Pulse: Book One of the Zoya Chronicles

by Kate Sander

  The guards were within four feet of her when one soldier accidentally trod on the foot of his companion.

  A quick look down with the break in concentration and small stumble was all it took.

  The prisoner exploded upward, kicking out to the base of the guard’s wrist when he glanced down. The baton flew in the air. Another quick kick in the chest sent the guard into the wall. Ducking, she narrowly avoided another guard swinging with the baton. He hit the man next to him with the electrified end and his teammate went down in a fit of convulsions. The prisoner grabbed the falling baton and, in a graceful spin, blocked the swing of another guard then smashed him in the face with her elbow.

  Speechless, Armend watched this precise display of violence. There was a macabre beauty in the cruelty. A twisted dance of death. The prisoner moved and spun so fast he could hardly see her, just the flowing white robe moving through the air. The only way to truly follow her was with the destruction of the guards. Yells, screams, groans, cracks and bloodshed. The guards did their best, Armend gave them that, but none was left unscathed.

  Prisoner 613 blocked and struck, ducked and weaved, kicked and rolled. Intelligence sighed and powered up a Pulse baton of her own. Three guards were down in a heap and the two remaining were on the defensive. With a few ducks and a sidestep, Intelligence calmly shoved the Pulse baton to the base of the prisoner’s skull. The prisoner convulsed, her eyes rolled into the back of her head, and she fell heavily to the floor.

  Intelligence looked down at the three unconscious guards in disgust. Looking up at the two remaining men, bleeding but still standing, she napped, “That was pathetic. Take her to 7X. And send someone to clean these guys up. They will be on lavatory duty for a week. Fitting as it smells like one of them shit themselves.” Turning on her heel, she strode past Armend. “Are you coming, Peace?” she yelled over her shoulder. Still shocked by the wreckage one woman could cause, it took Armend a second to drag his eyes away from the cell.

  Rushing to catch up with Intelligence, he wheezed a little from the effort and found that the leather gloves and baton had disappeared back inside her robes.

  “I didn’t know you could use that,” he said, cursing himself silently as he puffed.

  “I was an Exalted,” she said with a sideways glance, “And you knew that. The Exalted are your pet project. You approve all the men who go for training.”

  Armend gave a noncommittal shrug. Of course he’d known. Armend knew everything about the Exalted. Intelligence was from a high-born family and had excelled in early training. A rarely seen and innate talent had emerged when she had taken her initial trials, leading her to the top of the class in her Exalted training. Zero empathy and an affinity for causing pain. Armend had been approached about her long before she knew him. It was he who put her name up for the new Head of Intelligence to the King, when the other had jumped off the wall into the river to his death. Intelligence was a dangerous business.

  She stopped at another unmarked door and led him inside, “Welcome to where we will be working this afternoon,” she said with a flourish.

  It was a perfect balance of wonderful and terrible. A lot of money, time and effort had been put into this room. The centerpiece was a chair that had straps for the arms, legs and head was equipped with a lever that would lower and raise the chair to various positions. The prisoner could be standing upright, seated, lying down, or anything in between. A trough of water stood stagnant and stinking in the back of the room. Various channels were cut into the floor, funneling fluids into a hole in the back corner. Shelves of tools lined the room, all placed perfectly in exact positions. Armend couldn’t hide his amazement as he walked around the room, marveling at the beauty..

  “I thought you tortured most in their room,” he said casually, trying desperately to hide his excitement.

  Intelligence sat in a padded chair, her feet on a small desk in the corner and clearly at home in this space. “Usually,” she said, “but this prisoner has fight in her. You saw her in her cell. None of this could have been made possible without her,” she gestured around the room. “I have always been able to crack people within two sessions. They tell me exactly what I want to hear. This one… she’s different. I have had her for two years, and she has never given me anything.” She shrugged. “Lots of new methods have been developed, specifically for her. We once kept her awake for and standing for a week. I had her standing in a corner of her cell, her hands bound, with four guards around her with Pulse batons. If she started to fall asleep, they shocked her. For a whole week they watched her, and for a week she just… stared back. She probably could have killed them all, even with her hands bound, but she just stared. Amazing.”

  Armend kept his worry to himself. Intelligence idolized this prisoner. She spoke of her with a reverence. Armend really didn’t blame her, the prisoner was incredible, but he had best keep a watch on this relationship.

  Armend had seen Intelligence work before, and he knew he would not be able to last more than four hours with her. She could hunt into the corners of a soul and find the deep dark secrets hidden within. And she did it with her easy humor and a smile. Deciding to change the subject, he said, “What do you think of the King’s attitude?” He picked up a tool for a better look, “That peace should be obtained with negotiations.”

  She stared at him for a long time. “I believe,” she said carefully, standing to join him, “that action is required for a reaction. I believe that some actions will lead to peace, but it must be a large action for such a reaction. It’s much like torture,” she picked the device up from Armend’s hands, “if I want something, a reaction, I must apply the proper action. Too much, and the prisoner shuts down, sometimes permanently,” she replaced the tool to its proper place. “Too little, and the prisoner has the upper hand. They can be dishonest or just choose not answer. But without any action at all, nothing can come from it.”

  Armend smiled. With Intelligence on his side, Justice would follow, giving him two ally’s on the council. “So,” he said carefully, “if someone were to propose an action?”

  “I would approve, as no action is the worst of all.”

  The door burst open and two guards dragged the still unconscious prisoner into the room. Her chin rolled on her chest as she was dragged suspended between them by her arms. Two other guards followed, batons at the ready.

  “Excellent!” Intelligence cried, “Now attach her to the chair. Properly this time. I want two on the door. The other two will be in here with me. I may need help and Peace does not like to get his hands dirty.” The guards nodded and strapped the prisoner into the chair, two remained standing at attention beside the desk, and the other two slipped silently out of the room.

  “Now,” she said with a grin, her eyes lighting up, “Let’s wake this bitch up!” And winding up, she slapped the prisoner hard in the face. The prisoner snapped awake, eyes open and furious. Her cheek burned red from the stinging blow. “Ah,” said Intelligence looking at her, “You were only pretending? Why then would you allow me to strap you to the chair?”

  The prisoner stared. Armend watched with curiosity. Intelligence looked at her and smiled, then reefed on all the straps. They each tightened about an inch. “Well done!” Intelligence cried, and turning to Armend, said, “See? I told you she was amazing. She tightened the muscles in her body when they were strapping her down, giving her an inch to move in each limb. She would have been out in about ten minutes.”

  The prisoner glanced at Armend, just noticing his presence. Armend stared back. Something flashed in her eyes, different then the burning hate. Intelligence noticed it too. “Is that fear I detect?” The prisoner quickly averted her eyes and stared at her feet, but Intelligence wasn’t fooled. “You mean to tell me,” she said, crouching so she was eye level and pulling the prisoner’s head up by the hair, “That of everything I’ve done to you, you’re scared of a sixty year old man in a silk robe?”

  Intelligence turned slowly to look at A
rmend, her expression curious, “I don’t know if I should be offended or not. Peace, dear, you have one black soul if this bitch is scared of you.” She turned back to the prisoner. “I have decided I will be offended. You don’t show me any respect.”

  Intelligence stood and looked at a guard, “Bring a map out, keep it eye level. Peace, make sure you’re always in her vision. I have a feeling we might get somewhere today.” The guard opened a drawer and pulled out a map of Langundo. He stood behind Intelligence and Armend and held it open. Intelligence walked to the shelves and picked up small, foreign pieces of wood.

  “Bamboo pieces under the nails are often a good starting point. We haven’t done this in a while, have we 613?” Intelligence shoved a piece under the middle finger on her right hand. 613 didn’t even flinch. Blood welled under the nail and dripped slowly to the floor. Excitement built in Armend’s chest and his pulse quickened in his neck. Now is not the time, he scolded himself. This was business, not pleasure, and he needed to act as such.

  Intelligence added five more pieces of bamboo, three on the right hand and two on the left. 613 didn’t move. “Now that we have gotten started,” she said, “I know you won’t speak to me, but I want you to look at the map. Look and stare at the main camp. The one you were protecting when you killed all those innocent people.” 613 stared straight ahead. Intelligence leaned down and snapped 613’s finger, just below the first knuckle. 613 flinched at the crack of bone, but continued to stare straight ahead.

  Intelligence laughed a giddily, “Good! I don’t want this to end too soon. Peace is enjoying it!” Armend blushed. “It’s fine,” Intelligence said to him, “Your secret is safe with me. I would’ve judged you if you didn’t. Now, bitch, give me the location.” When 613 yawned, Intelligence slapped her across the face and said, “Fine, we’ll try something new. Justice learned it in Carabesh and I’ve been dying to try it on someone. Lean her back, and Peace do be a dear and grab a pail of that water and a rag. You can help.”

  Stepping away to light some tobacco and calm herself, she watched them set up. The remaining guard pulled the levers to lie 613 down. Intelligence lit the cigarette and took a long drag. Armend took a pail of water from the tank in the back and grabbed a towel from a rack. Intelligence nodded and said, “Take the rag and drape it across her face, and hold each side tight.” Armend obliged and she turned to the guard and said, “Now you. Take this pail of water and pour it slowly onto the rag over her mouth and nose. The pail needs to last a minute.”

  The guard nodded and started to pour as Armend pulled the wet rag tight over the prisoner’s gaunt face. As 613 struggled and gasped, comprehension dawned on Armend. 613 would feel like she was drowning. The rag and water stopped her from breathing. Armend looked at Intelligence with awe. Intelligence nodded and smiled. 613 continued to thrash against the restraints, her arms and legs tight. When the water stopped pouring, Intelligence waited until her limbs started twitching weakly, then nodded to Armend and he removed the wet rag. 613 spat up water and gasped desperately for air.

  “Now,” Intelligence said, extinguishing her cigarette against 613’s forearm. 613 tried to jerk her arm away and looked around wildly, “If you don’t want that to happen again, show me where the camp is.” 613 closed her eyes and shook her head. “Fine then, your call.”

  By the fourth session of waterboarding the prisoner had started to figure it out. She no longer panicked, and held her breath while the water was being poured. Even when Intelligence had the guard pour the water over two minutes and helped Armend pull the rag tighter over her face, 613 did not reveal the camp location. Intelligence lit another cigarette and passed one to Armend, who happily obliged.

  Intelligence tsked, pulled the lever and stood the prisoner up. “Well,” she said, “I suppose it’s back to the usual methods.”

  Intelligence cut, stabbed, burned and hit. Armend was terribly excited, but he had to keep reminding himself that this was a business trip. After three hours, 613 hadn’t given anything up. She had burns, cuts and bruises everywhere.

  Intelligence cried out in anger and, in her frustration, cut 613 across the face, brow to chin. The prisoner sank in the chair, barely keeping consciousness. The wound was deep and bleeding freely. A cut like that could kill the prisoner, especially one who had been here for an extended period. Intelligence realized this as well, and in the final act of the day, cauterized the wound with a red hot iron. This was all the body of 613 could handle, and she went limp in the chair, unconscious.

  Intelligence stepped back, took a rag from a guard and wiped her hands. She glistened with sweat and her hair stuck out at odd angles. “Clean her up. Make sure everything gets removed that’s still in her. Bind her wounds, put some herbs on them. If she dies tonight, both of you will be busted down to join the ten year old Sun Gods in their training. Got it?” The guards nodded and got to work. Intelligence looked at Armend and beckoned. Outside the door she said to the two guards, “Fix up that room. I expect it to be scrubbed clean and ready to go for tomorrow.” They nodded and entered the room.

  Intelligence strode away and Armend followed. No words were said as they meandered back to her office. Frustrated, Intelligence kicked the door open and heaved herself into her chair. “I need to go find Justice. Stress release.”

  Armend gaped. “So you are fucking him?”

  “Of course I’m fucking him. Why do you think old Goods had to die? Now you know my secret, and I know yours.” Armend stared at her. After a short pause, she continued. “Peace, give me some credit. I deal with information, and you didn’t have to say anything back there for me to figure it out. Now we have trust, and we both have something to lose.”

  Armend nodded, “I understand.”

  “Good,” she said as she stood up and lead him to the door, “I’m with you for action. I only have one price.”

  “And that is?”

  “When all this is said and done, if the opportunity arises, I get to kill my sister.” She strode out of the office, hips swaying as she walked. “Show yourself out, I’m busy.”

  5

  Armend

  Armend arrived alone at the King’s and Queen’s quarters exactly at seven o’clock in the evening. Sebastian had the night off and his dear wife had taken ill.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  Armend waited patiently, standing with his hands behind his back and whistling. A servant boy answered the door, “Ah Mr. Peace, sir. They are expecting you. Let me take you into the guest room.” The boy gestured, and Armend allowed him to lead the way.

  Armend often dined in the guest hall with the King and Queen. It was more informal, and as Armend was pretty much a part of the family, it was used often.

  The Queen was reading a book in a chair, and the King was draped across a nearby couch staring at a fire in the hearth, their hands lightly touching. The King and Queen rarely displayed intimacy in public. Their daring thought of peace was being poorly received and they had decided to be ruthless to each other in public. In private they were very much in love.

  The Queen looked up from her book and, smiling, rose to greet him. Armend hugged her and gave her a light kiss on both cheeks. The King rose as well and wrapped him in a bear hug.

  “Thank you for coming, Uncle,” Sol XVIII said. Armend patted him on the back awkwardly. “Come in, come in. Be welcome. I’ll have them bring you some food. We are having lamb today, if you approve.”

  “Of course I approve! You always know my favorite.” Armend sat with the King and Queen. “How are your sons, Lady?”

  “Sol is doing wonderfully in Carabesh,” she replied, replacing her book on the shelf. “I believe he has met a woman. He will be returning after this mess with the Melanthios is sorted out and I believe we will be having a wedding.”

  Sol laughed, “My wife is often exaggerating. He makes no reference in his letters that he as met A woman. He merely states that he has met women.”

  “Ah well,” said Armend, picking up some wine
that a servant brought him, “A woman or women will make him happy. Or miserable. Or both. As a woman or women often do.”

  The men laughed and Anita scowled, “Don’t encourage my husband, dear Armend. He has enough of these thoughts on his own. And I understand my eldest is only fourteen, but he mentions a certain woman more than the rest.”

  Sol looked her deeply in the eyes and kissed her hand, “Titus is also doing well in the Sun Gods.” Sol said as the Queen rolled her eyes, “Not top of his class as he had hoped, but near the top. He passed his rookie trials last year. He didn’t say where his training was going to take him but we think he is enjoying it.”

  “I blame you for not knowing where my son is,” the Queen said pointedly to Armend.

  Armend shrugged and drank some wine, “It was decreed by Queen Sol V that one child from every family must enter the Sun Gods at ten and attempt the trials at sixteen. This wasn’t my doing. And I believe the Head of Peace who served Sol IX put into place that the stations and training locations should be kept secret from the families. I am just continuing the proud tradition.”

  “You have no idea who put these traditions into place,” the Queen said, “It was all in the Dark Ages before the written word. Where war and darkness prevailed. We don’t even know if my husband is Sol XVIII. He could be the thirty-seventh for all we know.”

  Armend shrugged, “You’ve got me there, my Lady. I am just going off of what the late and great Sol XVII told me.”

  “Tell me again how you met him,” the Queen said, sipping on a glass of ale, “I always love this story. It may help me forgive you for not knowing where my son is.”