IZOGIE

  Today, the boy will die.

  The evening quickly approached as his soft rattles permeated the cobblestone walls in fear. His presence resonated through the dark halls of the prison. Illiterate laughter and hurrahs erupted outside the palace walls, rejoicing over the coming of a new age. The blithe of the Netherborne filled the room with restlessness. Their joyful screams nearly masked the putrid stench of rotting flesh mixed with sulfur.

  The plague had already transformed Nikolai’s sandy skin into the color of an albino wolf. His right hand managed to hold the enchanted sword with an iron grip, but violent tremors still consumed him. It was like electricity erupted inside him, but instead of giving life, it drained decades from him.

  Katara wrung the moist handkerchief over a bowl of hot water, pressing it against his forehead. Nikolai was born a Dragmus—one of the twelve noble families of the Valerian Court and the sole heir of the crown. He should have been preparing for his coronation, not exchanging bravery and valor for countless lives.

  If he didn’t live to be crowned the Next High King, then the pain he experienced would pale in comparison to what was waiting for them. Grabbing a sponge, Izogie dipped her hands inside the water until his blood turned the translucent liquid into a pool of darkness. She scrubbed the palm of her hand until the water splashed onto the frigid limestone floor.

  No matter how hard she cleaned the black tar from her skin, it didn’t wash away, and the last thing she needed was a constant reminder of death. Not when the memory of another child’s cries whispered into her heart until the light faded out of their eyes. She was tired of burying children. She refused to shut their eyes and send them away in silence. Their lives were worth more than secret gatherings and forgotten traditions.

  The two Purifiers steadied their cross swords against Katara’s neck, forcing their blades an inch into her skin. She fumed against the cold steel as Izogie carefully cleaned his wound. She kneeled on the ground, observing Izogie as she fought to stay awake.

  Her chest moved rhythmically, pacing herself she was mindful of the golden mask covering most of her face. All prisoners of war must be marked; they didn’t have a choice but to hide their faces behind demonic masks. The cheekbones were closely molded to fit the overall appearance of the ghoul helm, a ferocious skeleton.

  The metal from the mask was seared so close into Izogie’s skin that it pressed her nostrils shut, smashing her lips against her teeth. She fought like hell to take every breath she was given behind the demon, but she couldn’t over-exert herself. The Ghoul Helm was the cost of penance, a bitter reminder to humans to never forget they were the savage beasts.

  Katara shifted her weight to the right side of her body, wincing at another reminder of justice. Izogie remembered her breathing technique as she coated her finger in the paste they had prepared earlier. She smeared small circles of the herbs into his flesh until the strange liquid stopped oozing from his wound.

  The gash on the Prince’s abdomen gaped open, exposing layers of infected tissue, and his body was still cold to the touch. At first, she never believed the mutterings around the castle, but after studying his injury, she was speechless. He was already showing rapid signs of deterioration; it shouldn’t be possible. But it was like Nikolai had been dead for weeks.

  She fought to shove the sterile needle inside his flesh, but it was like pushing a toothpick through stone. After moments of useless attempts, something finally connected, and with the last incision, she stitched him closed. She held the cloth under his ribcage, applying a small layer of crushed herbs ground into a thick paste.

  Izogie torched the floor with a stormy gaze; rancor boiled hotter inside her chest the longer she stared at Katara’s blood. When Nikolai’s life ran as black as coal the puddle spilled on the cobblestone floor mixed with crimson. Even then, their crossed swords pressed against the nape of her neck, ready to slice her head off. The Purifiers slowly retracted the center of their blades, purposely pulling them along her neck. She winced, feeling tears cloud the rims of her eyes; she dug her sharp fingernails into the palms of her hands.

  Holding a breath, Izogie wondered what her people did to deserve such cruelty. Each slash into Katara’s skin took far more from her than a few drops of blood. It was the only thing she had left as a Golem, her people. She could endure the agonizing pain, but she refused to watch them suffer. She knew the slaves imprisoned beneath the castle walls were the beating heart of Azgeda, a place that was nothing but ashes.

  “It was the plague,” Izogie heaved with contempt. “I heard whispers in the tunnels about men that bled black blood and had no pulse. They say the moment their blood runs black, there’s no coming back.”

  Katara knitted her eyebrows in frustration. “The same nightmares came to life in our tunnels months ago.”

  “They reckon we believe too much in old wives’ tales. But Katara, I think the Prince wouldn’t be in a jail cell if there weren’t some truth to the voices. See, the only question worth asking is how long before he dies?”

  “Hush your mouth; the last thing they need to hear us gossiping about is a dead set of pointy ears.”

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  “You know when the sun goes down, and these guards disappear, the Prince won’t awaken as no damn King. He’ll die as the martyr that ripped our bodies apart.”

  “I can’t say I’m surprised.” Malachi broadcasted. “The feeble-minded were always easily persuaded by fairytales. The only satisfaction we’ll have from your deaths is come dawn, the Prince won’t just repaint the walls in your blood. But the boy will show the entire royal guard the proper way to skin a golem.”

  “That’s a full circle for you elves. Even when you’re dead, you discriminate.”

  “Like your lives, your deaths won’t amount to much, but an extra heart on the table. Be thankful you lasted this long.” Hael commented, leaning against the wall.

  Katara peeled her shirt off her back, revealing layers of scar tissue that formed a spider web of keloids. Each healed laceration told its own story, and for the most part, Izogie remembered the one time Katara told her she took a beating for a child. She never thought a person so strong would ever have any scars; it didn’t seem like a wound could stick to someone so stubborn.

  Despite her resentment towards those pointy-eared fools, she folded her shirt and placed it underneath Nikolai’s head. She waited to hear the steel bars shut before she opened her mouth. “At least you’ll know what it feels like when compassion beats inside your stomach, elf,” Katara whispered, desperately wrestling the hunger erupting inside her stomach.

  Nico sneered at the Neanderthal; fastening his sword in its sheath, he glared at the fresh scars his blade created on her neck. It wasn’t deep enough, but he looked at it as if he could feel the cold steel cutting into her flesh. Izogie thought if he didn’t mind the mess, he would have taken their heads, and his rage seared even deeper inside her mind. Something behind his dark, apathetic eyes knew that killing Katara was pointless. She wondered if her thoughts about the young elf were true. Would the new age find their jail cell stocked with a pile of bones and the meat licked clean off?

  “I’m sure the twelve kingdoms can find some use for you. If you survive the purification, you can lie on your back and bear another heart to beat inside our stomachs.” He slid his finger across the cut he made with his blade, licking the blood from his fingertip.

  “You that guard? Selena’s boy ain’t yah?” Izogie whispered. “She was the only one that stayed after, and even then she always hid the prettiest shards of Dragon’s Breath.”

  She looked deep inside his eyes searching for an emotion. “She’d spread ‘em’ throughout the tunnels. She used to say just because we’re buried don’t mean we gotta act like the dead.”

  Izogie paused for a moment then spoke with a strained voice. “It’s funny, around the time you passed your test, Nico, Selena just disappeared.”

  “Careful,” Nico growled, quiet enough so the elves could barely hear him. He blinked as sadness slithered into his countenance. The cell darkened opaque and cold with a harsh chill that marked the first month of the year. They never broke eye contact as her heart steadied inside her chest. Men like Nico were the first monsters to betray their humanity.

  They left the battle arena more dead than the bodies they killed, so for their service the Elvish Queen gave them the keys to everlasting life. Nothing was more pathetic than watching mighty warriors turn against themselves. Izogie despised Nico for the glint of remorse emanating within infinite darkness. No golem understood how they changed the color of their eyes or why they all paled in comparison to each family.

  “Boy, I don’t see how you sleep at night instead of burning to death.” Izogie looked at him with hatred boiling inside her bloodstream, but she stayed in place. Her knees were used to the arctic cobblestone ripping into her flesh. After all, a golem that stood at eye level with an elf in their presence was one step from death. Standing wasn’t forbidden, but looking them in the eyes was different. If Malachi or Hael mistook it for provocation, then they could slice Izogie’s head off where she stood.

  “It wouldn’t take much to kill you,” Nico pressed the end of his sword against her mouth, “but that would be too easy. I want to watch the people you love split you from one end to the other as their crowned victor.”

  “I rather feed the entire King’s Veil than be the traitor that ate the flesh of my brothers and sisters.”

  Nico looked at her for a long while. “I think when the sun goes down, and we’re all fast asleep, that boy’s going to be a martyr, alright. But he won’t be the beast.”

  She watched him slunk off with so much gusto it never seemed like he offered the Prince on a silver platter. Exactly what was this devil’s bargain? Because there was no way in hell she would ever eat a child.

  She’d rather eat the rats crawling through the prison first. After all, they weren’t monsters like the Eldryn or their mindless sheep. She always knew their power was only worth all the nightmares that drove them insane. Izogie figured it must’ve been why they imparted their sick nature onto their enemies.

  “No matter whose siel it is, it’ll never get rid of the taste of your mother’s heartbreaking,” Izogie screamed, repeatedly pounding her fist against the ground. She refused to accept that the only thing separating them from death was only a few days.

  “Have you lost your mind,” Katara snapped. “Don’t you ever let them break you that easily? Your tears are wasted on those pointy-eared fools.”

  “When I look at Nico Penance, all I see is death, and I can’t stand him for it. We have seven days, Katara.”

  “How do you want to spend those days?” She asked calmly.

  Izogie glared at the cracks in the wall, refusing to answer. A question that stupid didn’t deserve a response. What did it matter how she chose to live her last days? She would still spend every minute enslaved. “Since you have all the answers, tell me, how do you live when the grim reapers staring you right in the face?”

  “You live,” Katara spoke with intensity. “You live.”

  In the twenty days they spent locked behind a jail cell, Izogie still couldn’t figure her out. At times, she felt like she’d known her longer than a month then reality settled into her mind. Katara was a slave, but she wasn’t raised in King’s Veil. She grew up in the tunnels of Galadhrim, the kingdom where golems were few in number. But they both survived years of persecution to await their final moments at The Moon’s Edge. It was an ancient battlefield where seven victors were crowned in an arena of smoke and fire.

  “What if today was your last?” Katara asked, leaning forward. “Would you spend it breaking every bone in your fingers or fighting for every last second?”

  Katara shifted a few inches to the right, revealing a makeshift hole in the wall. Izogie was instantly drawn to the world outside the prison. She examined the inside of the cobblestone, it must’ve been at least three feet until she reached the outside. There was a small window with steel bars, but for some strange reason, it stood at the room’s height.

  Izogie glided her fingers against the rough edges of the gaping hole in the cobblestone. She couldn’t figure out why a slave wanted to dig a window to the outside world. Still, she gazed at the hundreds of multicolored fireworks illuminating above the streets.

  The infantry marched in two single-filed lines on both sides of the street. One group casted a spell, sparking luminescent lights from their fingertips. The other soldiers waved their hands in a different sequence and catapulted confetti into the air.

  “Every night at last watch, I waited after everyone fell asleep, and I dug a hole to the other side with this.” Katara held a jagged shard of metal in her hand, but all Izogie saw were the cuts on her wrist.

  “Why did you do this to yourself?” She demanded.

  “I was the same as you. I was burying myself long before I was put in the ground.”

  “You told me not to let them break me, and then you turn around and do this.” She said, her voice cracking.

  “You think I gave myself these scars because I was weak.” Katara stared at her. “I stabbed this shard into my arm because I made a promise to the person who gave it to me. I swore to always find a reason to live.”

  Izogie averted her gaze; her vision darted to the cheerful streets of King’s Veil. If she hadn’t known the reason for Katara’s scars, she would have seen her as a coward. But she finally understood why she defied the guards and slashed her skin. She wasn’t counting the twenty days they were imprisoned together or the ten she spent alone. This festival only happened once every four thousand years on the same day. Even from a cell, Katara made a wish for a moment of bliss.

  patreon.com/The_House_Of_Valor