Page 58 of Light Locked
A fortress of many layers towered beyond the trees, ingrown with vines and foliage. Towers climbed high into the sky and marked the four corners of the walls.
“They said this castle belonged to one of the acolytes of the Warlord of Shambelin. He was such a devoted follower that he cut the stones from robbed Veilin tombs, and made brick from dirt and Veilin blood. You can feel the doom of it, can’t you?”
Even in her current state, she could.
The fortress cast a gigantic afternoon shadow like a silent mountain in the woods. Having passed the encampments in the surrounding woods, Clea realized the castle itself was devoid of the hustle and bustle of civilians that characterized mostfortresses. The stone and brick walls and towers looked ancient, making Clea wonder if the horrid fact Myken shared with her had any truth.
He seemed to admire the question in her eyes as she surveyed the coming fortress.
A canopy of trees and vines shrouded Clea’s view as they progressed toward it. She tried to avoid thinking of any impending hints of her and Ryson’s fate.
Leave me behind.His words lingered. She still didn’t know if she had the strength to comply. Regardless, she started looking for methods of escape.
Myken continued beside her. “They call him King Kartheen, but he is King in title only. We oblige him because he puts on the most spectacular, indulgent shows. Veilin are so proud and stubborn, but somehow he makes them dance and sing for us, perform before they are sold. What dance will you dance,Princess?” He purred the words and she shuddered away but he only followed. “What song will you sing? And sing so well to earn the highest price?” He chimed playfully and she turned to reply, but he was gone in an instant.
The castle gate lowered over a moat when they arrived, thick with the scent of swamp mud. Clea ignored the stares of strangers as they approached the castle entrance. Beggars cried out beside their sick and dead near the base. Passing soldiers ignored them, eyes set on Clea as they dragged a row of dirtied, chained Kalex by her to a long line near the corner of the castle. This world was the gravest picture of the The Decline she’d witnessed yet. Virday had been hit hard by its effects, but every face she saw here was marked by sufferingor cruelty. Her fists gripped behind her as if to hold fast to the last threads of light that still dared to shine here. She focused on her mission to avoid slipping into the mire of all the brokenness around her, brokenness she could not heal.
She wasn’t saved from the sights of poverty and pestilence until she was led through the castle doors. The doors locked behind them and sealed them off from the sunlight. Five maids approached her, dressed from head to toe in maroon, with torches in hand. They grabbed her hands and led her forward, each of their bodies completely wrapped so that their small, pinched faces and black eyes were all Clea could see. Clea could only guess they were all from a specific Kalex tribe, noting their similar statures.
She scanned the doors and hallways, noting plenty of hiding places. They were all dark and not heavily guarded. Ryson said they would try and take care of her, to restore her strength. Her heart throbbed in anticipation at the realization that she could do this after all.
She’d escaped her own castle and hidden in her mother’s carriage for days. She’d escaped the castle in Virday and stolen the Deadlock Medallion from a sleeping king. For all she had to learn, she did have to credit herself for escaping castles. She’d been locked inside them long enough to know that even in the basics of their architecture, they were fortresses built to keep people out, not in.
She would escape. She would find Ryson. As payment, she’d commit him to telling her everything he knew about the forest that she had yet to learn. He had promised not to lie for what remained of his life. To date, he’d been the only one to even authentically suggest something as bold as honesty. Shewouldn’t lose that now. He couldn’t just make such a promise when she needed it most and then die or disappear.
She assigned the castle paths to memory as she walked with the women through the maze, up several floors until they came to a large, ornate room. Her presence ignited a frenzy among the Kalex maids within. Her busy mind ran in hurried circles as two women grabbed the chains that bound her and pulled Myken’s key from a pouch they had with them. Another unbraided her hair as more led her over to a chair.
She sat down stiffly as another servant wrestled her boots off. Another maid approached with scissors, grabbing her pants leg. Clea’s eyes widened with horror as she saw the scissors inch near the leg of her pants. The first cut into the fabric felt like it was sinking into her skin and her busy mind screeched to a blank. Her leg moved on impulse, thrashing with so much force that she kicked the maid back. Hands collected from all sides and Clea felt her optimism and composure evaporate. She became an animal, thrashing in panic as they cut and tore at her pants, stripping them off of her body before slicing away at her shirt and anything else beneath. The tearing of the fabric was the loudest thing in her ears, and she cried out as they removed everything, freeing her from the last of her clothes as the chair toppled. At the sight of her skin, they released her onto the cold stone floor and cleared away from her in stillness. Clea curled into a tight ball on the ground, her body shaking as she stifled panicked sobs.
Silence settled over the room, and she could feel their horror and disgust as they eyed her nakedness. When they saw her body, it existed. Clea had, at times in the past, been able to almost pretend she didn’t have one at all.
In such a fantasy, she didn’t have to suffer nakedness. She didn’t have to suffer the faded luminance of her skin, nor the rot of her spirit which wound through it. The disease was beyond physical, the blackness crawling from her core in black, sunken vines, marring the space between her breasts and snaking in poisonous, spidering lines up towards her neck, across her collarbone and around her side. It wrapped her thighs and crawled through her spine. It would seep through her body, into all her organs, destroying them, one by one. No manner of healing would help.
That’s how it had taken her siblings.
She remembered seeing the body of her brother, open for examination, his insides blackened and decayed, glistening under the torchlight of the morgue. She’d snuck in to say goodbye and had not been prepared to witness the fate that had caused him so much suffering toward the end. She had not been prepared to see her own fate, lying out on that table, one she’d see again and again until at last it came for her.
Clea hoped the maids would leave her there, that the ugliness that had cost her so much would salvage her now. It had long been her burden and her flaw, ostracizing her from the people she claimed to belong to. Now, she only wanted to be left in that isolation, but like wolves on a carcass they came for her again. Hands collected around her in a rush with abrasive brushes, sending pain like a hot rash over her skin. They paid no mind to the sensitivity of the darkness, shame following the path of their brushes, burning her skin with humiliation. She struggled and protested as another servant grabbed her face, funneling a cool liquid into her mouth as she gasped for air. The liquid tasted bitter and medicinal; Clea barely swallowed some of it before she spit the rest out. The servants tried again.Clea’s focus was scattered from one part of her body to the other, until they covered her mouth with a damp cloth and she fought back with whatever ounce of dignity they’d spare her.
One sharp breath and a sudden dizziness washed over her. Weakness sailed through Clea’s muscles, and she sank into the chair a moment before losing consciousness.
†††
Ryson scanned the throne room as the soldiers forced him onto his knees. He heard the other Venennin enter the room after him.
“How much for the girl?” Myken’s voice boomed.
Ryson’s eyes lingered on King Kartheen. The man was clothed in riches. They spilled over the armrests of a throne embedded with diamonds and rubies. His necklaces and rings were dotted with gold, and sapphires. The room spoke of grandeur, but the man himself appeared frail. His long, gray locks rested over his chest. His cheek and brow bones framed two sunken, black eyes. His hands were beastly and disfigured, scales crawling across the side of his face. His Kalex mutations had earned him names such as the Reptile King. The mutations had never been to his advantage physically, but the banner of a lizard over his throne displayed how he’d leaned into the title.
King Kartheen tapped his long nails against his armrest with impatience. The clicking sound, as subtle as it was, seemed to make Myken squirm.
“How much for the girl,” Myken repeated more softly, “Your Majesty?”
The pain in Myken’s voice made Ryson want to smirk. Venennin were powerful creatures on their own, and naturally hated bartering for anything. Every now and again, the king would purchase something that would be the envy of other traders, and it was good to stay in his good graces to win those bids.
“My servants report that she is of the Lodain royal house,” the king replied. He hid the extent of his interest, but any royalty was extremely rare. On that alone, Clea would fetch a very high price. Ryson hoped that price would secure her safety, at least from King Kartheen himself.
“Yes.” Myken confirmed with a tight nod. “We captured her on Queen Vicant’s territory, actually, but decided to bring her all the way to you.”
