Bitter Ashes- The Complete Series Page 6

  I picked up my pace, soon entering the kitchen. Sophie was waiting as promised, but so were Alaric and James. Sophie and Alaric were both dressed in all black again. It would have almost been cliché if it didn't look so good on their tall frames. They were also both sipping on coffee, while James had tea. I couldn't tell what kind it was, but the little green leaflet hanging from the string hinted at herbal tea first thing in the morning. I liked him less and less.

  I moved to stand by Sophie, who handed me a mug of already poured coffee. The division between the coffee drinkers and the non was highly apparent.

  I eyed James nervously and he eyed me right back, sipping his tea with a secretive smile. The smile made me more uncomfortable than a thousand angry glares ever could. His golden hair was still damp enough from his shower to leave small dark stains around the collar of his charcoal gray shirt. The dark color of the shirt made the icy color of his eyes even more pronounced.

  I suddenly felt nervous enough to throw up, and had to take a sip of coffee to keep it down. As the liquid was sliding down my throat I considered the possibility it was drugged since I hadn’t seen it being poured. I choked on it, lowering the mug as hot coffee sloshed over my fingers.

  James smiled a little wider.

  A woman I hadn't met yet came walking into the kitchen. She was shorter than me, around 5'4”, and had dark hair cropped closely to her head. She turned large, honey colored eyes to me, gave me a look of dismissal, then turned her eyes to James.

  “Estus wants her now,” she announced, as if I was no longer even there.

  James winked at me. “Looks like breakfast will have to wait.”

  I simply stared at him in response. I wouldn't have been able to keep any food down regardless. I looked to Sophie to lead the way, but she only shrugged apologetically at me and nodded toward James.

  When I still didn't move, James took hold of my arm and pulled me forward. I managed to set the coffee mug back by the industrial-sized pots before more of it could spill, though I was still craving more of it despite my fears.

  Alaric watched us quietly as I was pulled away, having not said a word since I’d arrived. He seemed somewhat . . . sad?

  I turned away as I was pulled out into the hall. The nameless, short-haired woman went ahead of James and I, then disappeared around the next turn. I looked over my shoulder for one final glance at Alaric and Sophie, but they had turned to speak quietly to each other, and didn't see me.

  Turning forward, I tugged my arm out of James’ grip and continued walking on my own. He gestured each time we were to turn down a new hall, and I went along willingly, wanting to avoid being hoisted over his shoulder again. Judging by the path we took, I began to suspect that we were going to the room where I'd been attacked by the hand. Call it intuition, but I had a feeling that was a room James frequented. My feeling of dread increased as we approached the door, but we ended up going past it and into the room immediately after it.

  This new room was cleaner than the one I'd visited, but just barely. This room also had a full man, and not just a hand. The man hung limply from a set of manacles hammered into the wall. His chest was bare except for a decoration of deep cuts and bruises across his tanned skin. Blood had soaked into his blue jeans, staining the fabric.

  I glanced to the side and jumped, realizing the short-haired woman was standing against the wall, just inside the door.

  I turned my shocked gaze back to the manacled man as he looked up from under sweat-matted hair. At first the look was distant as if he didn’t truly see us, then his eyes focused on me.

  “No,” he breathed, his gaze filled with horror. He struggled against his manacles, clanking the chains against the stone wall. As his head thrashed back and forth, I realized he was missing an ear. All that was left in its place was a bloody hole.

  “No,” he pleaded more firmly, his gaze now aimed toward the other side of the room. “Please. I told you I had no choice.”

  It was only then that I noticed Estus standing in the corner, looking dispassionately at the man. He was still in the loose, blue outfit he’d worn during our meeting. The clothing made him look like some sort of monk, but the tortured man begging him for his life kind of ruined the picture.

  I began backing out of the room, but James grabbed my arm and held it, tight enough to bruise. The short-haired woman stood silently on my other side. She didn't speak, but it was obvious by her expression that she wasn't enjoying the show any more than I was.

  “Please,” the man pleaded, looking at me now. “Please don't do this.”

  I looked away from the fear in the man's eyes. The fact that I was the source of that fear, and not the people who had tortured him, hurt my heart, even though I couldn’t quite understand it. I could feel what had been done to him just as I could often feel the wounds of others, and I could taste his fear like cloying perfume on the back of my tongue.

  James dragged me forward, and the fear and pain increased. By the time I stood directly in front of the man, his emotions were almost unbearable. In addition to his fear, I felt sadness and loss. He loved someone, and now knew that he would never see her again. I closed my eyes and shook my head over and over, trying to diffuse the emotions before they overcame me.

  “What is she doing?” the short-haired woman asked. “Why isn't she finishing this?”

  “It will come with time,” Estus explained. “Her nature will take over. This is what she was born for.”

  I heard someone saying, “No, no, no,” over and over again, and realized that it was me. His pain was too much. Something within me ached to release it, just like I’d done with Matthew. I wanted to reach out to him.

  The man sobbed, and I could feel his defeat.

  I forced my eyes open, the rest of my body frozen in fear.

  “Just do it!” the man broke down and shouted, flinging spittle in my face.

  His pain was palpable. I thought that if I could reach out and touch it, I could ease that pain. I wanted to reach out and touch it. It pulsed in front of me. I had taken several steps toward him without even realizing it. I began to reach out a hand. No. If I touched him, he would die.

  James pushed me forward so that the man's face was only inches from mine. The man could have tried to kick me or head-butt me, but he didn't. I felt his bitterness. He had given up.

  “Please,” the man whispered right against my face. “Please just let it be over before my body gives out. I know I'm not getting out of here alive, and I don't want to be stuck in a corpse like all the others.”

  “Stuck in a corpse?” I questioned distantly.

  “If we kill him and you do not release him,” Estus said from across the room. “A part of his spirit will remain in his body, forever.”

  It was just like what Sophie had said, but the gravity of it only hit me just then. His body wouldn’t just be animated like a zombie. Part of his soul would be trapped for eternity. What would happen to the rest of his soul if it was missing a part? I felt sick. I wasn't even sure if I believed in souls.

  I met the tortured man’s pained gaze. His eyes were a light brown with flecks of green in them. He obviously believed what Estus said. His eyes pleaded with me to act.

  I reached a trembling hand toward him, cradling his face. I knew what to do even though it had never been taught to me. Images flashed through my mind of a woman, and I almost pulled away. I felt his love for her, and his sorrow in knowing he would never see her again. I did my best to take that sorrow away. I held the man's gaze as the light faded from his eyes. His energy soaked into me in a warm rush as it left him.

  “Thank you,” he whispered with his last breath.

  I lowered my hand, then turned back to the room, awestricken. I noticed a figure in the doorway. Alaric stood framed in the light of the brighter hallway, watching me calmly.

  He offered me a solemn smile and said, “Not always a gift, but not always a curse either.”

  I wanted to run out of the room, but seemed incapable of moving my feet. I had just killed a man, and didn't even know what his crime had been. I had felt his emotions to the very end.

  “What did he do?” I asked to no one in particular.

  “He fought for the wrong side,” Estus answered apathetically.

  I glared at him, anger bubbling up inside of me. I felt giddy with the man's residual energy, and I could still taste his bitterness on the back of my tongue. It spurred my rage on. His memories clung to me, chastising me for what I'd done, even though he'd asked me to do it.

  I walked toward Estus, pointing an accusatory finger. “You took him away from someone who loved him!” The dead man's loss felt like my own. I thought of the woman who'd survived him, and how I’d felt when Matthew died. “What did she do to deserve this?”

  Estus held his ground and stared back at me, daring me to act.

  “How could you possibly know that?” James asked from behind me.

  I spun on him. “I felt it!” I cried. “I saw her. She was the last thing he thought of. His greatest concern was the idea of never seeing her again.”

  “Interesting,” Estus commented. “An empath and an executioner. I do not envy you, my child.”

  I turned back to the old man. I said very slowly, emphasizing each word, “I will not be doing that again.”

  “This is war, Madeline,” he replied. “We all do what we must.”

  “What war?” I spat gesturing back to the corpse on the wall. “I don't see any battles happening! All I see is torture.”

  Tears were running steadily down my face, and I couldn't seem to stop them. The man's last emotion was just too much for me to digest. The images of the one he loved were already fading from my mind, but the emotion was as fresh as ever.

  “Not all wa
r is battle and bloodshed,” Estus replied, finally letting a hint of his own emotion show through. “And I will not let my people be slaughtered because of one squeamish executioner.”

  “What do I even have to do with it!” I shouted. “I’m not part of this!” I knew I was bordering on hysteria, but I just couldn't stop myself.

  Estus walked forward. “Without an executioner,” he said very carefully. “We do not truly die. Would you leave us all to that fate?”

  “This can't be my responsibility alone,” I sobbed. “There must be another way.”

  Estus sneered, making me wonder if the kindly old man act had ever even existed. “We could have chopped that man up and put him in ten different boxes, and still some part of him would have lived. He would no longer have thought or spoken, but the life force would have remained.”

  A horrifying realization dawned on me. “Is that what you did to the last executioner?” I asked. “Is the rest of him still alive in a box somewhere.”

  “It is a fate befitting his crimes,” James said from beside me. I hadn't noticed how close he was standing to me until just then.

  I took a step away from him. “Take me to him,” I demanded.

  Estus smiled. “So, you would kill another?”

  “You owe me for this,” I gestured wildly to the dead man. “Now take me to him.”

  Estus simply nodded and walked toward the door. I followed him, but everyone else stayed put. Alaric stepped out of the doorway as we walked by to give us space. I followed Estus out into the hall, then into the room where I'd found the hand.

  “I see you have already met with part of him,” Estus commented as he kicked the dead hand aside.

  He walked to the wall with the cages and felt across the stones. A brush of his fingertips revealed a handle I hadn't seen before. Estus gripped the handle and pulled, causing the stone to come out of the wall like a drawer.

  I didn't want to look into the drawer. I knew it would be something horrific and bloody, but I also knew that the life, or soul, or whatever you wanted to call it, was still trapped inside this man's dismembered corpse. It wasn't right.

  Estus stepped away from the drawer to make room for me. Before I could think better of it, I walked forward, avoiding blood puddles as I went, and looked down into the box. Inside was a human heart. It didn't beat, yet blood seeped steadily out of the severed ventricles. The box wasn't sealed at the edges, and the blood dripped through the cracks onto the floor. I felt rage and betrayal radiating from the heart, and somehow knew that it could sense my presence.

  “The heart is the key,” Estus informed me. “Release the heart and the soul is free.”

  Not thinking about what I was doing, I reached down and stroked a finger across the heart. I should have been horrified, but I was more intrigued by the heart than anything else. The muscle that composed the thing felt thick and alive. I willed the life out of the heart, but nothing happened.

  “It's not working,” I whispered to myself.

  “Do what you did in the other room,” Estus advised as if I'd been talking to him. “Do not will the life away. Take its pain.”

  Feeling like I was in a trance, I reached out again and felt the soul's hatred and pain. Yet the emotion that outweighed everything was betrayal. If this man was a traitor, it was not by choice. He was killed by the ones he considered kin. I took a shaky breath. This time, instead of willing the life away, I focused on taking the heart's pain, and taking away the feeling of betrayal.

  The heart gave a final shudder, then collapsed in on itself. More blood leaked out as the heart deflated and then was still.

  Estus shut the drawer and dismissed me with a wave of his hand like he was tired. After a mostly sleepless night and no food, I should have been exhausted, yet I was filled with energy. Electric currents ran through me to collect in my fingertips, which felt heavy like they were filled with too much blood.

  I left the macabre room to find Alaric waiting for me in the hall. He looked at my expression carefully, attempting to judge my mood.

  I did my best not to cry, but something must have shown in my face, because he wrapped me tightly in his arms. I didn't know him well enough to receive that sort of comfort from him, but I didn't know where else I was going to get it, so I returned the hug. A sob racked my entire body, releasing some of the emotions I'd absorbed from the dead man and the executioner's heart. I clenched my eyes shut, and did my best to slow my breathing. We stayed that way until I had gathered myself, then Alaric gave me a final squeeze and pulled away.

  “Let's get you some breakfast,” he said softly.

  I shook my head. “I don't think I could eat. I feel . . . strange.”

  Alaric placed his hand gently at the base of my spine and guided me forward. “Let us at least distance ourselves from these rooms.”

  I could tell by the tone of his voice that he was just as appalled by the torture rooms as I was. I felt oddly relieved at the sentiment.

  We had only traveled a few steps when a screeching roar sounded in the hallway, grabbing both mine and Alaric's attention. I turned wide eyes up to him for an explanation.

  “Get back to your room and lock the door,” he ordered.

  “Wha—” I began to ask, but he had already left me to run down the hall.

  Estus, James, and the short-haired woman all ran by before I could even move. They all disappeared around the next bend, and suddenly I was alone.

  I glanced around. It was the perfect opportunity to search for an exit, yet something kept my feet glued in place. I was horrified by what had happened to the man in the torture room, but I was even more horrified by my part in it. I had killed him, and part of me, just a tiny dark part, had liked it. Could I really return to the normal world without learning more about my terrifying gift? Without learning how to stop it?

  I stood frozen in the hallway until I heard the sounds of distant fighting as the others reached whatever the original sound had been. My mind snapping into the present, I started to run in the opposite direction that they had gone, but stopped beside the room where I'd taken the life of the first man.

  His body was still hanging against the wall, limp and lifeless. How could I return to my safe little house, when I could accidentally take someone's life with a touch, just like I'd done to the poor man hanging on the wall?

  I wrapped my arms tightly around my stomach, feeling ill. The people down here were monsters, but maybe, just maybe, I was a monster too.

  Chapter Five

  I stood outside the torture room, questioning my own sanity. These people had just made me kill a man. I couldn’t stay, not even to gain knowledge of my curse. With the sound of fighting in the distance, I turned and ran the other direction. I had nearly reached the end of the hall when I heard a blood-curdling scream. Goosebumps erupted across my arms. My feet slowed. Somehow I knew the scream had come from Sophie. Even through the stone walls and space between us, I could sense her pain. Sophie, who had helped me through my childhood, and who I was pretty sure was still trying to help me. Well shit.

  I turned and ran the other way. I kept going toward the sound of fighting, cursing my choice even as I made it. I had no idea how I might be able to help, but I couldn't just think about myself and ignore what was happening. I knew deep down that Sophie was a good person. When I’d been in foster care, she was someone I’d actually almost considered a friend. She’d made me feel safe in a world of chaos and pain.

  I went around several bends in the hallway and came to the room that I thought of as the throne room, already slick with blood and littered with corpses. I skidded to a halt, then ducked out of view, clutching at my stomach as the pain in the room hit me. Leaning against the wall, I resisted the urge to vomit, instead taking deep breaths to distance myself from the violence. Mixed emotions sang through me—fear, pain, bloodlust . . . I shivered, forcing them to the back of my mind. I’d come to find Sophie.

  Releasing my stomach, I gripped the wall and peered around the corner. The intruders, at least I guessed they were the intruders as I watched James slash a throat with a long knife, were dressed in ornate leather armor. The pieces of armor reminded me of insect carapaces, and didn't fit at all with the modern day attire everyone else wore.