Steel Maiden Page 6

  “Well now, Elena Milegard, from the Pit,” the high priest said. “I do not want you as a concubine. But there is something I want you to do for me—”

  “She needs to die!” bellowed the hateful Brother Edgar.

  “My lord,” he added quickly.

  The high priest scowled at him.

  “I will do it. Let me take her down to the cells and beat the demon out of her. It would be my pleasure. This is, after all, the result of my own folly. It will give me great pleasure to rectify my mistake.”

  His black, soulless eyes fell on me again and even though I hated this man, I watched him without feeling. He would not break me. I didn’t fear him, and I wouldn’t go down without a fight.

  “Under different circumstances I would have to agree with you, Brother Edgar,” said the high priest. He strolled around the chamber, but then his eyes fixed on me again.

  “But as it turns out—this is different.”

  Brother Edgar looked shocked. “Your Eminence?”

  The high priest turned around and faced me.

  “I don’t believe in luck or chances. I believe that she was brought to us by the Creator, and that he has a plan for her.”

  A murmur of disagreement ran around the chamber, but no one seemed to want to voice his discontent.

  I was just as confused as the other priests. The high priest’s sly smile was not reassuring, and I shifted uncomfortably. What could be worse than being a concubine? My mind was in overdrive. I braced myself for what was to come.

  The high priest looked at me through keen eyes. “Elena, have you ever heard of the Heart of Arcania?”

  I fidgeted under his icy stare.

  “The stone?” I shrugged. “It’s a myth, a fairy tale. I’ve read about it in a children’s book.”

  The high priest seemed pleased with my answer.

  “You can read? How marvelous. I can assure you that the precious stone is no myth. The Heart of Arcania exists. The kings and queens of old desired it, too, but no one has been able to recover it.”

  He raised his voice. “As you are well aware, my brothers, the Great Race will start in two weeks.”

  I stole a look at the guards. Both Baul and Garth looked as perplexed as I was. I wasn’t the only one left in the dark. Brother Edgar glared at me, and I met his eyes with vengeful fierceness and kept glaring at him until he looked away.

  “Every hundred years,” began the high priest, “representatives from the kingdoms of Arcania participate in a Great Race on the anniversary of the Day of Reckoning, when the Temple of the Sun came into power.”

  I watched the other priests. The only ones that looked slightly confused were the apprentices. The hateful, self-important priests looked on knowingly. Whatever this race was, it was clear they knew about it.

  Still, something in the high priest’s attitude unsettled me. He had never appeared to be enraged that I had stolen the Anglian crown—not by a long shot. He had looked joyous.

  “For the last three hundred years,” the high priest continued, “we have maintained this tradition.”

  I watched as heads shook in the chamber.

  “So what does that have to do with me?”

  “Everything,” said the high priest.

  I noticed Brother Edgar’s face darken.

  “You see, Elena. This is no ordinary race. The champions from each kingdom must travel to dangerous lands and undertake quests in which they must face both monsters and the undead. Anyone, regardless of their station, can enter the race if they dare. Most will never return. Only the strong can survive…only the gifted.”

  I scowled.

  “A race? You want me to participate in a race?”

  The high priest’s white robes swung in a great arc around him.

  “As I am the one who must chose the champion who will represent the Temple of the Sun Empire, who better could I select than a thief who also happens to be gifted. It is clear, the Creator himself has chosen her.”

  Brother Edgar stepped forward.

  “Your Eminence. You cannot be serious. You cannot trust this creature. It would be madness,” he growled.

  I could see a large vein throb on his forehead.

  “She will betray you. You cannot allow this. She must die!”

  A consensus of agreement sounded through the chamber.

  The high priest looked at Brother Edgar dismissively.

  “I am high priest here. Not you, Brother Edgar.”

  The high priest seemed to grow taller, and the chamber darkened as though the torchlights had been dimmed.

  “I will take your opinion under advisement. But make no mistake, Brother Edgar, I will not hear another word from you. Is that clear?”

  Brother Edgar’s eyes met mine for a long charged moment. Then his face went from red to a deep shade of purple, but he pressed his lips together and was quiet.

  Once the high priest was satisfied, he turned to me.

  “Elena Milegard. You were caught stealing the Anglian crown, a crime punishable by death. Moreover, you are a magic bearer, a crime also punishable by death.

  I swallowed hard.

  “As such, my brothers want your death.”

  He paused.

  “And under normal circumstances I would not hesitate to see your head on a silver plate. In my opinion, any magic bearer is an enemy of the Empire, of all things natural, and of the Creator himself.”

  The high priest sighed and straightened his sleeves. I found it odd that while he claimed magic was evil, he chose to use it himself.

  “But I find myself with a tool of opportunity. Therefore, I’m giving you two options, Elena. You can choose death, or you can choose to redeem yourself as my champion for the Great Race. What will you choose?”

  I raised my brows. He already knew what my answer would be.

  If I agreed to be his champion, I might be able to escape with Rose to Girmania or Espan. I did my best to keep my expression blank although I smiled on the inside.

  “And if you think of escaping,” said the high priest as though he had read my mind, “think again. I will send other champions along with you, and if you leave I will hear of it.”

  He paused and turned to Baul with a cold smile on his face.

  “What was the name of the person who hid her?”

  “Rose Fairfax, Your Grace,” said Baul.

  I wanted to cut out his tongue.

  “Rose,” purred the high priest. “Hear me now, Elena. If you try to leave or if you try to escape, I will torture Rose until she begs me to end her life.”

  My lips trembled, but I couldn’t find my voice.

  “There’s more. If you do not win this race, if you do not return with the stone, my red monks will hunt you down and kill you. Not only will they will hunt and kill your beloved Rose, but after that we will kill every miserable soul in the Pit, even the children. I will spare no one. The stone is important to me. I will not accept failure.”

  The high priest watched me and seemed to be greatly entertained.

  I set my jaw. The red monks were ruthless assassins. There was no hiding from them. They would sniff you out like attack dogs and kill you in the blink of an eye.

  His eyes narrowed.

  “And if you try to save your village by warning them, I will know, and I will destroy them. And it will be your fault. So think on that before you do anything foolish.”

  I wanted to spit in the high priest’s face. It was always about them. Everyone else was dispensable.

  “The race will start in Soul City, and the champions will head west to Goth, in the Heart of Arcania, inside the Hollowmere. Should you agree to race, then your task will be to recover the stone and bring it back to me.”

  I had heard of Goth. It was another continent, west of Anglia. It was the realm of the dead.

  “If I win this race and retrieve your stone, do I get a full pardon?”

  I knew this was a long shot, but it was worth asking. I would keep my promise
to Rose.

  “Yes.”

  I knew he was lying. There was no way he’d let anyone with magic survive. They’d hunt me down and kill me. But I had no other choice.

  For a long moment, nobody moved or said anything. I hated these self-proclaimed Gods, but when I saw the shock and outrage on Brother Edgar’s face, I felt new courage.

  I looked the high priest in the eye and smiled.

  “I’ll do it.”

  CHAPTER 9

  TWO WEEKS HAD PASSED since I’d met with the high priest in all his horrible glory. I had been thrown into the temple’s prison until the day of the race.

  At first I wasn’t sure what I’d expected, maybe a room in one of the priests’ temple houses? It became quite clear that although I was their champion, I was to be treated like a condemned prisoner. I was a prisoner. Any which way I looked at it, it all came back to the same thing—I was a pawn in the high priest’s game.

  But players have the potential to alter the overall outcome. Players can always break the rules of the game. And for the past two weeks, all I could do was make plans on how to break them. I would turn the tables on the high priest. I would.

  I was fed cold stew of unknown meat once a day, just enough to keep me from starving, and a bucket of water for drinking and washing. I didn’t use much. I didn’t know how long I’d be stuck in here. The almighty high priest could easily change his mind.

  I closed my eyes and rested my head against the cold stone of my cell. Darkness had been my closest friend for the past days. My bed was a pile of filthy blankets on the stone floor. My only company was these four walls and the guard that slid my meal through the slot in the door once a day. The stale air stank of urine, blood, and despair.

  Every waking hour in this sewer infested cell, I thought of Rose. She had kept me safe all this time, only to have her efforts wasted by my stupidity. Perhaps she had known about my healing abilities. I wished that she had trusted me enough to tell me if she had. Maybe if I’d known, I wouldn’t have gone to such lengths to steal from the very people from whom I should have been hiding. Had my mother and Rose feared that I’d be forced into a game? A race?

  The truth was I was terrified to possess these healing magic powers. How could I have not known all these years? I had never been sick, but had I ever broken a bone or cut myself? I racked my brain but I could not remember any broken bones, or anything that would have revealed my secret early on. So many questions died with my mother. Only Rose knew. I was sure of it. And I would ask her as soon as I’d finished with this race.

  I shoved Rose out of my mind and replaced her with the other person who occupied my mind. I thought of Mad Jack. I thought of the muscular tanned skin under his shirt, his straight nose, his haunting dark eyes, and his full lips. I thought about how they would feel on my own lips, and how his rough calloused hands would feel on my skin. There was nothing else to do in this shit hole but think. I thought about how he would look without his clothes, and I wondered if he’d be a gentle lover. Would he be as rough and wild as the reputation that preceded him? I didn’t know why I thought about him so much. He had betrayed me after all. It was his fault I was here in the first place. As the days passed, I would think of him often. At first bitterly, but then my tears would come, and I’d remember the look of pain that flashed in his eyes before the guards beat me, and I couldn’t stay mad. It was almost as if he had tried to tell me something…but what?

  “You’re such a fool, Elena,” I whispered to myself and suppressed my yearning for Mad Jack. I had enough to deal with without getting emotional over a street thug. I deserved better. Rose deserved better.

  I heard the rustling of keys and then a click. I pulled myself together, and the creaking metal door swung open.

  “Get up. It’s time,” grumbled the stinking prison guard.

  Just seeing sunlight would be a major improvement. I jumped to my feet, stretched, and didn’t bother hiding my hopeful smile.

  “You won’t be smiling for long, witch.”

  I wasn’t sure what he meant. Just because I had some kind of magic didn’t necessarily make me a witch. Or did it?

  “So the race is today?” I managed.

  “It is.”

  I followed him through the dreary stone corridors of the dungeons. My boots shuffled through puddles of unidentifiable muck as we passed several cells along the way. They echoed with moans and smelled of rotting corpses. I knew that the stories I’d heard growing up were true when I had first stepped down into the dungeons. The priests had destroyed the king of Anglia’s castle but had kept the foundations. They had kept the dungeons and had built their golden temple above them. It was creepy and disturbing.

  After a few moments of tedious silence, we finally climbed up the staircase that led to the main floor of the golden temple. I shielded my eyes from the flickering light as I heard and smelled the guard disappear back down into the bowels of the temple.

  As my eyes slowly adjusted to the brightness, I gasped. Four women stood in front of me and with the indifferent stares they gave me, I knew instantly they didn’t like me. Or at least they didn’t want me there.

  They appeared to be concubines. They were all dressed in the same see-through garb but in multiple colors. They wore their leather collars proudly, like expensive trinkets, as though they were wearing jewelry, and not the priests’ tethers. I did my best not to stare at their glorious womanly curves. They had bodies I could only dream of. I stared at their faces instead. And even in their individuality, the shapes of their faces, lips, hair and skin color, they all shared one trait—they were all beautiful.

  They frowned disapprovingly at me. I knew I must look and smell worse than the sewer itself. My face burned with shame. I looked like a complete fool next to these goddesses.

  My spirits lifted at the smell of rose water and vanilla, however. These women looked and smelled delicious. It seemed that only the rich, or concubines, could afford perfumes.

  “This way,” said a concubine with golden hair that cascaded in waves of liquid gold behind her back. I knew she must be the head concubine because she held her head high and looked serious.

  I might have smelled like the piss I was forced to sleep in, but I wasn’t afraid of these women. I knew they weren’t here to beat me. They looked too fragile and clean. I didn’t argue and I followed her. The others fell into step behind me.

  I followed the head concubine down corridors and hallways until I was dizzy. We passed a few priests who smiled at the women but glowered when they passed me. I glowered back. Finally we arrived at a bath area where four large square baths steamed with water so clean, it didn’t look real.

  “Take your clothes off,” ordered the head concubine.

  Who was I to argue? At this point, I didn’t care about undressing in front of these women. We were the only ones in the bath area, so I felt even more at ease. My clothes were stiff with sweat and grime, and I was dreadfully embarrassed at my filth. The water looked divine. They didn’t have to tell me twice.

  I peeled off my clothes and dropped into the steaming bath. The hot water soothed my skin. I’d never been in a bath this large, this glorious, and this hot. It was heaven.

  The concubines held me, rubbed my skin with hard bristle brushes, and washed my hair.

  “Ouch! That hurt!” I yelled.

  The red-headed one tsked. “You are as filthy as the wild children, miss. We will scrub you clean, no matter how much you fuss.”

  She pursed her large red lips and began to clean my fingernails with a hard brush. The women ignored my many requests to be gentler and scrubbed me until my skin sparkled red.

  As they fussed over me, I examined the concubines more closely. One was blonde, one was a redhead, and the other two were brunettes. The one rubbing a bar of soap along my right arm had her hair piled on top of her head in braids. The other concubines wore red ribbons braided into their long locks. The girl who scrubbed my legs had tanned skin that stood out sensual
ly against her see-through yellow robe. They all seemed to know what to do without communicating, and I wondered if they had bathed prisoners often. Every now and again, I caught questioning looks between them. They didn’t have to say anything, but I could tell they were mystified about me. There was also a hardness in their eyes that I couldn’t explain.

  I couldn’t suppress the feeling of dread that shook me. I could easily have been one of them, a priest’s love toy. Any of them could have been me.

  Once they were satisfied that I was clean enough, they dried me with plush white towels that smelled of lavender.

  “You’re very skinny. Do you know that we can count your ribs?”

  The head concubine was watching me. The scorn on her face had disappeared, and there was pity in her large blue eyes.

  I was embarrassed. They had seen every inch of me, every imperfection. I wrapped my arms around myself.

  “I don’t need your pity,” I said rather harshly, but I felt like I was being judged, like they wanted to make sure I knew that I didn’t belong with them. What did they know about me? Did they ever starve?

  “There’s not much food in the Pit. We do our best.” I glared at the blonde until she looked away, but not before I saw the pink that stained her cheeks.

  “She is skinny, but you can’t hide the fact that she’s beautiful,” said the redhead. A frown wrinkled her silky, milky skin. Her emerald eyes widened.

  “Skin and bones and still stunning. How did you manage to escape the priests looking like that?”

  “Helen! Hold your tongue,” the blonde looked over her shoulder. “We were told not to make conversation with her.”

  “There’s no one here but us, Kayla.” Helen shrugged and turned back to me

  “You’re tall and fit. You have the most beautiful raven hair I’ve ever seen. It’s a little dry, but I’m sure if you rubbed in a little oil and ate proper meals for a month it would be glorious. You have cheekbones to die for, and your dark almond-shaped eyes give you a real exotic look. You’re really quite stunning.”

  Her face became serious. “Even as I child, you would have been beautiful. They would have discovered you. How is it that you’re a grown woman? How did they not find you?”