By Sara Aziz
Hey readers, thanks again for visiting my blog and please enjoy Chapter 3! If you have any comments, critiques, or opinions on my writing, feel free to comment below!
_____________________________
I followed Alyona out of the room a few moments later, her steps rigid and controlled. Sariati. Sariati. I was partnered with a Sariati. I closed my eyes for a minute as I walked through the halls that seemed to grow darker with each passing moment.
No,
No,
No.
Not after what they did. Not after what they did.
They made me watch.
No,
No,
No.
“Where are we going?” I asked, needing to hear someone, to feel like I wasn’t living in this nightmare, like I was alive.
She didn’t say a word.
________________________
We wound through the many hallways, some looking as large and beautiful as a cathedral, others, like they belonged to a different building. Finally, she stopped. Her face was expressionless, but her eyes were a bit too bright and her body too straight. She looked…
Guilty.
I heard the soft tread of footsteps behind me before I felt a strong pressure on my back as I was shoved into the room and heard the door closed with a clang. I heard the soft sound of a key being locked, and I knew then I was trapped.
“Help! Someone help!” I banged on the door, my voice panicked.
I can’t be trapped.
Not again,
Not again,
Not again.
“Oh stop your hysterics,” A male voice behind me said in disgust. I stiffened, before turning and seeing…
Him.
Damien Gray.
“Why-” How dare he?
How dare he?
“Stop it. Just stop.” He looked so irritated that I shut my mouth and glared silently.
“You’re acting overly dramatic, and it’s getting on my nerves. I didn’t bring you here to kill you after all”
I felt my body begin to relax. It was instinct. I knew couldn’t trust him. He was the kind of man that gave you the scars you hide during the day and weep over at night. He was the kind of man that gave you a broken heart you can never repair. I flinched. I shouldn’t have these thoughts. I shouldn’t. Not if I was a good daughter. I won’t, won’t, won’t. He saw this and his jaw seemed to tighten. In a flash he was in front of me, gripping my chin and forcing me to look into his eyes, a beautiful gold color meeting my own dark red.
“Don’t think I say that out of conscious, Maria dear. I have no care for you or your flimsy excuse for a life. I want the same thing you want. And what I want right now, is information. Why did you kill him, really? How did you meet Raphael?”
His eyes were turning feverish, their golden hue slowly being replaced by a darker color, from sweetened honey, to the bitterness of dark chocolate. His eyes refused to part from mine, his face-
I shut my eyes refusing to have these thoughts.
No,
No,
No.
“Why did he bring you here and why do you-“
He broke off suddenly, releasing my chin and leaving the air cold where he had stood.
I opened my eyes.
Why do I what? What was he about to say? He was gripping a table in the middle of the room, and running a hand through his hair, the raven locks growing tangled and messy. His eyes were closed and his face was a marble statue. He straightened and turned back to me. His voice had lost its maniac tinge, his whole manner more composed.
I hated it.
“How did it feel? To kill? To kill for the first time, how did it feel?” His voice was quiet, his eyes gold again as they stared at my eyes unflinchingly, almost daring me to look away.
I closed my eyes again, tasting the acidic tang of my words as I replied.
“Good. Really good. Like-“
“Meeting an old friend.” His voice was strange again. His eyes were warm, like he was trying to understand me, trying too see me. Like he was trying to see a glimpse of some remnant of a soul in me.
Of course, he couldn’t. No one could. She had tried and…
“Yeah”
We stared at each other for a moment before he spoke.
“Come with me”
He couldn’t see my soul, though. I don’t say that out of sentimentality, or logic, or reason. I say that because whatever soul I had died on the blood covered streets with her, as she lay wounded and dying.
Now, there was nothing left but dust and shadows.
________________________
His grip on my hand was strong as he led me again through the winding halls.
“Небеса Ад”
His voice echoed through the empty passageways like a lions roar, loud, and unshakable.
“What?”
Compared to him, I was the mouse of the story. The quiet, agreeable mouse.
My eyes narrowed.
Over my dead body.
“Heavens Hell.” He repeated.
“That’s what we call this beautiful building of ours.” Then he turned and gave me a wry glance, almost joking. His voice was sarcastic and for a second he looked like the kind of boy you would see joking with his friends on the street. The kind of guy everyone knew and loved. The kind of person who didn’t know anything about murder, or betrayal, or torture. A guy who was human.
I stiffened. He wasn’t human.
He wasn’t.
He was a monster.
“Why must everything you have be dark, so broken?”
I knew my question was prying, that I should never question them. But right now, I didn’t care. His smile faded, and he didn’t say anything for a moment. His eyes wandered the room, not seeming to see anything.
I didn’t expect him to say anything. But when he did, his voice was the kind of quiet that told you that you should be very, very afraid.
“Because you cannot build on the living, on what is soon to be broken by the test of time, and destroyed by the embrace of death.
All that can be created is built of ash and bone”
____________________________________
We stopped in front of a room with tall mahogany doors, looming. Damien gave me a wink before he slipped in like a slithering serpent, his movements as graceful as that of a predator. He seemed to have already forgotten the hallway. I knew I should to, after all, it didn’t mean anything.
So why is that so hard?
I followed him in, the smell of blood hitting my nose like the sweet aroma of a lit candle. The ground was stained scarlet and there was a faint shimmer to it.
Blood.
I looked up slowly from the floor to see… pixies.
Everywhere. Chained to the tables, their cruel black eyes broken from pain and hopelessness, their screams echoing around the room like a beautiful symphony. I felt a hand close around mine and I looked up to see the twinkling eyes of Damien Gray. I began to smile back when I remembered her screams. What they did. I yanked my hand away and took a step back. The sparkle in his eyes died and his face became expressionless.
“Meet the pixies” He spread his arms wide, walking backwards as though to illustrate the sheer size of it all. There must have been hundreds, maybe thousands.
“They attempted a raid on our southeastern stronghold, so we captured them to show an example”
He had turned to give a mocking bow to a pixie who was taller than the rest, her eyes not yet as broken. This must be the queen. Her chains were thicker than the rest, her punishment more open, the whole room capable of seeing her, their queen being tortured by the Ten Skulls. It was all a show, wasn’t it? The Ten Skulls liked their entertainment.
I let out a hoarse laugh that quickly died at the harsh look from Damien.
An example. An example. Just like how I was an example. I felt the first pang of sympathy for these vile creatures arise. Damien walked toward me, his steps languid and easy, a smirk playing on his lips.
Just like in the throne room.
He pressed a knife to my palm as he leaned down and whispered in my ear, his lips brushing the shell.
“Let’s see what you can do.”
_______________________
I approached the pixie, her black eyes wild with fear as she thrashed against her bindings. I laid the knife against her small arm and drew it down slowly, leaving a trail of blood. She began to cry out, but I ignored her agony, pushing down harder with every pathetic scream. I felt my blood begin to heat and rush inside of me at this feeling of power. I was trapped in this sick game of lies and murder, but I was not powerless. And I felt shock race up my spine. He knew. Damien knew how this felt. Why was he letting me feel this power when, with just a word, he could have me killed in every humiliating and painful way possible? I turned and saw him watching with inscrutable eyes.
“Go on. Don’t tell me you can’t finish what you started.”
I felt a slight grin flash across my face before I stifled it. He was a monster. He was giving me a taste of power just to snatch it away, to make me as broken as these dying pixies. I had to figure out what he wanted. I won’t be a victim of them again. Not now, not ever.
I turned back to the pixie, and I leaned down to ask.
“What’s your name, little pixie?” My voice was soft.
She sniffled, “Arabella”
“Arabella,” I said tasting the name with the bitterness of salt and blood, lifting the blade and pressing it down gently. Her life was so fragile, so worthless.
“Arabella”
And I thrust the blade forward.
I stared down at her still body, my pulse roaring, adrenaline racing through my body. The sound of the screams, the thrill of the kill, however easy.
I whirled to Damien and raced across to him, throwing my arms around him in a strangling hug. He was stiff for a moment before his arms closed around me and we sat there, listening to the agony and tasting the blood, both of us comforted by the knowledge we weren’t the only monsters left.
_________________
As we walked through the silent halls, I prayed he wouldn’t mention my impulsive hug.
“Sariati, Sariati, Sariati.” I repeated to myself, like a chant, silent, but leaving a mark nonetheless.
“Why?” His voice was conversational, careless even.
“Why do you hate me?” He turned to look at me, walking backwards, his hands in his pockets, looking for all the world like he was about to waltz out that front door and go to some club for the night. Like he was about to get drunk, and gamble, and not be back till dawn, smelling of alcohol and drunk as a sailor’s son.
“I don’t” I replied automatically. He huffed a small laugh, his breath fogging in the cold air as I shivered in my thin dress.
“Yes, you do. Why?”
“Because of what they did to her.”
Stop talking, stop talking, stop talking.
“The Brother?
“No. Sariati.”
Stop, Stop, Stop.
He paused as we reached a courtyard, and he sat down on the cold marble floor. Flashing me a grin, he pulled me down to sit next to him and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. The sun was beginning to set and it looked like the sky was on fire. I remembered the last time I had sat down and watched a sunset with another person.
But she hadn’t even remembered who I was.
“Who?”
He was so comforting, so warm, and so alive. It hurt to keep it all inside. I had to tell someone, anyone.
This doesn’t mean anything.
“My mother. She was never in good health, but when she was dying of the plague, she couldn’t stand straight, her body was deteriorating and she slurred.”
He slipped a hand in mine.
“The Drunk’s Death” The pain in his voice bled through. I gripped his hand as I continued.
“Yeah. They saw her coming home from work. We didn’t know she had it then. Never really talked much.”
I curled inward, shivering at the cold and the memories. Damien unwrapped his arm from around me and was quiet. I felt a sudden warm weight around my shoulders, and I realized Damien had given me his jacket.
It doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t.
“They saw her. They asked her what she had, but she said nothing. They decided to have a little fun.” My voice caught. Damien pulled me closer as he wrapped his arm around my shoulder again. One hand began to absent-mindedly stroke the scar on my forearm. The hidden one no one was supposed to see.
“The police found her in a pool of her own blood the next morning and brought her to the hospital. She almost died that night, and she would have. She should have.” I tasted my own bitterness, my own acrid hatred.
“It would have been easier for all of us.”
He didn’t say anything. He didn’t comfort me with false promises, or ask me why. I didn’t tell him everything. I wouldn’t. I don’t know why. I don’t care. I want to be powerful again. But she made sure I could never be.
I glanced over at him and saw him watching the sunset. His face was set in stone, his raven hair blowing in the wind, and he closed his eyes, and pulled me closer.
I put my head on his shoulder as we watched the sunset together, and I felt for the first time, maybe I could forgive. Not all Sariati. Just one. But not yet. It was too soon. Not yet. But maybe.
Maybe.
_____________________________
We stopped outside the healing center. He gripped my arm. He looked like he wanted to say something, his mouth opening and closing, his eyes conflicted. Suddenly he let go and stormed away, disappearing into the winding hallways of Heaven’s Hell.
“You can’t trust him” I whispered. I can’t believe I told him. About her, about me, about anything. It didn’t mean anything. It doesn’t mean anything. It can’t. It can’t. I stared after him for a moment when a voice behind me made me jump.
“Well, Well, Well”
I whirled and saw Alyona. Her signature glare was back, but this time, she seemed to be glaring at Damien, not me. She tried to touch my arm, but I jerked away. She looked at me sharply, her voice stinging.
“You think you’re better than me now? Now that you’ve gained favor with your partner?” Her voice was scathing, and my cheeks flushed.
“What I think was that I trusted you and you were completely willing to throw me to the wolves,” I hissed.
“You’re being dramatic,” She snapped, eyes flashing.
“Am not!”
“Stop being a child!”
Her voice rang through the healing center that we had wandered into while arguing. She scrubbed her face with her hands, seeming to calm herself down. I didn’t want her calm. I wanted a fight.
I bunched my hands into fists, but when I took a step toward Alyona, she…flinched. Her face quickly became stone again, but I knew I hadn’t imagined that flash of fear, that small wince. She was surrounded by murderers, thieves, and criminals…
Had one of them hurt her?
My hands loosened and I reached for Alyona, wrapping my arms around her. I felt her tense, and I worried she was about to shove me away. Then, I felt her relax, and then she was hugging me back.
“Who?”
“My uncle.”
“Rhdoi Morozov. My parents were…” she trailed off. I knew that I shouldn’t push her, that she might not want speak. But I had to know.
I knew how much it hurt to keep it all inside.
It never means anything anyway.
“Deadbeats?” I suggested, trying to make my voice carefree. She gave a small smile.
“Well, they were that yes. But they were also druggies, junkies, and drunkies. They were everything I grew to hate.” She huffed a laugh, but there was no humor in it.
“Eventually, they found that raising a kid wasn’t really one of their life goals. So they ditched me on my uncle. The worst part is, I understood why. Everyone loved him, after all. They thought I would have a loving home. I guess it was their idea of a last goodbye.” She grew quiet for a moment.
“He wasn’t like them. He hated drugs and he never drank. He gave to charities, and visited the poor every weekend.”
“Perfect guy. But no one knew him the way I did. He was unstable. And no one knew that like I did.”
Her eyes were focused on the walls, her smile bitter like a nightshade.
“I know he loves me. But it just…isn’t enough. It wasn’t enough. When I got older, a friend of mine was stopping by when he came home. He was furious”
She paused. She was running a hand down the walls, the look in her eyes the same as the one I had when I told Damien. Neither of us knew why we spoke. But we did anyway.
“He thought we were alone. I don’t even remember what he was angry about. Maybe it was that his coffee wasn’t made right, or his employee mixed something up. I know it wasn’t worth what happened. She reported him the next morning and they took him away. He promised me he’d come back for me”
Her voice became soft, like a silken lie.
“Sometimes I have nightmares he will.”
I remember one thing my mother taught me. Always observe everyone. Make them trust you. But trust no one. Alyona’s eyes flash when she lies. I found that out when I met Aleksandr, when I saw her lie about him. About why she hated him so. But what part is a lie, and which is truth?
Suddenly, I remembered a piece of a song we used to sing for the widows of war, long, long ago, in my home country.
When I was free.
Он вернется. Каждый раз, когда он уходит, это только новое начало. Но как только он вернется, не верьте ни одному слову, ибо он лжец, лжец, лжец.
He will come back.
Each time he leaves,
is only a new beginning.
But once he returns,
trust not one word,
for he’s a liar,
liar,
liar.
When the Liar Returns [Enamani Folk Song]
___________________
She stopped again, and she seemed to be thinking about something. She reached out and gently grasped my arm, caressing the scar on the inside of my forearm. No one knew where I got it.
But I knew.
I just wished I didn’t.
“What about you?”
I stiffened. Should I tell her? Could I tell her? No, no I couldn’t. I can’t.
“No one,” I whispered.
Neither of us believed it.
_________________
“Come on” Alyona said, as she pulled away.
“Look at us, two strong women crying over things that are long gone. And we still have to get you your tattoo.”
My eyes widened as I remembered.
“Who’s going to do it?”
She burst out laughing, chasing away the last of the tears from her deep brown eyes.
“Aleksandr, of course.”
Oh hell.
_____________
Alyona opened the door to the brightly lit room, her face apologetic. I stepped in, the door closing with a soft click, me wishing it would stay open. Aleksandr’s back was turned to me, and he seemed to be polishing off his needle. I sucked in a breath and walked over to sit in the chair.
“He-Hello.”
He didn’t respond. I squirmed in the silence he had built between us.
“We-we haven’t been properly introduced, right? I’m Annamaria, but everyone calls me Maria, and wow, this room is pretty bright, isn’t it?” I knew I was babbling, and I knew I should stop. I saw his shoulders tense.
“I wonder if its always like this, or is it just me? What are you doing with that needle? I don’t really know a lot about getting a tattoo but I-“
“Shut! Up!” He turned to me and his eyes were dark.
“Must you speak to fill every silence? Silence is not the enemy, and you are no more than a murderer. I only do this as I was ordered to.”
He turned back around again, seemingly convinced this would frighten me into silence, that his impulsivity would somehow silence me.
I stiffened. How dare he? All here were killers, thieves, and liars. Yet he had the audacity to tell me that I was nothing more than what we all were. Everyone has killed something. The light in someone’s eyes, the hope in someone’s heart. He knew nothing.
The room was silent as he finished polishing the needle, then, turning to me, he ordered.
“Turn on your back” His voice was rough, his hands curled into fists, his hatred palpable.
“Why not on my wrist?”
“You think you are worthy?” He gave me a disgusted glare.
“Only those who have proven their worth deserve the mark on their wrist, the spiritual home of Jirsn”
I gave him a glare I thought was worthy of Alyona and turned on my back, unlacing it for the tattoo. I hated their Jirsn, their spirit of destruction. They worshipped pain and revered hate, these disgusting jeternins. I felt his hand begin to trace the design on my back before it was replaced by a stencil he carefully traced. His hands were soft on my back, their texture rough and scarred. I tried to remain still as he sketched, until I felt something sharp pressed to my skin. I gasped, and I felt his hands flinch. He growled,
“I can’t work if you refuse to stay still.”
“Well, then how about a warning, Sranil ?”
I knew I shouldn’t have.
The name was cruel and perhaps uncalled for. But from the way he was treating me, I felt justified in calling this man “spawn of a dog.” His hands dug into my skin.
“Don’t. Call. Me. That.” He bit out the words, each one angrier than the last.
I didn’t say a word, and I felt the needle press again into my skin again as he turned it on. I felt tears spring in my eyes as the needle kept going and going and going. I buried my face in my arms, stifling sobs and stilling my shaking shoulders as he continued. And after what felt like hours, days even, I felt him stop. Brushing a hand against my skin, I felt him wrap up my back. I knew he was only trying to avoid getting me infected, and that he hated me, but his hands were so soft, it was hard to remember. Those soft hands made me think of that little boy I had seen in his eyes, the one he hid so well. What had happened to him? He drew his hands away quickly when I breathed a sigh and tied off the bandage
“Done.” His voice was cold, and I felt him turn away. I looked up and saw his back to me again like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t been the one to carve a mark on my skin, one that I would always have. Like all the scars I carried, he had just given another. But this one, I saw in the mirror, was made in the design of a skull, dripping venom, with a snake curling through. My blood chilled.
I knew what the snake meant.
He had just give me the label of a thief.
A stealer, of lives.
Lacing up the back of my gown again, I slipped on my shoes and walked away from the stifling silence, from the disapproving hatred, and away from Aleksandr Volkov.
_______________
Alyona gave me a concerned glance as we made our way back to the healing center, but she stopped short right before the doors. They were wide open and a white-haired man was sitting inside, examining the room with critical blue eyes.
“Raphael” Her voice was stiff, like a marionette doll. She bowed shallowly, her eyes frozen. She gave me a quick hug before rushing out, like the hounds of hell were chasing at her heels. My eyes trailed after her as I wondered. The still silence was broken by the harsh tones of Raphael’s bark of,
“Where?”
I knew what he was asking.
“My back.”
I wished I didn’t know what had happened between us, destroying that familiarity, that fragile peace. But I knew. He stood up, an engraved cane in hand. I knew he didn’t need it. His eyes bore into me, questioning.
“Aleksandr, wasn’t it?”
It wasn’t a question.
“How did you know?”
He huffed a chuckle.
“Only Aleksandr would tattoo a wounded girl’s back.”
My lips thinned and I took a closer look at Raphael. He was trying to bait me. But I don’t care about Aleksandr. All I care about right now is Raphael. He had bags under his eyes, and his skin was paler.
“What are they doing to you?”
He wasn’t okay. Something was wrong.
“There are things you don’t know about, Maria.” His voice was now harsh.
Fine.
If he didn’t care, neither did I.
“Why are you here?”
“I wanted to know what happened. I like to see the endings of my stories”
I stiffened. Was that all I was? An ending to an old man’s games? Like a puppet on a string.
That’s not true. It can’t be, not after what happened. I know it isn’t true, but I need to breathe, need to think.
Turning on my heel, I stormed out of the room to the sound of Raphael’s raspy laugh behind me, echoing in the darkness that would soon vanish into the blinding light of the sun.
______________________
The hallways seemed to go on forever, and each time I passed a closed door, there would be two men stationed outside seeing me, observing me, judging me. I couldn’t breathe, everything was caving in on itself, my life collapsing like a house of cards.
I felt like I was being suffocated, and all the walls were closing in on me. I ran for the door, the one I had in walked through, and the one I wished I could escape through. Away from the lies. Away from the pain. Away from everyone. The doors banged open, and when the cold night air hit me, I felt like I could breathe again. Where were they now?
I need to leave. I know I need to. But I can’t. The thought of never seeing Alyona again, of never seeing Raphael again, tore a hole in me almost as deep as the one she had left.
I fell onto the ground, and I clutched my face, gasping like I had just run a mile. I heard faint voices before an arm wrapped around me. I didn’t know who it was, but I let them stay. I felt another arm wrap around me, feminine and soft. That was when I realized who they were. And I leaned into the only people here who had tried to be kind to me, even if only for a moment, as I breathed and gasped, and shook. I didn’t want to cry, not in front of them. But Damien and Alyona held me through it all, their arms steady and strong, and perfect.
And I felt myself break apart in their arms and come together as I cried, not tears of sadness, or pain, or hate. Just tears that somehow broke me, and healed me, as I sobbed in their arms. Not happy tears. Not sad. Just…Relieved. Relieved that I will survive, that I know I will not shatter. Relief that I know I will not only survive, I will live. I will fight with every last breath, with blade and bone, with blood and steel.
I’m not broken. They will never break me.
Never,
Never,
Never.
________________________
Hey readers, I hope you enjoyed “Chapter III-Faith, Trust, and Pixie Blood”, and I get ready for Chapter 4 on May 16th! Please like and subscribe!
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