Wrath of Lions

CHAPTER 36

The dark became a living thing, pressing in on Laurel, wrapping her in its ethereal arms, suffocating her. In the blackness she had no concept of the passage of time: she might have been down in the dungeons for a day, a week, or perhaps even a lifetime.

With no outside stimulus, her mind retreated inward. Whenever she rubbed her eyes, the bright flashes that lit her vision became faceless loved ones calling out to her from a distance. She saw her mother and father, her sisters and dead brothers-even Mite and Giant, their wrappings glimmering with the phosphorescent light of inner space. The stinking corpse beside her became a dozen different monsters and hateful people, and she cowered in the corner, as far away from it as possible.

Formless voices stalked her in the darkness, growing ever closer with each passing moment. You are as worthless as a whore.…You have turned your back on your god.…You deserve your fate.…There is no more hope. She screamed in protest against them, but they did not stop their assault. Day and night, through the indistinguishable margin between sleep and awareness, their accusations stabbed at her, driving her further from sanity.

She almost wished for the Final Judges, the new rulers of Veldaren, to come for her and end her suffering. Almost.

It was Guster, her father figure in Veldaren, who helped her hold onto the final threads of sanity. As she lay suffering, the old man’s calming words, imagined though they were, echoed throughout her skull, pleading with her to uphold her end of the bargain. I put my faith in you, his voice said. You are the key-you who were not a slave to blind belief…you who learned the errors of your ways…you who love Karak despite the Divinity’s obvious lack of love for you…

Laurel began laughing.

“I am mighty!” she shouted, sobs wracking her every other word. “I am strong!”

The blackness closed in on her yet again, and she felt the ground shift beneath her. Creaking noises pierced her ears, as well as the scrape of stone ground against stone. It wasn’t only the darkness that was alive, but the dungeon itself. She sat up, pressed the heels of her palms against her ears, and rocked back and forth. She pictured her god in the months after the creation of man, long before her birth. In her mind’s eye, she saw him pounding the earth with his fists, digging deep into the land, and shaping the walls of this very dungeon. He lifted his glowing eyes, smiling wickedly at his children as they gathered around the rim of the crater he had created, Laurel among them. If you turn away from me, his voice said in her mind as his stare burned through her, you have turned against the light of order. Let the shadows of chaos embrace you hereafter.

“I will not,” she whispered, defiant. “I am Laurel Lawrence, and I am strong.”

“Yes, you are, my lady.”

Laurel ceased her rocking and glanced up. All had gone silent; even the rats seemed to have stopped skittering. She drew a breath into her lungs and held it, in the grips of an even greater terror. She then heard the sound of breathing-not her own, but someone else’s-and the soothing male voice spoke again.

“Laurel, I am here for you.”

“Karak?” she murmured.

A soft, kind chuckle was her answer.

“Not Karak, my lady. Not even close.”

Her world suddenly assaulted by an explosion of brightness, Laurel kicked herself backward, screaming. It was as if she had been hurled into the sun, its flames roasting her flesh and melting her eyeballs in their sockets. She flopped over and cried, arms held over her head, waiting for the rest of her to be set aflame until even her ashes were scorched to nothingness.

The gate to her cell creaked open, and a new sound hit her ears-footfalls sloshing over wet stone. Her body was not on fire. Laurel swallowed her tears and glanced up.

Two figures stood over her, a man and a woman, lit from behind by flickering torchlight. She focused on the man, a handsome, slender sort with a dark complexion, kind hazel eyes, and a head of curly black hair. Her eyes traced the strong outline of his jaw and curly locks that bounced above his shoulders. She knew him, even though he was wearing a buttoned-up cloak rather than the armor of the Palace Guard.

“Ca-Captain Jenatt?” she said.

The man squatted down, holding out his hand. “Pulo,” he told her. “There are no titles needed. None exist any longer.”

Laurel hesitantly grabbed his hand, and Pulo Jenatt, former captain of the Palace Guard, helped her to her feet. Beside him stood Mite, crouching low, her covered head swiveling. Laurel hovered unsteadily, her knees shaking, and then looked down at herself. The elegant dress that Lady Connington had given her was a torn and sloppy mess, covered in a slimy black substance so thick that none of the original turquoise could be seen. Most of the gems that had been stitched to it had broken free. Strangely, the fabric seemed to be moving. She glanced to her left and caught sight of the rotten corpse, the trail of maggots that had wound its way into her corner.

“Get them off me!” she screamed, pushing herself away from Pulo while desperately tearing at her dress. It came off in clumps, as if its threads were as decayed as the corpse. She felt the maggots writhe against her and came close to vomiting.

“My lady, it’s all right, Let us help.”

Feminine hands were on her in an instant, shoving her against the wall. Laurel braced her hands against it, leaning forward and wheezing as her clothing was torn from her body. The drenched material slopped against the stone floor, leaving her naked as the day she was born, but she didn’t care. A damp towel was then run over her from head to toe, cleaning away the filth. She began to gag. Something was pressed into her hand. Laurel looked down and saw a small burlap sack in her palm.

“Place it over your nose and mouth,” said a youthful female voice. “To help with the smell.”

Laurel did as she was told, and the nauseating stench of decay and feces was muted by the fresh smells of hyacinth and lilac. She took a deep breath, her nerves stilling with a final shudder.

“Thank you,” she said through the sack.

Mite nodded and backed away from her, joining Pulo. The realization struck her that Mite had broken her vow, and Laurel’s mouth gaped beneath the sweet-smelling bag.

“Come now, Miss Lawrence,” Pulo said. “We haven’t much time.”

Her wits slowly returned to her. She lowered the sack and asked, “What is happening?”

“Not now. I’ll explain on the way.”

She looked down again, feeling suddenly modest. She crossed her arms over her bare breasts, even though Pulo seemed not the slightest bit interested in her nakedness.

“I’m sorry, Miss Lawrence,” he said, seeing her reaction. “We will find you something to cover yourself with once you are safe.”

Mite grabbed her hand and gestured to the opened gate with those soft blue eyes of hers. For the first time, Lauren noticed something oddly familiar about them, but she had no time to question it. Before she could even get her bearings, the diminutive Sister was yanking her into the corridor. Pulo had snatched the lighted torch from the wall and was holding it out in front of him as he ran forward, leading the way. Laurel’s feet ached as they slapped against the hard stone floor, and the air burned in her lungs. She pleaded with her saviors to slow down, but Mite’s grip was firm, her drive unstoppable. They passed cell after cell, the stench of decaying bodies overwhelming. Laurel brought the sack she had been given to her nose once more.

They stopped at the stairwell that led into the lower hall of Tower Justice. Pulo snuffed out the torch, and in the darkness Laurel heard him shove it into the metal ring embedded in the wall. She was yanked up another staircase in darkness, and then they passed through another doorway, turned a corner, and raced up yet another stairwell. Finally they reached the top, and when Pulo threw the door opened, she was once more bathed in light.

There was only one person in the hall, a tall Sister who lingered by the main entrance, a dagger clutched tightly in her hand. Laurel could tell right away, from the way she held her shoulders back as if in a constant state of insolence, that it was Giant. She dropped the small sack of hyacinth and lilac and smiled. Her girls hadn’t abandoned her after all.

“We should be safe for now,” said Pulo as he unbuttoned his cloak. “The lions remain in Tower Honor during the day. They only hunt at night.”

“What time of day is it?” Laurel asked.

He kept his eyes averted from her nakedness.

“Sunrise was only an hour ago. We watched from the roof of the closed brothel on South Road until the coast was clear to rescue you.”

“How did you know I was here? And how in Karak’s name did you get past the Sisters?” Mite and Giant both peered at her. “The other Sisters, I mean.”

“Your two protectors told us of your…situation,” said Pulo, nodding toward Mite and Giant. “I don’t know how they knew where you were, but be thankful that they did. As for getting into the castle…to be honest, it was quite easy.” He cast aside his cloak, letting it flutter to the ground. He was wrapped from head to toe in the bindings of the Sisters of the Cloth, all the way to his neck. The wrappings were skin-tight, and Laurel gasped at the effectiveness of the illusion. Pulo’s bulge was nowhere to be found, and he even had a pair of modest lumps on his chest.

“Trickery,” he said with a slight frown. “But not a costume I wish to wear for long. It is rather binding in all the wrong places, and certain…er…painful tucking is required.” He turned to Giant. “We should begin now.”

Giant kicked the sack beside her across the floor, and Mite stopped it with her foot. After gesturing to Pulo, Giant raced across the room, slipping through the dungeon door and closing it softly behind her.

“Where is she going?” asked Laurel.

“She is using the underground tunnels that connect the towers,” Pulo answered. “She will leave from Tower Honor this afternoon, when the castle is at its busiest, while we will leave from here.”

“Why?”

“Three Sisters were seen entering this structure, my lady. It would seem odd if four were to leave.”

Mite opened the sack and began to pull out yard after yard of off-white fabric. Laurel couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it. The order she despised, the one that helped the men who ruled the kingdom suppress women, was to be her mode of salvation. If only she’d had a true bath beforehand to wash away the lingering scent of decay from the dungeon below.…

Pulo turned away, and Laurel held her arms out to her sides as Mite began the agonizingly slow business of swathing her every square inch with thin strips of material. She worked up one leg, then the other, and Laurel was amazed at how constricting the garb actually was. It felt like her lower half was being squeezed in one of her father’s lemon juicers.

“Captain Jenatt…Pulo,” she said, trying to keep herself together despite her ordeal. Cornwall Lawrence would do the same. “Please, tell me what is happening in our city.”

Mite continued to work, now busily wrapping her midsection. Pulo took a deep breath and stared directly into her eyes. She was impressed with his self-control.

“It happened suddenly,” he said, his gaze still locked with hers. “Soon after the mumbling priest began to set the lions loose at night, the Sisters arrived. They entered the throne room as a huge mass. The king was confused, as were we all, since they’d arrived with Joben, not their merchant owners. The priest then told the king that he knew of his plan to overthrow Karak’s law and cast all of Neldar into chaos in the god’s absence, and he was guilty of blasphemy. King Eldrich was beside himself. He demanded that we remove Joben from the throne room, but before we could take hold of him, the fighting began. The Sisters attacked the Palace Guard, killing many men before they could raise their weapons in defense. Then the two damned lions came bolting through the doors, ready for blood. In a blink of an eye, they slaughtered six more of my men.”

Laurel shuddered, expecting worse to come given what she had just experienced.

“The king’s bodyguard-you know him, Karl Dogon-snatched up the screaming king and pulled him into the Council chambers behind the throne. My fellow guards and I followed, holding off the Judges and Sisters as best we could. Once inside, we barred the door and ushered the king into his quarters, where we led him to the secret exit behind his bed. Twenty of us left the castle while our pursuers broke the door down below us. From there we fled into the city. Luckily, none followed.”

Pulo paused.

“What then?” a breathless Laurel asked as Mite began the process of binding her breasts beneath the cloth.

“We headed north, toward the slums. It was there we hid, only coming out at night. We called the rest of the Watch, who were themselves being hunted, to join us. This was all two weeks ago.”

Two weeks ago. That must have been just after Mite, Giant, and the Crimson Sword saved her from the Judges. So much horror in so little time. Her shivering began to subside, and a sort of numbness took over.

“What have you done since?”

“We have called others to our cause. Thieves, miscreants, rapists-we embrace any we find who are fleeing the Judges’ wrath. We remained hidden until the day our lookout spotted you entering the city. King Eldrich demanded that we protect you from certain death-he is very fond of you, Miss Lawrence-and so we assaulted the gates. We lost thirty men before we retreated. The king fell into a deep depression, for he was certain you were dead. It wasn’t until your servants sought us out that we learned you were being held captive.”

She looked at Mite. “But they are Sisters. How did you know to trust them?”

Pulo shook his head, obviously more at ease now that her womanly features were concealed.

“They did not come to us as Sisters, Miss Lawrence. They were not wrapped. And seeing who they were…who one of them was…well, we felt inclined to trust the story they told.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, feeling baffled.

He pointed at Mite, but said nothing.

Mite was busy tying up Laurel’s hair with a piece of twine when Laurel grabbed the Sister by the wrist, stopping her.

“Please, Sister,” she said. “In the dungeon, you spoke. Would you do so again?”

The diminutive Sister dropped her head. “I will, if you command it,” she replied.

“There is no commanding here.” She placed a kind hand on Mite’s shoulder and smiled, the numb feeling slowly growing stronger. “Please, I don’t wish for you to wrap my head. I would like to do that myself. Will you show me how?”

“I…I suppose.”

“It would be most appreciated.”

Those deep blue eyes stared at her with uncertainty before her hands finally got to working, undoing a knot in her own wrappings and slowly uncoiling the fabric from the top down. The Sister’s hair was revealed first, a dark shade of brown and hacked short. Next were her feminine brow, her exotic nose, her full lips and slender jaw. It was a young girl who stood before her, no older than sixteen and dainty, her pale cheeks flushed red. Laurel traced the girl’s jaw with her fingers. There was something so very familiar about her, but she did not know what.

“Did you see, Mistress?” Mite asked.

“Did I see what?”

“How the wrappings are applied?”

She shook her head. “I apologize, I wasn’t paying attention. But forget that for now. Tell me your name, please.”

Mite bowed slightly. “Mistress, I am called Sister,” she said.

“I am not your mistress,” Laurel said kindly. “Call me Laurel, or Miss Lawrence if that pleases you. And the name I want is your true name, the one given to you before you were forced into the Order.”

The girl backed away from her slightly, her lips twitching. She glanced all around her, as if to speak such an atrocity would summon a bolt of lightning from the heavens to strike her dead.

“My name was taken from me,” she whispered. “By Karak’s law.”

“Karak’s law is shit,” said Pulo from behind her. “Just answer the question, girl.”

She took a deep breath, straightened up, and met Laurel’s eyes.

“My name was Lyana. Lyana Mori,” she said finally.

Laurel fell speechless. She took a deep breath, her numbness replaced by a burning anger that rose up in her gullet. Deep inside, she channeled her father, the strongest and most righteous man she had ever known, who hated the Sisters of the Cloth as much as she.

“You were once Lyana Mori, and now you are Lyana Mori again. As your rightful owner, I free you from your bonds, from any servitude to me.”

Lyana’s eyes widened. “But if I serve neither you nor Karak, whom do I serve?”

Laurel thought of those corpses, of Soleh and Ibis and Vulfram, the girl’s father. She thought of what her own father might have said under the same circumstances.

“You serve vengeance,” Laurel said. “Now show me again how to put these wrappings on. I want out of this damn tower.”