Bitter Ashes (Bitter Ashes Book 1) (10 page)

“Hate is a very complicated word. Mostly, I just don't trust him,” she answered quietly.

“There seems to be a lot of that going around,” I mumbled, “but I get the feeling there's something else.”

She looked at me for several seconds, and for a moment I thought she might actually explain the raw pain in her eyes, then she shook her head and turned away.

“You should get dressed,” she ordered curtly. “I have things to do.”

With that she stood and fled the room, practically running to get away from me. I sat for a moment longer, selfishly more concerned with my coming tasks than with Sophie's tears.

I was supposed to go and threaten this woman with death. I'd never honestly threatened anyone before. It just didn't feel right, even though what I was threatening to do felt natural to me. I had accepted long ago that I'm just not a confrontational person. I'd much rather let things go and push people out of my life subtly than go around being a bully.

I'd been told that the taking of life was in my nature, and in fact, was what I had been born to do. I could feel it too. I felt others pain as if it were my own, and by giving death I could take that pain away. Yet, growing up around humans and not knowing what I was had given me a different moral scope than what was common among the Vaettir.

They didn't view what I did as evil, and in fact, viewed it as beneficial. To them, death was peace. Sure, they tried to live as long as possible just like most everyone else, but when death came, no one felt sorry for the deceased. They might mourn their loss, but they would never pity them. Still, the idea that death is bad was buried deep within my core beliefs, and I couldn't quite shake the feeling that what I was doing was wrong, especially when those I brought peace to had been tortured beforehand.

I stood and headed back to my room to change, feeling morose and anxious. All of my clothes were still back in my little house in the human world, but I had been provided with new ones. Sophie had chosen them, and I was grateful that she didn't try to dress me up too much. The only part of Sophie's taste that showed through was in the color scheme of my new wardrobe, which ran from black to other dark neutrals.

Unfortunately I don't look great in dark colors. My light blue eyes and dark brown hair match okay, but my skin has more red undertones than olive, so the dark colors just make me look washed out. Not that I had much reason to look good when I was trapped in what amounted to a magical, underground castle where half of the inhabitants didn't even look entirely human.

I reached my room and shut the door behind me, then began to go through the drawers of one of the heavy oak dressers, wondering what attire the occasion of threatening someone's life warranted. I found something that seemed appropriate, then stood to get dressed. The jeans were a perfect black, not the faded gray that most black jeans turn to, and the long-sleeve shirt was a deep purple that almost managed to be as dark as the jeans.

After getting dressed I looked around for something else to delay my task. I knew the way to what I could only call torture rooms. The rooms where James practiced his craft stunk of blood, death, and burned flesh. Why burned flesh you might ask? Well you couldn't torture someone for weeks on end if they bled out. You had to cauterize the wounds.

To make the atmosphere of the torture rooms even more disturbing, there was always the possibility of body parts reanimating themselves. Several victims were put to death without the aid of an executioner before I'd been brought to the Salr, and sometimes a few pieces stuck around.

I still hadn't forgotten about the hand of the previous executioner that had attacked me when I first found the torture rooms. Releasing the life from his heart had brought a whole new meaning to the term job satisfaction.

I'd been told that sometimes even whole corpses would reanimate, though they didn't retain the conscious thought of their former owners. Usually they just came back angry about being killed, and were therefore rather violent. That was where the legends of wights and zombies had come from. Many myths were created during the 1800s about reanimated corpses, and most came from instances where the life was not released from one of the Vaettir after passing. Currently the reanimation of entire corpses wasn't a large concern for me, since James rarely left his victims whole.

Coming up empty on some task to delay me, I made my way down the hall. When I reached the room where I was expected, I paused to push my ear up against the thick wood. I could hear someone speaking quietly, but the door was too dense for me to make out the words.

I was leaning against the door with my ear pressed firmly to the wood when it suddenly swung inward. I stumbled into the room and nearly bit it on the stone floor.

Estus offered me a small smile that made the slight wrinkles that decorated his face bunch up. His long gray hair was twisted into an intricate braid that trailed all the way to his ankles. He wasn't a large man, and really looked somewhat like a diminutive Santa Claus, but he was still the scariest thing I'd met in the Salr so far.

He'd opened the door with his mind, and could control someone's body in much the same way. There was a twinkle of laughter in his pale blue eyes making me wonder if he knew what I was thinking. I wouldn't be surprised if he did.

James stood near his latest victim, watching the silent exchange between Estus and me with interest. James' hands were covered with fresh blood, and there were little spatters of it on his handsome face. The blood had come from the woman I'd come to intimidate, though she hardly seemed broken despite her wounds. James had called her Maya, and the name suited her. Her proud eyes and aura of calm made her seem like some sort of fallen goddess.

She was in plain white underwear that had been stained with sweat and blood. The fabric of her bra was also singed at the bottom corner, drawing my attention to the fact that her dark skin was covered in what looked like brands, though they had no specific shape to them. The smell of burnt flesh wafted off of her, making the room smell like an acrid campfire. I tried to breath shallowly through my mouth, but it was a mistake. Even when I returned to nose breathing I couldn't get the taste of burnt flesh off the back of my tongue.

I looked down the length of Maya's muscled body to see that she was also missing a foot. The skin at the stump of her ankle had been cauterized to keep her from bleeding out. I felt sick. This woman had been undergoing torture for a while if James had gotten to the point of cutting her foot off, yet she still eyed me defiantly.

With a start, I noticed something else strange about Maya. Normally I could feel the pain of others, and this much pain should have been readily apparent to me, but I felt nothing. Not that I minded the lack of pain, but if she was feeling it, I should have felt it.

It was my own particular curse to be made to be around tortured and dying people when I could feel all of the pain that had been inflicted upon them. Estus had called me an empath, though I usually felt pain more strongly than emotions, unless the emotions were
very
intense.  

For the most part emotions just felt like energy to me, for lack of a better word. I could sense if the energy was angry, sad, etc., but I didn't
feel
those emotions. Pain, on the other hand, felt like actual pain. I didn't feel it to the same extent of its host, but even feeling half the pain of grievous wounds is taxing.

“I don't feel it,” I said to myself, not expecting anyone to reply.

“Yes,” Estus replied. “We've come to the conclusion that she does not feel it either.”

I looked down at the woman's missing foot again, then to James' frustrated face. He was a sadist, and I knew that he got off on torturing people. It must have really chaffed his hide to have his actions nullified.

“Madeline is our executioner,” Estus announced to Maya conversationally.

Rather than showing fear, she only laughed. “She doesn't look like an executioner,” she observed. “Just look at those innocent blue eyes.”

James grabbed my arm and pushed me toward Maya. He wouldn't want me to take her life until she talked, but the threat was there. She looked down at me. Her black, curly hair had been ripped out of her scalp on one side, leaving a bald patch to slowly ooze blood as she watched me with a predatory expression.

“Have they told you what they want to know from me?” she asked as if the men were no longer in the room. “Do you know what all of this is for?”

James squeezed my arm tightly, obviously wanting me to lie. “No,” I answered honestly.

Maya smiled. “Not an obedient pet after all. Maybe you'll be smart enough to run away before you end up like their last executioner.”

“What do they want to know from you?” I asked.

James began to jerk me away, but Estus simply shook his head. James let his hand fall from my arm, though he obviously didn't like it.

“Come closer,” Maya said with a smile. “I'll tell you a secret.”

I obeyed hesitantly. I didn't feel her pain as I stepped closer, but she could still try and injure me once I was within reach. Yet, something in her face made me trust her. I stepped close enough for her to reach her mouth down toward my ear. The manacles she was shackled to held her slightly off the ground, but I was tall enough and she was short enough that we ended up face to face.

She leaned in a little closer until her lips touched my ear and I had to force myself to not jerk away. “Find me tonight,” she whispered.

The sound was barely audible to my own hearing, so I knew James and Estus would not be able to hear. “Listen to what I have to say, and I'll tell you everything that your
friends
want to know. It will be up to you whether or not they get to know it. Not everything is as it seems in this place.”

I stepped away and tried to hide the fact that my hands were shaking. I balled them in fists at my sides and turned toward Estus.

“She's not afraid of me,” I announced. “I can do no good here.”

Estus nodded, as if he'd known all along, which made me suspicious. Why summon me at all, and why allow Maya to whisper in my ear?

“We will call you once she has spoken,” he assured.

“But-” James began, but Estus cut him off with another look.

I backed out of the room while I still could. The woman kept her gaze focused on me as an eerie smile crept across her face. I made it out into the hallway and shut the door behind me with a thud. I almost leaned against it, but then remembered how Estus had made me fall inside the first time, and walked a few steps down the hallway instead.

I leaned against the stone wall and tried to think. Her words echoed in my mind,
not everything is as it seems
. I had stopped actively trying to escape the Vaettir because I thought they could help me. I was like them, after all, and they weren't fearful of my “gift”. I would never accidentally kill Alaric or Sophie unless they were severely weakened. I had also been led to believe that the Vaettir were at war, and I was a valuable keystone in their defense tactics. After growing up in foster care, then living a life of solitude, it was good to feel needed, even if it was for something I'd rather not think about.

For the first time in a very long time, I felt like I somewhat belonged. I didn't have to be alone anymore. Still, I had my doubts. What if I'd been lied to? What if this was all some scheme to use me, and then discard me when I was no longer needed? I wouldn't put it past Estus or James to try and manipulate me, but Alaric?

I had seen many other Vaettir within the Salr, but most gave me a wide berth. At first I thought it was because I had brought Sophie back to life, and it made them nervous, but maybe they didn't fear me. Maybe they just feared I'd find them out. I had to know for sure. Even if I couldn't escape, I at least would not be led like a lamb to slaughter. If this so-called traitor could give me answers, then I would be an idiot to not listen.

“Are you okay?” someone asked from behind my turned shoulder.

I jumped, as I hadn't heard anyone approach. I turned around and had to look down to see the woman who had spoken. She couldn't have been more than 5'2”, with wispy white blond hair and large lavender colored eyes. She wore a spider-silk thin dress that matched the bluish-purple of her eyes.

“I'm fine,” I mumbled. “Are you supposed to be talking to me?” I added tiredly.

She offered me an innocent, closed-lip smile. The bones of her face were so delicate that I thought they might crumble with the movement. “Why would it be wrong to talk to
you
?” she asked in a sing-song voice.

I turned to fully face her. “It just seems like everyone down here thinks I have leprosy.”

“The Vaettir cannot contract leprosy,” the woman said, still smiling. “I think perhaps they are just afraid of you.”

I didn't bother to explain my sarcasm to her. Instead I asked, “Why are they afraid?”

“Your gifts can be dangerous for those who are weak of will,” she explained. “I am not weak of will, and so I am not afraid. My name is Sivi.” She held out a dainty, bony hand to me.

I took her hand, careful to not squeeze. Her fingers seemed longer than they should have been, and wrapped around my hand with more force than I expected.

“Maddy,” I replied, wondering what the tiny creature wanted from me.

“I know,” she said cheerfully. “I'd actually like to bestow a favor upon you.” She looked around the hallways as if someone could have snuck up on us. “But not here,” she added.

She switched her grip from my hand to my wrist and pulled me down the hall toward an area of the Salr that I was yet to visit. The few times I'd explored for an exit had ended rather badly, so I'd mostly stopped exploring . . . mostly.

“Where are we going?” I asked as she rushed me along.

Instead of answering, she stopped suddenly to open a door and pull me inside. The room we entered smelled of moss and mildew, which probably had something to do with the giant pond that took up most of the floor. Vines and lichen grew out across the stones surrounding the reflective water, framing the surface in shades of green.