A Thirst for Vengeance (The Ashes Saga, Volume 1) (3 page)

Immediately, the three men prostrated themselves on the floor.

That was the first time I witnessed real magic.

It fascinated me. What would possess three strong men to cower before a little girl? Her mouth kept moving. More sounds came. Some were harsh. But most were smooth and soft, like warm honey.

The soft ones scared the men most.

Instinctively, every person knows what language is. It is hardwired into our brains. Since I had not been exposed to language before, those mystical noises attracted me. They beckoned me like a black-veiled siren in the night. I knew that, somewhere inside, I had the capacity to do the same thing the girl was doing.

So I tried. I parted my lips, touched my tongue to the roof of my mouth, and used my forgotten
vocal cords for the first time.

“Faarkher. Faaaarkher.”

My angel spun toward me. Her eyes were wide.

“Faarghur,” I kept trying. I was repeating the word I heard her use most often. “Faarrkhur. Farghur. Fugher. Fuc—“

She picked me up. “Shh, shh,” she cooed in my ear. My body quivered in ecstasy from her touch. She stroked my hair. “Shh, don’t say that. Can you walk?” She made a waddling motion.

On some level, I understood her. I nodded and smiled widely, then showed her what I could do.

I stood on my own two feet and backed away, then mimicked that awkward waddle.

She laughed with delight and clapped her hands. Even I was not so far removed from humanity that I could not understand encouragement. I made a show of it for her, stomping my feet against the floor with abandon, making big circles round and round.

She stood up and took my hand. The warmth I felt through that connection was… well, it was unlike anything I’d felt before. It flowed up my arm and made my insides tingle. All of the hurt I had not allowed my body to feel crashed into me. My senses awakened.

I staggered, but did not fall. I satiated in the pain, because feeling it meant that I could feel
her
.

Her hand was still rough and callous, just as before. That did not take away from my pleasure.

She walked with me back to the three men. She barked something at them. I do not remember the words, though I wish I could. They must have been pure brilliance, for they made the three men bury their faces even deeper in the dirt.

The next time I saw any of them, they were bound to an upright log beside a roaring fire. They were being flayed alive.

She took me past the men and up a flight of stairs. There, she unlocked a rough, wooden door. We walked down a long tunnel lit by hanging candles at either end. We passed through another door, and climbed one more flight of stairs. Suddenly, we were home.

Home
. How can I describe the countless connotations that that word brings? Home is the place you feel safe. Home is the place you are warm. Home is a person’s sanctuary, his retreat from the world.

The place I found challenged all those assumptions.

It was the lower floor of a palace. Rich tapestries hung from the walls. Gleaming tiles decorated the floor. Windows, monstrous windows, brought in the glorious sunlight.

I took my first step forward, and the illusion shattered.

I heard the screams of tortured men and women. They echoed through the halls, not loud enough to be distracting—if you were used to them—but ever-present, and never-ending. When I looked again at the tapestries on the walls, I saw depictions of bloody orgies. Fingers, limbs, and sometimes entire heads were missing from the bodies.

The floor tiles were bright red. They reminded me of blood.

My angel did not seem to mind. I was uncomfortable, but, pride being a prickly thing, did not let it show.

It was the first time I had to pretend for a lady.

We walked down the high-ceilinged, empty hall. We passed a few closed doors. Sometimes, when we did, the screams became louder. Other times, they stayed the same.

I think it obvious I preferred the latter doors.

I was led into the kitchen and sat on a stool. The unnamed girl poured me a bowl of soup. She put it on the table and pushed it toward me.

I did not know what to do.

“Eat,” she said, making the appropriate motions. “Eat. Mmm, good. Yum, yum.”

“Young yam,” I said, smiling. She giggled. I liked her.

I dipped my spoon in the soup and took a mouthful.

My palette exploded in a euphoria of previously unbeknownst tastes. In fact, I was so absorbed in all the new feelings coming to life inside my mouth that I did not notice the entrance of a third person until he was right on us.

My eyes bulged when I saw Three-Grin. He towered over the table like an icy mountain. He looked livid.

He raised an arm to strike me. Before I could do anything, the girl darted in front of me to take the brunt of the blow. Momentary shock rippled across Three-Grin’s features.

It had nothing on the shock that I felt.

The girl crumpled to the floor. As she tried to right herself, Three-Grin drove his boot into the small of her back. She gave a tight cry of pain.

The little sound sparked such a fire in me that even I was amazed at my reaction. I flew from the stool and attacked Three-Grin. Biting, clawing, scratching—doing everything I could to hurt the man who was harming my savior.

It was a valiant effort, but in vain. Three-Grin picked me up by the scruff of my neck and threw me against a wall. He did not so much as blink at the effort. He just laughed.

My head bounced off the stone. I saw white stars and felt pain. All the nerves I had so expertly numbed were now sharp as knives. That meant that I felt every single kick Three-Grin started directing at me ten-fold.

He did not beat me long. Even as he was hitting me, even as I cried out—I had to now, for my shell was broken—I cared only for one thing: the small girl lying on the floor.

My eyes betrayed me.

Three-Grin noticed me looking. His mouth curled up in a crude facsimile of a smile. It emphasized the hideous scars on his cheeks.

He picked me up, reached behind him for some rope, and tied me to the back of a chair.

Don’t get me wrong. I struggled against the bonds. I thrashed and flailed and kicked and did everything in my power to break free. But there is only so much a boy of six can do against a grown man.

Three-Grin positioned me so that I would have the perfect view. He turned on the girl—and kicked her hard in the belly.

She gasped. I cried out. Three-Grin looked at me and laughed. I flailed harder. He began hollering at the girl as he landed kicks on her body. She cried and curled into herself.

I screamed.

I screamed with rage and hatred. I screamed because there was nothing else I could do.

I did not hate Three-Grin before. He was simply a constant in my life, doing what he did for reasons unknown to me. But he treated all the children the same, and in the dark, we were anonymous.

Now, he was hurting the first person who showed me kindness. I hated him for it. I screamed, and he took delight in the sound.

As the girl lay whimpering on the floor, Three-Grin picked her up and threw her on the table. I saw the wetness on her face. I hated him all the more for it. He looked at me with a crazed madness, satiating in my pathetic struggle. He reveled in his display of power.

Then, he tore the girl’s clothes off.

Her body was a mess of healing, yellow bruises. Welts lined her shoulders and her upper arms. They were old scars, and older half-healed injuries.

I had never seen a creature more beautiful—nor one more to be pitied.

Three-Grin began to rape her.

She did not fight. She could not. I saw the light in her eyes go out. A dull lifelessness came over her as she retreated to some far corner in her mind. Three-Grin growled and pounded into her with an animal ferocity.

She took it without protest.

It was the most horrifying scene I had ever witnessed. When he was done, he splattered his seed all over her belly, then turned and left without so much as a glance at either of us.

A silence grew, broken only by the girl’s labored breathing. It was punctuated every once in a while by a short, involuntary whimper.

I possessed no words. But, at that moment, I made a silent vow to kill Three-Grin one day.

Eventually, the girl picked herself up. She shook as she used the tattered clothes to cover her body. Then, without a word, she untied me and brought me to her room.

Chapter Four

Her name was Alicia, as I learned some months later. She was one of Three-Grin’s daughters. She was also his youngest wife.

I adored her. I trailed her everywhere like a shadow.

She taught me to speak. She gave me food. She showed me all the hiding places I could go when I heard Three-Grin approaching.

I did not want to hide. I wanted to fight. But, I was too small.

I hated my body for it.

Alicia endured nightly rapes by her father. I witnessed every single one from behind the wallboards of her closet. She did not fight back once. I could not understand why.

She kept knives in her drawers. She showed them to me. Surely, it would not be hard to hide one under her pillow and use it to slit Three-Grin’s throat when he fell asleep beside her, exhausted by his victory?

But Alicia did no such thing. Three-Grin was a monster, and yet she still found it in her heart to forgive him

It was only years after I left that I understood it was not kindness that spared Three-Grin’s life.

It was terror.

As I said before, I watched the three masked men be flayed alive. Alicia was not the one to order it. Her father was. He was punishing them for letting me escape.

Weeks passed. I hid when Three-Grin came, and comforted Alicia as best I could when he left. As weeks turned to months, I assumed that her father had simply forgotten about me.

How wrong I was.

***

About a year into my stay with Alicia, I was woken up by the thunderous sound of a crashing door. I jolted upright and, pressing my eye to the crack that let me see into her room, found Three-Grin heaving at the door, his face a red mask of rage.

“Where is he?” he demanded. “Where is the blasted urchin you adopted as your own?”

Alicia rose from bed smoothly. She did not bother tying her robe. She knew that would only anger Three-Grin more.

She faced him head-on and asked, “Who, Father?”

“Whore!” he screamed. He backhanded her against the face, sending her to the floor. Her lower lip burst open. Blood trickled down her chin.

Alicia picked herself up. She took Three-Grin’s hand. “Father, pl—”

Three-Grin hit her again. “Whore!” he yelled. “Ungrateful whore! Lying bitch! I know you’re sheltering him, so WHERE IS HE?”

Alicia started to shake. She did not answer. She would not betray me.

Three-Grin picked her up and threw her over the bed. He grabbed her hair and shoved her head into the mattress. Then he started fiddling with his belt.

I couldn’t take it anymore. This was my opportunity to strike. Three-Grin’s back was toward me. The drawer of knives stood between me and him.

I burst from the closet in a flash. I was underfed, but that made me light, and quick. I reached the drawer in a tenth of a second. Another half a breath, and I leapt forward, blade in hand, aiming it straight at Three-Grin’s neck.

The man moved with such sinuous speed that I could never have expected it from one his size.

He twisted back. One hand knocked the knife from my fingers. The other curled into a fist and caught me right in the stomach.

The punch drove the air out of my lungs. I fell and hit the floor hard. Before I could so much as cough, Three-Grin landed on top of me.

He reeked of sweat and stale beer. His short, curling hair clumped around his temples. His eyes burned with bloodlust.

“No!” Alicia screamed. “No, Father! Let him go!”

Three-Grin ignored his wailing daughter. He looked down at me and spoke. “I hear the Arena calling your name, boy. I’ve fed and housed you for too long. It’s time you repay what you owe.”

Alicia’s screams continued in the background. Three-Grin turned his head and yelled, “Shut up!”

He punctuated his request by picking up my knife and casually flinging it at her.

Time slowed as I watched the blade arc through the air. Alicia had only a second to widen her eyes.

Then the sharp metal sunk into her throat.

She made a wet, gurgling sound and fell to her knees. I watched, horrified, as her hands desperately tried to stem the blood flow.

They did not so much as reach halfway. She toppled forward, dead.

My hatred for the man exploded in a furious inferno of flame.

I went feral. I scratched and clawed and bit. I did everything I could to break free from under Three-Grin’s body.

It was all wasted effort.

He grabbed my hair and twisted my neck toward the body of my angel. He brought his face close to mine.

“You see her?” he snarled. “She’s dead because of you.
You
did that to her. Look. LOOK!”

I looked. I saw the shape of the poor, fallen girl. I saw the blood pulsing out of her neck with the final beats of her heart. I saw the red stain crawl up the white fabric of her robe.

Most of all, I saw my failure to protect her.

“Remember that image,” Three-grin breathed. “Remember what you caused. Remember, when you’re fighting in the Arena. Remember Xune. Remember that He punishes all sinners. Remember that Xune alone sees your guilt.”

He picked my head up and slammed it against the floor. I blacked out.

Chapter Five

I came to with a searing pain behind my eyelids. My entire body hurt.

I groaned and rolled over. For a moment, I debated never opening my eyes and simply sinking into the darkness.

Then I remembered Alicia.

My eyes popped open. I jerked up. And was greeted by a sight never seen before.