Young Writers Society

A rush of water strikes me full in the face. I twist away in shock, gasping against the liquid cold running freely down my bare back. A low moan follows on the tail of my gasp; my body protests faintly against the sudden movement with a rush of burning pain.

“He lives still,” a voice remarks dryly. “Excellent.”

I lift my head and turn it towards the source. My hands grip the filthy stones of the cell floor in preparation to escape another flood of water if the need presents itself.

The leather boots are scarcely any cleaner than the floor, their original brown almost hidden beneath the thick layer of dust. I raise my head a little higher and focus on the face of the man standing over me. Through force of habit built within the last two weeks, I cringe back slightly, my hands raising automatically to protect my face from the expected kick.

“Step aside, Soldier.” It is the same cool voice as before, speaking calmly and dryly, without any apparent emotion. “I wish to see him.”

He steps aside as ordered, and sweeps a clumsy bow towards the speaker. The body of the man is thick, built as sturdily as the mountain. While that alone does not proclaim him common, his hands are an entirely different matter. Years of hard labor has rendered them rough, and they sit awkwardly on the hilt of the sword hanging from his belt. He is as dirt beneath the feet of royalty.

My gray eyes move from him, lifting still higher. It touches the sullied hem of her midnight blue gown and continues up to the slim waist. Finally, it touches the queenly head crowned with soft coils of black hair.

I open my mouth to speak, but the words catch in my dry throat.

A slow smile surfaces on her porcelain features. “Good morn to you, Stellen.”

Swallowing, I set my teeth and force my mind into focus. The battle is not yet over. “My lady.”

A cool breeze snakes down the long winding passage and ripples through the open door. It drags icy fingers across my bare back, raising goosebumps beneath the layers of blood and filth on my skin.

“You spoke the truth for once,” She murmurs gently. Her small hands clench at her side. “After what had happened, what oaths you swore, and then broke, I did not think it was possible.”

“You can't break me,” I bite out with as much anger as my weary body can muster, repeating what I told her almost two weeks ago when they first chained to the wall and applied the whip. “Kill me, Lady Melody. If I have any information, I'm obviously not giving it!”

“I begin to think the same,” she admits. “Such steadfast resistance was not what I expected from you. Ava has loyal followers, if not many of them, but I had never considered you as one of them.”

“She may have more of them than you think, Melody,” I reply, sitting up on my haunches. A rush of pain floods up my body in response to the sudden movement, but I thrust it aside to glare at her.

“Insolence,” she notes, taking half a step back and cocking her head to the side. “Not the response I thought to have from you. Your strength seemed to be of the quieter sort, without any of the bluster that many of your companions have shown when put to the test. I stuck a tender cord then?”

“You will speak of her as Lady Ava,” I answer coldly. “That is her title. You may deny her right to the seat of power, but you will at least address her by the name that those of her blood merit!”

“And sudden anger. A very tender cord.”

She turns her head and glances at the soldier standing quietly to the right of her as he was ordered. “Naltes. It is time. If you would see to it?”

“But my Lady!” he protests, his gaze shifting uncertainly to me kneeling at Melody's feet.

“There is no danger.” She turns fully to face him and summons a gentle smile to her face. “Stellen will not harm me. Not even now, after all that has passed. He cannot do it.”

Her gaze switches to back to me. “Isn't that true, Stellen?”

I drop my eyes to the stone floor. My hands clench against my torn trousers as a wave of nausea rears its ugly head through the mist of throbbing pain. Swallowing, I force the bile back down.

His boots scrape against the stone floor as he leaves. My attention flits to his departing form for a moment, but I pull it back and set it on the hem of Melody's dress. My hands twitch at my side, but I clench them tightly and force them to remain motionless. Melody spoke truth when she declared that I could not hurt her. I do not have it in me to strike one of the four.

Wherever he was going, it wasn't far. Already his footsteps sound in the corridor showing through the gaps in the bars. Melody steps to the side to allow him to enter. I raise my head to glance at him and freeze.

The metal rod he holds in his hands is not familiar, they did not use it before during the two weeks of torture. Yet I know it. With an effort, I pull my gaze from him and focus on Melody.

A smile curls the red mouth, but it is mocking and bitter. “You know this symbol, I presume? But of course you do. Indeed, you marched under it for many years.”

I look at it again, even though I had no need of a second glance. The two dragons chase each other in an endless circle, wings arched in flight, feather streaming back from their crested heads. If it was on a banner, one would white, the other black as midnight. Now they are red and glowing with a fiery hunger. “It is your family crest.”

A quiet laugh escapes and echoes through the tiny cell, bouncing off the foreboding ceiling of gray stones that drip with moisture. “Yes, so it is. And this brand is the one used on the cattle. I ordered it brought to this cell especially for the occasion.”

Her head turns slightly to the side. “Come in, please. It is time.” Two more men appear in the doorway and enter the room, passing on either side of her.

They grab my arms and haul me to my feet. I stumble forward as the wave of pain threatens to sweep my legs out from under, but their hands are there. Cold against the burning heat of fever racking my frame, they hold me up.

Melody takes one step forward, her slim body moving gracefully within the gown of midnight silk. “Why do we mark our cattle, Stellen? Can you explain it to me?”

I’m trembling, I can’t help it. All the pain and fear from the last few weeks of torture pour into my soul. Ava, how much must I give you? My soul sends the cry up in silence; I bite my tongue. I swore, gave my word to keep silent, even if it means death… or worse.

“Since you are mute, my old friend, I suppose I must finish.” She steps closer; a breeze slips through the open cell door and ruffles the wisps of black hair curling against her cheek. “I mark my cattle to show that they belong me to. My property, thralls to my will.”

Her white hand lifts and almost lazily waves Naltes forward.

“Tell me what you know, Stellen, or you also shall bear my mark. Do you wish for the world to see you as my slave? The thrall of Melody Stygian?”

I force my shoulders to lift in a careless shrug beneath the hands that hold my prisoner. “With or without your mark on my body, I will die. You have flogged me, Melody, and burned and tortured me. You left me in a rat-infested dungeon. Infection has set in; I'm not going to last.”

“Indeed, Stellen,” She nods. “If that be your fate, so be it. You shall not die, however, before I have made use of you. I shall see to it.”

“And how,” I say carefully, fighting to keep my voice steady in spite of the pain that threatens it, “Would I, a lowly laborer, serve you?”

Her dark head inclines to the side, and the smile on the lovely face softens. “As my example. Let the lords see what it means to go against the Lady Melody. To challenge the heir to the throne, and attempt to supplant her with another. I shall allow you to live, even permit you to return to your darling Ava. But-”

I bite my lip to force myself to remain silent. There is a time to defend her honor, and her rightful title, but it is not now. Ava would understand.

Her smile disappears in the silence, fading away into a seriousness that glistens faintly with sadness. “You shall bear my mark. Until the day you die, most likely in defense of your idol, the mark of Melody Stygian will be on your skin.”

The terror in my heart ascends a notch. I have evaded her questions for two and a half weeks. All were put to me under torture. This is it, the final question, the final chance. If I answer no to her now...

At this last test, pain and terror both rise up together to scream silently within my chest. Words bubble up in my throat. The words she wanted to hear. I swallow, forcing them and the bile back down.

Her smile returns, but with even more charm. The beautiful green eyes glitter cruelly in the flickering light of the torch in the hall. “It is strange, is it not? I would have sworn that honor was extinct in you, and yet you are willing to die for it now.”

“Melody.” The words I allow to leave my lips are short and clipped. “There is something that I love more than my honor. I told you so once, if you remember. It is for that I am willing to die. And if necessary, I will also live for it. Dying would be easier, but I am willing to live on maimed if it is asked of me.”

“How heroic,” She comments dryly. Three steps backwards places her in the door of the cell, safely out of the way.

“Naltes?” Turning her head, she tosses a glance at the burly form of the guard. “Are you ready?”

“I await your order, my queen,” he responds simply.

She smiles and tilts her head towards him. “It is given. Proceed.”

He steps towards me. “Where do you wish it?”

Her lips press together, and she glances thoughtfully into my face. “The right cheek, I believe. I want it in plain sight, for all to see, so that they may understand what it means to challenge my claim.”

She turns her gaze to the two men standing at either side of my weary form. In their iron grip, my body sags now in pain and weariness, only held up by the steady pressure of their hands on my shoulders. “Press him against the wall and hold him steady. If he thrashes, the brand will be misshapen.”

The two yank backwards, almost knocking me off my feet with the force of the motion. I grit my teeth against the cry of pain. There is no strength to resist and no reason to try; I submit to their orders, moving at their command.

My raw back moans silently in protest as it touches the damp wall. I push the pain aside and summon what little strength and will I have left to the simple task of staying awake. This is the last test; I must complete it.

The rough hands of the soldier on the right side of me grab my head and slams it against the wall. A lance of pain pierces my building terror; the room trembles, fading out of focus for a moment, and then falling slowly back into place.

No use in struggling. The thought is bitter and tastes of despair, but I accept it. Turning my head to the side, I expose the right cheek for the brand and press the other into the damp rock behind me.

With my face turned away, all that can be see of the approaching brand is a faint glimmer of red flickering at the edges of my vision. I grit my teeth and move my eyes to the other side of the cell. But there is Melody.

The slim form is inside the cell once again, and has moved into the corner. From there, she can watch with ease, viewing the completion of her revenge from a better angle. Her green eyes glow with suppressed excitement, teeth bared and glistening in the faint light from the torch.

Something moves beside her. My gray eyes dully wander to it, and then sharpen as shock slices through the layer of pain induced fog surrounding my mind.

The face is that of an angel, despite the ash and blood that besmirch the skin. Her brown eyes watch me with deep concern, and her round chin trembles in silent compassion. A single tear slides down through the dirt on her freckled cheek. Ava.

Reason tells me she can’t be here, that this image is the product of fear, pain, and two weeks of abuse. But it is her face, her slim body in its black leather pants and tattered green tunic. The shirt of metal rings pulled over the top of the tunic and fastened with the belt of stained brown leather is as I remember it, complete with the five broken links at her right shoulder from the arrow.

The hot metal touches skin.

For a brief moment, nothing happens. A sharp hiss sounds in the almost perfect silence. I suck in an automatic breath and the smell of burning flesh coats my tongue.

The brand pulls away.

I turn my head back and stare at the glowing dragons only inches from my nose. In a strange detached way, they are beautiful.

Red hot pain surges up in delayed protest and leaves my mouth in a tortured groan. Vomit rises in my throat, and I gag on the thick bile. My eyes turn to Melody, hoping for something, some small shred of pity in her face.

She smiles back.

My knees buckle beneath me, and as they allow me to slide to the ground, the lights go out.