Chapter 13
The Pirate stared straight at Scarlen’s hideout, a slip of a smirk upon his lips. ‘So there’s the traitor.’
Even with fear rattling her, she stood, angry at his words. ‘I’m not a traitor.’
‘Says the girl fucking a demon.’
‘It’s people like you causing the problems, making divides, wanting us to hate each other, but we don’t all have hate in us, and we shouldn’t be fighting each other when there are wyrmocs on their way.’
‘The north will never stand with any of us, girl. They’re just in our way, and the sooner we deal with them, the stronger we’ll be for the real war when it arrives.’
Scarlen’s blood was boiling at his words, the determination in his glare. ‘We don’t have to be at war now.’
The shine on his dagger momentarily flashed in her eyes as he waved the weapon back and forth. ‘Yes, we do, whether you like it or not, and all traitors must perish in the king’s name.’
I’m sure my father would have something to say about that. Then again, with the way her life was going, perhaps he wouldn’t care at all if some random midlander murdered her in prison. She picked up a rock. It wasn’t much, hardly any size, but it was all she had about her.
The Pirate scrunched his nose in disgust. ‘You’re pathetic.’
There’s no shame in running, she told herself, then threw the rock at his head and darted away, using the trees as guards for her back.
Hard footsteps charged her way, and the rain stopped, making it easier for all to see. For her to see she had found the clearing by the pond.
Scarlen skidded to a halt, her legs trembling from the adrenaline pumping through every fibre of her being. It wasn’t just the lack of cover that had her gasp, it was the sight of Varklee grinding his dagger against a small boulder. The twins to his side.
The Pirate ran out behind her just as Varklee looked up, his moment of surprise changing to one of delight.
‘Well, well, well. Lookie what we have here, Flickers.’ Varklee’s head was angled to one side, a glint of amusement taking over his dead eyes briefly. ‘Two for the price of one.’
Scarlen stood between her enemies, searching for an exit, but the twins had their sights firmly on her, and she knew they wanted more than a wounded arm, especially as they were clutching their stomachs, obviously damaged from eating the yellow berries.
Varklee placed the tip of his dagger to his top teeth while grinning like the fox that had its chicken cornered.
With everything her father had put her through over the years, Scarlen found it hard to believe this would be the way she would die.
Well, fuck this shit! She stared blankly at the enemy either side of her, not knowing who would come at her first. If only they knew who they faced.
At least the Pirate would help her then.
Maybe. But she couldn’t tell her truth. Her grave awaited her secret, and soon her lifeless body would be taken there. Wherever there might be.
‘I found her first,’ the Pirate told Varklee. ‘You can’t interfere when it’s one-on-one. Those are the rules.’
Yes, War Zone rules, but of no help to her, because without a weapon, she was vulnerable.
Varklee waggled his blade their way. ‘You’re not in a fight yet, but do carry on. I’m happy to watch.’ He bowed at Scarlen. ‘May the luck of the south be on your side, my dear.’ Words he clearly didn’t mean.
Ignoring his sarcasm and snide grin, she turned her attention to the Pirate, his blade ready to cut her throat.
Balancing herself and raising her fists, she tried to examine his moves to see if she could block him, but as he charged, Bear flew at him as though in animal form, smashing him to the ground, growling and punching wildly.
Varklee cheered his approval as Scarlen stumbled backwards, almost tripping over herself.
The Pirate managed to scurry out of Bear’s hold, his face bleeding, his eyes filled with water and fury.
‘I don’t see a one-on-one,’ said Varklee, and with that he tossed his dagger straight at the Pirate, hitting the unsuspecting man in the heart, dropping him at once, then Varklee raced forward, grabbed the weapon and pulled it free so he could continue to puncture the wound until he felt satisfied.
Silence loomed for a long moment, then the horn blew, and Kane’s voice called into their circle of death.
Scarlen stared at the dead man before her, her heart as quiet as his. She was being summoned back into the building, but her legs wouldn’t move, and she couldn’t take her eyes off the blood covering the dead body, smearing the ground to his side.
‘Scars,’ came Bear’s voice softly, as though waking her gently from a sleep. His hand touched hers, jolting her from the nightmare. ‘It’s time to go.’
Just like that, they were to leave, but it didn’t feel right. Nothing did, and Varklee singing made the situation even more surreal. Dark and lonely.
Kane frowned at her wounds as she passed him by. ‘Healer, Smithson.’
She didn’t hear much more as someone led her away to a cool room where a male healer had her lie on a bed. His breath smelled of stale rum, and his grey eyes held no sympathy.
‘I’m Professor Posla. All will be well soon enough.’
She focused on his gaunt features, shaded and deathlike, as nimble fingers pressed into painful parts that soon faded as though no damage had ever taken place.
Posla moved to a cabinet, tall, oak, filled with tinctures and balms, his long lilac shift floating around him. ‘Hmm, let me see.’ Three small bottles were removed, and each was poured into a wooden bowl, something white and powdery sprinkled on top. ‘Drink this.’
Scarlen was too lightheaded to argue so drank the vile concoction, feeling queasy once more.
‘Five more minutes, then you can leave.’ Posla began putting his medicine away.
‘You’re my only patient, as I’m not treating the likes of stomach ache.
Not much to the Zone this time then.’ It was almost a question; she wasn’t entirely sure.
He frowned at the amber sweatshirt peeking beneath her green top. ‘Which are you, Green or Amber?’
‘Green,’ she mumbled, her lips yet to defrost.
‘Didn’t anyone tell you to only wear your own colour?’
She remembered being told on arrival. ‘Does it matter in the Zone?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
So I’m to be punished again. What more can they do?
Damp and tired, she sat up. The bloodstains were still around her sleeve, but the wound had healed, and the burn on her hand was gone. The mist in her head lifted, and the sickness in her stomach disappeared.
‘Feeling better?’ asked Posla.
‘Much. Thank you.’
‘Just doing my job.’
Scarlen tested her legs by standing, surprised by the sudden strength in her joints. ‘What happens to the man who died?’
‘Body goes to his family, if he has one. They’ll be told he had a fight. If there is no one out there for him, he’ll be burned and his ashes scattered in the bay.’
It seemed so cold. ‘And Horstal gets away with this?’
Posla gave a small nod. ‘That appears to be the case.’
She wanted to yell at him, scream, scratch his eyes out for his nonchalance. A man had been murdered under their watch. Their orders. Their wicked game. But no words came to her, just numbness and a wish for her bed.
Posla opened the door, and Scarlen saw Miss Goolan outside. ‘All fixed,’ he trilled.
Goolan grunted. ‘This way, Smithson.’
‘Are we going to the shower chamber, miss?’
‘You wish.’ She scoffed, then gave Scarlen the once over, her grimace firm in place. ‘You do realise what you did in the Zone?’
‘Survived,’ Scarlen muttered, fists clenching.
‘You broke the rules, Smithson. So, no, you won’t be heading for a nice warm shower and some breakfast.’
‘Am I going to see the warden?’
‘No. You’re going straight to a dark cell for three days.’
Even though she had no idea what that entailed, she still gasped. ‘What did I do wrong?’
‘You and your boyfriend either made a lot of mistakes or you just didn’t care.
’ Goolan led her along a corridor she hadn’t been before.
‘You wore a different colour, Smithson. You’re still wearing Amber.
And you stayed in one place longer than an hour, then there’s the fact Vyer joined in your fight. ’
‘I wasn’t fighting.’
Goolan shrugged. ‘Looked that way to them.’ Her gaze went upwards, and Scarlen followed her eyes for a moment.
‘May I speak to the warden about this?’
A cackle of a laugh shot out of Miss Goolan. ‘No, you may not.’
Scarlen went to protest some more but was brought to a stop at a double-barred door and handed over to another guard. One she hadn’t seen before.
‘Scarlen Smithson,’ reported Miss Goolan as the door opened. ‘Three days.’
The plump woman with hollow eyes grabbed Scarlen by the arm and tugged her inside, bidding Miss Goolan good day.
Scarlen took in her surroundings, thinking it not too different from the family room. A small empty communal area was in the middle, and some doors like the ones in Red were to either side.
‘First time, Smithson, so here are the rules.’ The guard marched her over to a door.
‘When the flap opens,’ she tapped the opening in the door, ‘it’ll be for your food or water.
You’ll be fed three times a day. Porridge each time.
You have thirty seconds to eat. You’ll receive a cup of water morning and night.
You drink it quickly and pass back the cup. Understand?’
Scarlen nodded at the harsh rules.
‘Now, strip and put this on.’
An off-white shift was waggled Scarlen’s way, and she wasn’t sure if she was supposed to go into the cell to get changed, as the door hadn’t been opened.
As if reading her mind, the guard confirmed the change of clothes would happen right where she stood.
There was no one else around, so Scarlen got out of her wet things and slipped the garment over her naked body. At least it was dry, and some warmth entered her at last.
The guard pulled a key from the long chain attached to her belt and unlocked the door. ‘In you go.’
It wasn’t the kind of cell Scarlen had expected. There was standing room only, with a hole in the floor and one in the ceiling, both the size of the food bowls in the canteen.
‘That’s right, there’s no way for you to sit,’ said the guard. ‘Though some lean a little.’
Scarlen entered the confined space and faced the door, numbness creeping along her spine.
‘The next time this door opens will be in three days,’ said the guard. ‘Just the flap will be used from now on.’
Scarlen reached her hands for the opening as the door closed her into darkness. ‘Does this stay open?’
‘No,’ replied the guard, snapping it shut. The sound of her keys rattling in the lock was the only noise before footsteps stomped, then faded.
There was nothing to see, not even her hand before her face, which she could just about move, as the space was so cramped. In three days, surely everything would cramp.
‘All right in there, Scars?’
‘Bear?’
‘Yep. Just next door.’
Scarlen sighed with relief upon hearing his voice. ‘I’m sorry I took your top and that I passed out.’
‘My choice to offer the sweatshirt. My choice not to move you while you were down.’
‘And you shouldn’t have joined in my fight.’
‘You hadn’t started, so fair game.’
She twiddled her fingers, wishing she could reach for him. ‘You saved me after I’d told you I hated you.’
There came no reply.
‘Thank you, Bear,’ she whispered, her throat feeling clogged with emotion.
‘Have to take care of my girl.’
She couldn’t help but smile at the jest in his voice.
A long moment of silence sat between them, some muffled footsteps at one point filling the air, then a faint rattle of something tinny coming from above.
‘Take a breath,’ warned Bear.
But before she could ask why, a whoosh of cold water poured down through the top hole, soaking her through to the bone. ‘Argh!’ Shivering, she banged her fist low against the wall in a fit of temper. ‘What the fuck was that all about?’
‘It’s part of what happens here. Three times a day, they’ll soak you, so you’re always wet and cold.’
She turned to the closed flap. ‘They won’t let us dry?’
A huff of a laugh came from his cell. ‘They don’t even let us out to use the toilet chamber.’
‘They give us a bucket?’
‘Do you see room in that flap for a bucket?’
She could barely see the flap at all; it was that dark.
‘There’s a hole in the floor,’ he added.
She could hear the water trickling down the space, then the realisation hit. That’s our toilet chamber. And if anything needed emptying, she would have to navigate the issue while standing. ‘Oh, this place just keeps getting better and better.’
‘Wait till you try to glug a bowl of cold porridge down in thirty seconds.’
‘What happens if I can’t?’
‘It’s meet and greet time with a baton.’ Bear’s sigh came through the wall. ‘Hurts more when you’re wet.’
‘Do you think all prisons are like this?’
‘They say Horstal is the worst. Perhaps designed that way to put off the young committing more crimes once released. But who knows? Adult prisons might be just as ruthless.’
And Scarlen used to think she had it bad locked away in one section of the palace. At least she got use of their private beach from time to time, and she could wander the corridors of her wing.
‘It’ll soon pass, Scars.’
Footsteps told them someone was approaching.
‘Breakfast,’ called the guard who had locked Scarlen in the cell. She placed a bowl of porridge on the flap as soon as she opened it. ‘And counting.’
Scarlen shuffled to raise her hands for the bowl. ‘There’s no spoon.’
‘Still counting, Smithson.’
Scarlen lifted it to her mouth, choking at once as slimy, large chunks of cold, clumped porridge hit the back of her throat.
Gagging, she tried to swallow as the guard’s baton came into view.
It wasn’t easy to eat and keep it down, but as the guard called time, Scarlen placed the empty bowl on the flap.
The guard grinned. ‘You get used to it.’
‘I might throw up.’
‘You might, but it won’t be pleasant for you in there with that all over you.’ The flap closed with a clang, and Scarlen covered her mouth with her hand, hoping to hold in the goo.
Bear’s flap slammed to a close, indicating he had finished his breakfast as well. ‘Keep it down. It’s the only food you’ll get.’
She burped, and her stomach roiled. ‘That wasn’t like any porridge I know.’
‘Life in a dark cell.’