Escape and Capture
She leaned in to him and gently laid her lips to his cheek, kissing him softly. When she started to pull away, he held her hands tightly. Their eyes met and for a second, she was inexplicably terrified.
“No, don’t be scared,” he whispered and then kissed her hard. His mouth was warm on hers; she could feel the heat. For the first time in a decade, she could feel it. She melted against him.
A flash of steel in the lower periphery of her vision, and then a sharp, glassy pain as his blade slipped under her ribs. He held her as she slid to the floor, cradling her all the way down. His breath was hot against her cheek, and she could feel that too.
“Selena…”
His hand holding the blade twisted, came free, and then plunged in again and again…
Selena woke from her doze with a start. The ship had lulled her into a shallow sleep but her bonds sent slivers of pain down her arms and shoulders. She was on her knees, her hands tied behind her to some post or beam. The dream made her gasp through her nose as the gag was still tied tightly around her mouth. It tasted foul and dry. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had water.
She raised her head slowly, wincing at the stiffness in her neck. The hold was dim with only slants of light finding their way in between the planks of the deckhead. He was across from her, watching her. He wasn’t gagged and when he moved to speak, she shook her head at him.
The time for him to speak to her was long past.
Selena squeezed her eyes shut to the pain that gripped her heart in a merciless vise. She looked instead to Accora. The old woman had spent most of their voyage—nearly two days, Selena guessed—staring vacantly at nothing. Lost. But now she was working her jaw side to side, over and over. The gag had loosened and that had given the old woman new fire. Selena’s own bonds were tight and unrelenting. She dozed again.
She dreamt of another kiss. It was exquisite in every way and then Julian’s hands closed around her throat and began to squeeze….
She woke with a start, her chest hitching. Julian’s face was a mask of anguish as he watched her.
His name is not Julian. She looked away.
The sunlight that found its way into the hold was grayish and dull now, and she imagined a sky of clouds. The air smelled thick, as of rain, but Selena couldn’t be sure. The hold was full of foodstuffs that scented the air: sacks of dried beans, barley, cured pork. After the first day, her stomach had complained for smelling what she could not eat, but now her thirst commanded attention. Only twice had Jude Gracus come down to allow them to relieve themselves, but never to offer food and only enough water to drink to keep them alive. She taunted Selena. The Bazira woman caressed Julian’s face that was ashen gray and ran her fingers over the burnt skin of his neck as if he weren’t injured. All the while calling him ‘Sebastian’ with a triumphant pleasure, as if she had created him herself.
My name is Sebastian Vaas. I was hired by the Bazira to kill you.
Selena hadn’t believed it. Julian’s pledge to serve her and die for her had been too real, too full of desperate sincerity. Their lovemaking had been too perfect; his eyes had regarded her with a depth of feeling that was impossible to counterfeit. Or so she’d thought.
They hadn’t gagged Julian. When Jude was gone, he was free to tell her that it was all a lie. But he did not. Selena had stared at him, beseeching with her eyes, waiting for him to recant. His answer was in his silence, and did not look away or bow his head in shame. He met her stupefied gaze unflinching, as if her horror were a punishment to be borne. And when he’d had enough, he whispered only, “I never could. Never.”
Selena was glad for her gag then. His name is Sebastian. Your Julian is gone, she thought. Then, I must not weep or I will never stop.
Accora was making muffled grunting sounds. Selena turned her head in time to see the old woman had finally worked the gag down to her chin. She inhaled several times and then smiled in tired triumph. She worked her hands back and forth behind her, muttering the Bazira sacred word to freeze the ropes that bound her.
“You must not despair,” she told Selena. “I thought we were done but no…These Bazira, they are stupid with arrogance. They underestimate us. We will—Don’t look at him!” she hissed when Selena’s gaze drifted to Sebastian. “Waste not one more thought on that betrayer.”
Not betrayer, Selena thought. Trickster. Trickster and Supplicant, both, just as An-Lan said. She was right about all of it. And who shall be the Sacrifice? She offered a silent prayer to the god that Ilior remain safe on Isle Saliz. But was her god listening anymore? Shaizan, the Ho Sun god told her the truth. The Shining face was silent.
“He is what I knew he was,” Accora was saying, “a danger.”
“And what are you?” Sebastian asked. He sounded weak. “You set Selena on Bacchus as much as the Alliance did. And for what? What do you get when she fights him?”
Accora ignored him but whispered her sacred word again, and worried her wrists behind her back. “Healing,” she told Selena. “You stormed away from me like a child throwing a tantrum, and so never learned the final lesson. It’s your healing. It is what stands between you and Bacchus’s deadly visions.”
The woman’s urgent, hopeful tone sounded ridiculous in Selena’s ears. She felt helpless, her prayers silenced, her sword stolen, and her hope and love stripped away until she was left raw and broken. The Shining face had forsaken her. It was as plain as the hole in her chest.
Or is this the punishment for breaking the edict? I slept with a man who is not Aluren? Is the Shining face so wrathful…?
“No!” Accora seethed. “Do not give up! I can read your eyes that your will is dying. It’s not over yet. We are not done.” And as if to emphasize her words, the rope that had bound her wrist cracked and shattered, frozen by her ice. She smiled triumphantly, holding up her bloodied wrists, scratched raw. “You see?”
She crawled across the hold; her gray robes now torn and grimy. “We will yet prevail.” Accora loosened Selena’s gag. Selena worked it down to her chin and sucked in deep drafts of air.
“How?” she croaked. “How will healing block Bacchus’s visions?”
Accora tugged on Selena’s ropes. “I’m too weak,” she muttered. “They don’t feed an old woman? Krystak.” Selena winced as ice lanced over her wrists. “Draw it in,” Accora said, “hold it, and when the terrors come at you, use the magic to undo them.”
“But how?” Selena asked. “I can channel the magic to a wound. How can I channel it to something that only exists in my mind?”
Accora took Selena’s chin in her hands, hands that felt dry like old paper. “You are stronger than you believe. Stronger, surely, than the Alliance or Skye or your precious Ilior know. That is why they fear you. That is why the first two sent you to die, and the third seeks to keep you from knowing your true self.”
A thumping came from overheard and both women jumped. “They’re loose,” she whispered, and Selena could feel a little bit of give in the ropes on her wrists. Accora replaced Selena’s gag, also looser now. She patted her cheek. “We’re not done yet.”
Sebastian snorted. “We.”
“Yes,” Accora hissed. “The we of she and I. You? You’re dead, Sebastian Vaas. I can smell it on you already.” She quickly returned to her place, adjusted her gag, and clasped her hands behind her back.
Jude Gracus slipped into the hold and surveyed her captives. “We’ve arrived.” She turned her dark-eyed gaze on Selena, and said with a mocking smile, “Welcome back.”
The sun was setting as Jude took them in a skiff from the Bazira ship to the tiny little island where Bacchus lived. Four men rowed, four others sat with hands on the hilts of their curved blades, eyeing the prisoners who sat huddled in the middle. Selena watched the island draw near. She had never been this close. During the war, she’d been leagues away, safe on a ship while her spell destroyed the Zak’reth and the villagers alike.
Isle Calinda.
Then we came at it from the southeast, Selena thought trying to keep her thoughts occupied. Her heart was racing. Judging from the setting sun, we’re now sailing from the northwest. We are coming to dock on the other side of the island from where I…From where I…
Her thoughts tapered off to nothing. It was useless to keep the horror at bay when the water was littered with bodies.
Hundreds upon hundreds of bodies.
Men and women, human and merkind; the waters off the shores of Isle Calinda were a floating graveyard. Glazed-eyed corpses, their mouths agape, bobbed and bumped into the skiff. Their skin was a ghastly yellow-gray, their eyes milky and staring. Dead merkind floated past, leaving trails of scales, like little flecks of copper or ash, behind them. By the looks of their clothing, the humans were pirates and peasants alike, most of the Farendii. Selena saw a woman bob off the starboard, her tattered apron billowing around her. But every dead body shared the same sickly appearance, as if they had been hollowed out by some unknown force and then filled to bursting with the pus and ichor of rot. The stench was overpowering.
This is the power of the darkpool, Selena thought, which was quickly followed by another: Accora said a darkpool forms where there has been terrible pain and death. I made this, then. Ten years ago.
She looked to Accora and the old woman’s optimism in the ship’s hold had been muted by the bobbing corpses that surrounded them.
“What you are seeing,” Jude told her prisoners from the prow of the boat, like a tour guide, “is the might of our great Reverent. These,” she waved her hand to indicate the dead, “are his experiments. They did not displease him. Their greatest crime was that they outlived their usefulness to him. Accora can tell you what he does when you displease Bacchus.”
Accora turned away and watched the dead float by.
Jude cocked her head, a thought occurring to her. “Is that what you’re up to? Revenge? Is that why an old Bazira has allied herself with a young Aluren? You need Selena’s light magic and quick sword to kill our mighty priest?” She laughed, full and throaty, and looked to Selena. “And what did she promise you, Paladin? We know your Alliance gave you two targets and yet Accora still lives. Is that out for the mercy of your shining little heart, or is it something else? What has Accora bartered her life for? What could she possibly have promised you?”
Jude didn’t wait for an answer but turned next to Sebastian who sat with his head bowed.
“And here you keep company with Lunos’ most notorious assassin. What, did you fuck him? Yes? Of course you did, never knowing that the handsome rogue you spread your legs for was sent to kill you. He spared you because he’s rife with frailty, but he took the job, didn’t he?” She laughed again. “Ah, sweeting. You’ve surrounded yourself with liars and betrayers. Meeting Bacchus will be something of a relief, I think. He will make it very clear what he wants from you. You won’t like it, I promise, but at least it will be an honest pain.” She settled herself in the prow. “Take comfort in that, if you can.”
Twilight came on, its gold and purple hues muted by fat storm clouds that rolled in from the east. They passed three other hulking ships, all unmanned and at anchor. The ships were big but not so large as the frigate; four-masted barques with black hulls and black sails.
Three ships that size could hold fifty men or more, Selena thought, and shivered. This mission was hopeless from the start.
The skiff ran aground at dusk. The party came ashore hurriedly, none wanting to touch the befouled water that surrounded Isle Calinda. The prisoners marched across the grainy sand beach that was dotted with stands of dried grass, and into the forest of birch trees that made up most of the island’s interior.
Selena trudged behind Sebastian. Now that they were out of the dark hold, she could see how badly he was injured. Blood caked his neck and his thick black hair was matted at the back of his head. A burn on his left shoulder had eaten away at part of black long coat. The skin beneath looked angry and red. But it was the head wound that worried Selena. Where he’d once been graceful he now stumbled every third step and she heard him mutter to himself.
The Trickster. Sent to kill me. He was there to kill me.
She kept her gaze on the ground from then on, as the night’s shadows grew thicker all around them.
After an hour that seemed like a week to Selena’s weakened body, they came upon a camp in the woods. She felt another shroud of despair fall over her. Dozens of campfires kept the darkness at bay and she could see men—perhaps one hundred and fifty or so—milling about. Most were pirates but enough wore the Bazira red and black for her to feel defeat was a certainty rather than a possibility. Tents were erected between the trees, some large, some no more than lean-tos. Jude marched the prisoners into the thick of the camp, to the largest tent. Men watched them pass; their eyes glinted in the firelight as did the curved blades at their waists. Selena shivered.
“Here,” Jude said, and the three were forced to the ground around a fire that was fueled by broken branches and smaller kindling from the forest around them. The leaves smelled pungent as they burned but the smell of rabbits, roasting on two spits, overpowered all. A tall tree marked the edge of the clearing on one side, the tent on the other. Two large men in black—both meaty and thick—rose from turning the rabbits on spits when they saw Jude, and gave her brief bows of deference.
“My lady,” said one. “The Shadow face Heard you and granted you much success,” said one, his eyes raking over Selena. The other cut meat off the rabbits—a meal likely intended for themselves—and gave them to her on a tin plate.
“News from the temple?” Jude asked, biting into the juicy flesh. Selena’s empty stomach clenched at the sight.
“None, lady.” The Bazira wore a trim beard that was too thin for his wide face. “Reverent Bacchus waits for you patiently.”
Jude took a long pull from her water skin. “Reverent Bacchus has no patience,” she said. “He gave me a week to retrieve the Aluren bitch and I did it in four days.” Her imperious gaze swept over Sebastian and Accora. “And I bring him our wayward assassin and our insubordinate Reverent, as well.”
“He will reward you well,” said the other man. Tall and pale, the bulk of strong muscles strained under his black overtunic.
“He’ll let me live.” Jude finished her meal and tossed the plate to the ground. “The Aluren’s friends might follow. From Isle Saliz. Send word to the outposts; the northwest post first. If there is so much as a shadow on any horizon, I want to know of it.” She stretched like a cat and yawned. “I’m weary. I believe I shall retire.”
The pale man nodded. “And them? Food or drink?”
“No,” Jude said. “Better to keep them weak until Reverent Bacchus determines how to make use of them.” She knelt between Accora and Sebastian. “We have a long walk tomorrow. Best if you get some rest.” She pivoted to Selena. “Unfortunately, the trek will be harder on you, sweeting, as I doubt very much Menak and Devon, here, will allow you much sleep.”
Fear clenched an icy fist around Selena and shook her hard. The two men’s faces alit in surprised pleasure at Jude’s words.
“What? No. Why?” Sebastian’s face had drained of color and he struggled to sound challenging. “Doesn’t Bacchus want her whole? Is he afraid to face her when she’s strong and…and…”
Jude caressed his cheek. “Aren’t you a sweet one? So considerate.” Her caress turned into a slap. “And so much weaker than High Vicar Zolin ever imagined. Bacchus will remind you that you cannot alter your true nature; changing it from day to day as if it were a costume. Your heart-wrenching performance as the concerned lover is embarrassing, Sebastian, to all that you truly are. As for her,” she nodded at Selena, “Bacchus only wants her alive. He cares not how used she is when she falls at his feet.”
Selena tried to swallow the jagged lump of dread that rose in her throat but she was too parched. And weak. I’m too weak to fight. She struggled at the ropes on her wrist. Accora had loosened them but only enough so that she could feel her hands again. She could not break free. She watched, blood thundering in her ears, as Jude rose to her feet to depart.
“A good night to you, men,” she told her Bazira. “Heed my words well: she must live or Bacchus will flay the flesh off your bones and feed it to his pet merkind. And then he will make you suffer.”
“Yes, lady,” the bearded man said behind an eager grin.
Jude turned to go and then stopped. “Oh, but I would request that you take your pleasure here.” Her smile was like Svoz’s before a kill. “Sebastian wants to watch.”
“No,” Sebastian breathed. “No, no, no…”
Selena’s heart raced in her chest until she nearly dizzy, as Jude retreated to her tent and the two men turned to her. She scrambled backward, kicking at the ground with her heels, but the pale man hauled her to her feet and slammed her against the tree at the edge of the clearing. Dull pain thrummed in her head but was distant and small compared to the fear that stormed over her as the man pressed his body against hers.
Behind them, Sebastian screamed. “No! Leave her alone! Leave her alone, you shit-eating sons of bastards! Do something, witch, godsdamn you! Help her! Help her!”
Selena heard the agony in his voice; it seeped through the cracks of her terror that intensified as the first man began unbuckling the belt at her waist. She fought at the loose ropes around her wrists and the gag in her mouth, but she was pressed hard against the tree and could hardly move.
Accora…her hands are free. She looked to the old woman who was staring at her intently as if to say, Wait.
Gods, how long? was Selena’s mute reply.
The Bazira lowered Selena’s gag. “Give us a kiss, love?”
Selena bared her teeth. “I give nothing.”
“Fool, Menak!” spat the bearded one behind him. “She’ll speak her magic.”
Menak scoffed without taking his eyes off Selena. “You’re the fool, Devon. She needs her hands for magic, don’t you, sweeting?” His smile morphed into a menacing visage. “But bite at me and I won’t be so gentle.”
He pressed his mouth to hers, worming his tongue past her teeth. Selena tried to turn her head but he held by the jaw until she thought the bones would snap. His mouth tasted of sour rum and old tobacco, and her stomach twisted with revulsion.
Ilior, where are you?
Ilior was not by her side. There was only a Bazira witch and Sebastian now—a notorious murderer—and Sebastian had gone mad.
“Don’t touch her!” He screamed and writhed and kicked and struggled against the ropes as if possessed by a maniacal force. “Don’t you fucking touch her!”
Menak paid him no mind, but ended his assault on Selena’s mouth in his own time. “Ah, delicious. It’s true, Devon. Aluren wenches are so very sweet.”
Selena spat his sour saliva back at him. “Only a coward takes what isn’t given,” she said, her voice tremulous. “Give me my sword and I’ll show you how sweet I can be.”
Menak laughed lightly, unperturbed and unhurried. He wiped his cheek on the back of his sleeve. “Now, now, you’ll have a sword to play with soon enough.” He ground his hips against hers. She struggled harder and a scream of fury tore from her throat.
It mingled with Devon’s cry of pain. Menak turned and Selena could see Sebastian kicking at the fire, sending small flaming embers airborne. The bearded man, Devon, pawed frantically at the back of his neck, and danced around the camp, scrabbling to loosen his shirt where a burning ember had fallen down his back.
Menak sighed, annoyed. “Stop playing, Devon,” he said, and turned back to Selena. “No more interruptions.”
Over his shoulder, Selena watched as Devon unsheathed his sword and strode toward Sebastian.
Then Accora rose to her feet.
The Bazira men were on opposite sides of the small clearing and distracted. Accora pulled down her gag and held out her hands that none had noticed weren’t tied, one to each man. She closed her fists and then opened them again.
“Krystak!” she screamed and shards of ice, one after another, lanced out of her open palms.
Menak was struck in the back, Devon in the chest. He dropped his sword just before he could club Sebastian with its pommel. His mouth hung open as if on a broken hinge and he pitched forward. His last breath wheezed out of him on a cold draft.
Menak jerked against Selena and grunted in pain. “Old bitch,” he seethed, turning to draw his sword, and then screamed as Accora sent daggers of ice between his legs. He curled to the ground, holding his nether regions and writhing.
Selena took a deep breath. Menak’s weight was off her and she no longer felt as if she were being buried alive. But she could hear voices at the edge of their clearing. Other Bazira, hearing the commotion.
“Run now, girl,” Accora said, a smile touched her lips. “I told you we weren’t done. No, not even the assassin gets his comeuppance today.”
“Go,” Sebastian told her weakly. His exertions had left him drained. “Run, Selena,” he told her. Begged her. The Bazira were coming. “Run!”
Selena ran.
Sebastian watched Selena slip out of the clearing. Her hands were still bound but she had escaped those men. He thought he might weep with relief. The man who’d had Selena against the tree was clutching his cock and screaming.
Sebastian smiled grimly and then snapped at Accora. “You waited long enough.”
“And you did nothing,” she replied. “Die, Sebastian Vaas. That’s the best thing you can do for Selena now,” she said, and then turned to face Jude who was striding out of her tent.
Bazira flooded the clearing with her, swords drawn. Jude’s gaze flickered to the place where Selena had been, then to Devon’s corpse, then to Menak who had ceased writhing, but whimpered like a beaten dog.
“You thought you suffered before?” Jude screamed at Accora.
Bazira surrounded the old woman. One man struck her across the face.
Bastards. She’s nearly seventy years, Sebastian thought.
She crumpled to the ground like a marionette whose strings had been cut. But she wouldn’t go under.
“You…are no woman,” she seethed at Jude, “…to allow such…atrocities… on other women.”
Godsdamn bloody right.
Jude snarled and kicked Accora in the stomach. The old woman gasped and curled around Jude’s boot.
Jude barked orders at the Bazira, sending almost one hundred men after Selena.
“She can’t get far,” Jude muttered to the small group of men she’d kept near her. “This island is too small.”
“Then why do you look so bloody scared?” Sebastian asked.
Jude sneered. “If only you knew what awaited you, Sebastian Vaas. Bacchus is eager to meet you.”
“Bacchus doesn’t give a shit about me,” Sebastian said. “It’s Selena he wants and you let her get away.” He cocked a smile. “Your priest doesn’t sound like a very forgiving sort of fellow.”
Even in the dark of night, the red on Jude’s cheeks was apparent. She shifted, acutely conscious of the Bazira listening.
“Your glib tongue will be the first to go if you are insolent to Bacchus,” she said, and then smiled, catlike. “But let us not bicker. More important is settling the debt you owe our Vicar.” Her breath plumed in the air that had grown suddenly cold. “Zolin suspected you would betray him. Does that surprise you?”
“No,” Sebastian said. “He told me as much but sent me out anyway. Seems you Bazira are very good at wasting time on fruitless endeavors.”
Jude took a step forward, towering over him. Above and beyond her, the sky thickened with storm clouds and air became heavy with water.
“You’re special, Vaas, and you can’t perceive the favor I’m doing you. You would have tried to create a pathetic life for yourself, following your Paladin lover around Lunos, picking up the pieces of her as the days passed and still her nasty little wound remained. You must be quite smitten to risk our wrath for such an empty, fruitless existence. But Selena is going to be with Bacchus now. Menak and Devon? What they were going to do to her was merciful compared to the violations Bacchus has in mind.”
Sebastian snarled. “Shut up.”
“He will hurt her,” Jude said. “He will hurt her in ways you cannot conceive, and in witnessing such, you will be punished before you can be welcomed into the fold.”
“I said, shut up,” he said through clenched teeth. His head was murderous in its pain. “I won’t… join you. I am not Bazira.”
“Not Bazira. You have forgotten your true nature, tried to discard it as easily as you did your name. The High Vicar, in his wisdom, suspected you had, and now leaves it to Bacchus to reacquaint you with all that made you the subject of minstrels’ songs and children’s rhymes.”
“You’re too late,” Sebastian said, reeling as the world tried to spin away from him. “Vaas is already dead.”
“Is he?” Her lips brushed his ear and her breath was hot on his skin. “Then why do you look so bloody scared?”
The sky tore open then and the rain came down.