!” LYSAN’S VOICE ROUSED HER FROM preoccupation a second before the weighted ball landed on her foot. She didn’t need to hear the crunch to know at least a few toes were broken; the searing pain was more than enough. As much as she wanted to cry out, Astrid swallowed the scream back and continued with her exercise.

  The pain in her foot was nothing compared to the price she would pay for not finishing. She danced around the fist-sized missiles being shot at her from every direction, trying to keep track of the ball count as she moved. The exercise stopped at 300; by her count she only had 8 more to go…

  Then the drill was over. Astrid stood straight and still, waiting for her mentor’s admonition. She didn’t have long.

  “What was that? What happened?” The bite in his tone made her cringe, even though she expected it. Master Lysan, barely taller than Astrid, had the presence of a giant. His sharp-eyed scrutiny wiped whatever hope she had of a convincing explanation.

  “I slipped.”

  “You slipped?” He raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “That’s what you’re going with? You slipped.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You and I both know you don’t slip,” he said as he moved in inches from her face, leaving her to stare a hole into the master’s creased brow. “I don’t know what’s been wrong with you lately, but you get over it and get your shit together, or by the Three I’ll kill you myself.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  “Good.” Lysan took a deep breath as he backed away. “Now see to your foot. We need you at your best.”

  “Yes, sir. To serve the Three,” she repeated dutifully.

  “For the Three,” Lysan nodded.

  Astrid left through the nearest passage, not caring if it would get her back to her dormitory or not. Once she was sure no one would hear her, she let out a primal snarl and put her fist through the wall.

  “To hell with the Three!” The echo of her curse in the subterranean corridor reminded her of her singular path in life, courtesy of the gods. Now, it seemed, they were ready to ruin that too. Her eyes stung as she thought of everything They had taken from her.

  If not for the gods that ruled every aspect of her country, she wouldn’t have broken toes. If not for Them, she would never have to spend all her time constantly training, honing the deadly arts. Without the callous Three, she might have had a chance for a normal life, a family; instead Astrid had the “honor” of killing for Them. It was that, or be killed herself. She shook her head to clear it.

  These thoughts haunted her more and more lately, and Master Lysan was beginning to notice. If she took any more damage, Astrid would be unable to continue training. Her mentor was serious when he threatened to kill her. In another life, it might seem harsh, but Astrid recognized it for the kindness it was.

  At her school, the lifespan of stragglers was short; that of a floundering Leader of Initiates like Astrid could be measured in hours. At least death at Lysan’s hands would be quick and painless. She could not say the same if it came from one of her fellow Initiates.

  Making her way through the maze of underground tunnels, Astrid finally ended up at her dormitory, thankfully empty. She might have time to set her toes and get them bandaged up before anyone saw. The cuts on her knuckles from punching the wall could wait; most students had chronic wounds on their knuckles from hand to hand combat training. No, the foot would give her away. It must be dealt with first.

  Carefully, she removed her shoe, then the sock. The swelling was almost visible now that her shoe couldn’t keep pressure on her toes. The middle three were broken.

  “Of course there’s three,” Astrid said through gritted teeth. She looked up at the high windows, with their tease of the outside world beyond her reach. Taking a deep breath, she set all the toes at the same time, then splinted and wrapped them as quickly as possible. She would not cry. She would not pass out. The only sign of her discomfort was the sheen of sweat that plastered her brown hair down onto her forehead. This was, Astrid realized, the worst injury she had suffered since she assumed leadership by killing her predecessor.

  “No,” she corrected. It was necessary; Laurel’s reign of terror had to come to an end. Astrid allowed herself no room for regret, no looking back.

  This time it was the door to the dormitory that roused her from distraction. Looking up, she was pleased to see it was Rayna.

  “Oh, good! I’m glad it’s you,” she called out on the way to her bunk. “Listen, you can’t be late for chapel again. One of the Masters was saying—” She froze when she noticed Astrid hurriedly trying to fit her sock over a now massive right foot. Pursing her lips, Rayna returned to her bunk and procured a worn black satchel. Kneeling before Astrid she unpacked a bottle of clear liquid and three small vials, each holding a different color concoction.

  “What was it this time?” Rayna inquired and tied her golden curls back as she prepared to work.

  “Nothing. I’m fine, really. See? They’re already set,” Astrid protested. Rayna held her ankle with one hand and slowly dispensed tiny amounts of one of the serums over her toes. It was a sickly yellow substance that burned like fire each time a drop touched her skin.

  “Ah! Three take you!” Astrid hissed. “That feels worse than when I broke them!”

  “It will heal them by tomorrow,” Rayna replied calmly. Her blue eyes, an anomaly amongst their people, showed no sympathy as she worked at a steady pace. Despite the pain now, Astrid trusted her treatment; Rayna was the best at crafting serums and poisons. She was given a wide berth and a great deal of respect by the other initiates because of it, due in no small part to the fear they might need her talents someday. “Now tell me what happened.”

  “Fine,” Astrid sighed, “but it’s really no big deal. I just got distracted during the projectile drill. I didn’t move fast enough.”

  “That’s been happening a lot lately,” Rayna replied as she picked up the second container, this one full of a thick blue potion. Before she could reach to remove the cap, Astrid had snatched it from her.

  “I’m faster than you.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” Rayna took the vial back and carefully removed the lid. “I meant you being distracted. I’ve no
ticed. So have some of the others.” She focused on measuring a small amount of the blue sludge into the bottle of clear liquid, but her thoughts were elsewhere. Rayna was trying so hard not to mention whatever it was; she may as well have been screaming.

  “Go ahead, say it. What are you dancing around?”

  “Drink this.” Rayna handed the bottle of fluid she’d been mixing to Astrid before she began. “All of it,” she chided when Astrid choked on the first gulp, “unless you want to limp the rest of the day.” After a deep breath, Rayna began to unburden herself.

  “You have to keep it together. You can’t be doing this, losing focus. You have to be at the top of your game… always.”

  “I appreciate it, Ray, and I know that. I’m not worried about being challenged.”

  “Well the rest of us are! Did you ever stop to think about that?” Astrid raised her eyebrows at Rayna’s unexpected outburst.

  “What do you mean the rest of us?”

  “I mean us, your friends. Everyone who was under Laurel’s thumb before. If something happened to you…” Rayna shivered at the thought.

  “I’m sure the next leader will be fine.”

  “Are you? How do you know?” Rayna asked, her voice rising with fear. “Do you know how many people you pissed off when you took out Laurel? How many Initiates are now at the bottom who used to be on top?” When Astrid didn’t answer, Rayna took her face in her hands. “You’re the best leader we’ve had, as long as any of us have been here. There’s an equality between us I never dreamed possible. Those of us who aren’t as strong, or as fast as the rest… you’re what makes us feel safe.”

  “That’s sweet,” Astrid said, gently removing Rayna’s hands, “but I can’t be in charge forever. We all know that if I don’t get challenged, in another year I’ll be out on my own, a Servant of the Three.” Her mouth twisted into a thin smile when she spoke of her future.

  “I know,” Rayna conceded and sat back. “But I try not to think about it.” She picked up the last bottle and handed it to Astrid. “Three drops in water, every eight hours for pain and exhaustion.”

  “Nice,” Astrid commented as she examined the bright green medication.

  “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t overdo it. You take this for more than two days and you’ll think you’re invincible.”

  “Is that such a bad thing?”

  “It is when you start testing it. More than a few people have tried flying or taking on a Desert Crawler to prove it.” She began packing her things away in the black satchel. “Didn’t turn out too well.”

  “Duly noted,” Astrid replied with a shudder. Desert Crawlers, giant sand colored lizards, were the stuff of her nightmares. That and the previous Leader Laurel. Shaking her too-heavy head, she set the bottle down on her nightstand, feeling a million years old at only nineteen. A hefty yawn wrestled its way out of Astrid, try as she might to stifle it. “Was there something else you needed? What about chore rotation?”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it while you sleep.”

  “I can’t sleep.” Astrid’s head felt fuzzy; the words thick in her mouth when she said them. “I’ve got to assign demerits and… and…” She couldn’t even think of what else there was to do, just that there was too much of it. Suddenly it hit her. “Rayna, what was that blue gunk you gave me? I thought you said it would keep me from limping.”

  “Oh, it will.” Looking up, Astrid could see that Rayna had arranged herself in the chair closest to her bed with a pile of books and papers. “It will take down the swelling rather quickly.”

  “And why can’t I keep my eyes open?” Astrid swayed and collapsed on her bed, closing her eyes against the sudden onset of dizziness.

  “You don’t expect the swelling in your foot go down if you’re using it, do you? This will help you sleep.”

  “Dammit, Rayna!”

  “You can be mad at me later.” Rayna’s voice was coming from above her now. A gentle weight hinted that she had pulled up Astrid’s covers. “Sleep now. Heal. I’ll watch your back until you wake up.”

  There were many more things Astrid wanted to say, but Rayna’s serum worked too well. The foul tasting, devious little potion pulled her down into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  r

  ASTRID WOKE CONFUSED.

  What happened?

  She was not in her bed, but then why had she been asleep? It was pitch black and dead quiet, something almost never achieved in a dormitory full of girls.

  Feeling around, Astrid realized she was crammed into some sort of box. Tamping down her panic, she tentatively pushed at the walls until her fingers found something to hang on to. With a little bit of effort, and more time than her racing heart would’ve liked, she managed to slide one of the walls back.

  Cool air touched her face and despite her disdain, she might’ve uttered a prayer to the Three. As she took deep, measured breaths of fresh air, her surroundings began to make sense. There was the oven, and some of the counters used for food preparation; Astrid was in the kitchen.

  A brief peek out showed she was alone in the room, and thus safe enough to worm her way out of the cabinet. The stiffness in her limbs hinted she’d been stashed away for some time. Had this been some kind of prank? Rayna didn’t seem the sort, but what else could it be?

  “Ugh! You are going to pay for this, Rayna.” Astrid began working the kinks out of her muscles, each twinge adding to her annoyance. “Last time I trust you to —” The words caught in her throat as she turned.

  Sprawled across the top of the cabinet, the very one she’d just vacated, was the cook. He was dead.

  Astrid crouched and moved slowly around the cupboard to get a better look, doing her best to make herself as small and quiet as possible. Her training kicked in, a stark realization coming to her; her home had been breached. As she came around the corner, she saw the cook’s face. His eyes stared off into nothingness, a gaping mouth sliced into his neck where none should have been. Other than where he lay, Astrid could see no signs of disturbance leading her to believe the cook had not been aware of his attacker until it was too late. Searching the room, she found no trace of the murder weapon, but did happen upon two large kitchen knives.

  One was long and thin with a serrated edge; the other had a wicked curve and some heft to it. Not perfect, but they’ll do.

  Stepping around a puddle of the cook’s blood, Astrid quickly left the kitchen in search of answers.

  Her footsteps echoed softly, the school eerily quiet. Ascending the stairs, she headed for the hall she knew led to the Masters’ quarters. Each reverberating step took with it the hope that she might find someone else, someone who might know what happened.

  When she reached the Masters’ residence, her heart sunk. The door was wide open, something she had never seen in the nine years she’d been at the school. Slowly, carefully, Astrid crept inside. The sight she saw left her breathless.

  Bodies lay everywhere.

  Some were Masters, some students; all were dead. While she slept, a battle had ensued, weapons still in the hands or bodies of many of the corpses. Some of the dead she did not recognize, strange men of a foreign race. Their hair and skin were of a lighter tone than any she had seen before; more noticeably, each had a tattoo on their forehead of a red eye. Seeing the faces of the dead was unsettling enough, but the inked-on eyes stared at her with malice from the heads of their owners.

  Once again, Astrid found herself uttering a prayer.

  “Three save us.”

  While her mind reeled in the company of the silent dead, noises from the outside world began to intrude.

  Somewhere, far off, she heard a distant booming. Despite her apprehension, Astrid was drawn to the nearest window, compelled to find the source of the sound. The sight took her breath away.

  From everywhere balls of fire rained down on the school and the rest of the buildings that made up Irune, the place she called home. Her city was under attack.r />
  Astrid’s stared agog as she tried to make sense of all she saw. Someone was attacking the city; they sacked the school and killed everyone. Or at least most of them. But why? They had nothing of value here. Irune was a remote oasis surrounded by desert, built up around the House of Traylen, the school of assassins. Yet none of the students were sanctioned to kill; most had yet to take their first life. There was no strategic value; who would want the city in the first place?

  Yet someone felt her home worth taking. The view from the Masters’ window told her the battle was nearly over, the invader’s prize all but won.

  For the first time in her life, Astrid found herself without direction. Standing in the ruin of her life, she had no idea what to do or where to go. And yet this was the freedom she had always wanted, was it not?

  “But not at this price,” she answered aloud. The lack of response pulled her back to the problem at hand. She was talking to corpses; the people they’d once been could no longer help her. Astrid turned to leave, stopping just as she reached the door. Master Lysan.

  Choosing her steps with caution, she picked her way through the battlefield in the hallway, towards where she knew Lysan’s room to be. His body was not among the dead in the entry, though she knew better than to hope.

  The scene in his room proved her sadly correct.

  Master Lysan lie on the floor surrounded by no less than thirty bodies of the foreigners from outside. Covered in cuts and gashes, it seemed he bled from everywhere. He was the greatest fighter Astrid had ever known, the dead surrounding him a testament to his incomparable skill. Though tough on Astrid, he had more often been kind. He was her mentor, the broken man on the floor.

  She felt the tears burn her eyes before she realized the cause, a shaky laugh escaping from her lips. She could almost hear Lysan scold her for showing weakness in such a dire situation.

  Wiping the tears with the back of her hand, she approached her fallen teacher. He too was staring at nothingness, just like the cook. Astrid shut his eyes gently, then wiped her hand on her pants; even such a small touch left her fingers coated in the cooling red liquid. With his eyes closed, Master Lysan’s face seemed content.