The Fire Eye Chosen_Sequel to The Fire Eye Refugee Page 8

  Any doubts that she was their target were long gone as they converged on her. She watched as they let the tatters of the remaining crowd filter between their closing ranks, and she was left alone in the center of a circle of the Fire Eye masks.

  No one said anything. They kept pressing forward. It didn’t look like this was a conversation. It was an attack, and Kay steeled herself. When the first of them came close enough, she lashed out with a weighted fist, feeling a satisfying crack as she landed a punch on one of the masks. It was made from a smooth slate and she felt it break under the blow. She had no time to see if she had felled the man behind it, however, as the circle seized her. Somewhere in the struggle her weapon was stripped from her hand and fell to the street. In moments, Kay was immobilized and helpless, staring at her original approacher as he stood in front of her.

  “Help you with something?” she asked, her arms tightly held on either side by her attackers.

  His mask tilted, an exaggerated expression of curiosity, perhaps, and he reached behind his back. His hand emerged with another mask clutched in it. This one was roughly the same shape but lacked even a single eyehole. There was paint slathered across it, another twisted image of the Fire Eye, but this one was painted throughout the inside. Which was pointed at her. Kay’s breath came quicker as he drew closer, raising it to her face.

  “We could talk,” she said, her voice breaking in fear.

  He had no response but to press the mask to her face, causing the sticky paint to spread, locking it firmly in place. Kay was left blind and mute as the masked men picked her up on their shoulders and carried her off the street, ignoring her struggles.

  Chapter 8. Shadow of Three Thrones

  Kay was carried for what felt like hours, robbed of nearly all sense. She struggled to breathe through small holes in the mouth of the mask. The bitter taste of the thick paint seeped into her throat. Her eyes were shut to avoid letting the paint in. She could hear the footsteps of the men holding her aloft and little else. They had yet to speak.

  She occupied her frantic thoughts by trying to figure out where she was being taken. The best she could muster was that she was somewhere below the city. At some point she’d lost the chill of the night air on her arms, and they had descended far too many stairs to still be at street level or in an ordinary basement or sublevel.

  There was no warning before they dropped her. She could hear her escort backing away as she was left lying on a smooth, stone floor, a sense of openness on all sides. She felt around blindly. No one was near and no one seemed to be coming.

  After a moment, Kay rolled over, pushing her uncomfortable skirts into place with her paint-stained hands. She pulled herself to her knees and reached up to feel the mask. There was no strap, just the paint holding it in place. She dug her fingers along the edges and began to peel it away, bracing herself for a blow if her actions were some violation of the rules of this bizarre captivity. With a sucking sound, the mask came free. She could feel the sticky paint on her face. She wiped at her eyes to clear them.

  When she opened her eyes, she was confronted by the strangest place she’d ever seen in her life. She was in the center of a vast space. Great gray walls in the distance sloped up to create an enormous dome. There were three figures before her, each seated on a high throne of an ornateness to rival anything she’d seen at the Palace. The three, two women and one man, were decked out in finery of mingled gold and blue. They were looking down curiously at Kay.

  The three thrones held her attention, as they were clearly intended to, but after a long moment she spared a glance around the rest of the space. She immediately wished she hadn’t. There were hundreds of robed and masked men and women standing at attention on all sides. Those in the robes wore the same Fire Eye masks as the men who’d attacked her above and carried her down here, but her abductors could be differentiated from the rest of the crowd by their form-fitting black body stockings. That set had removed themselves from the center of the chamber and stood at some form of attention in front of the robe wearers. All stood in complete silence.

  There were torches around the chamber, lighting it brightly. The feeling they were deep underground ran at odds with the immensity of the space. Kay saw that the dome swelled to a round hole at the top which fed a soft orange light into the subterranean chamber. Kay looked down, willing her hands, one still clutching the mask that had been forced over her face, to stop trembling. The Fire Eye was up above them somewhere.

  One of her bearers was approaching the three thrones. Each throne was so high that he needed a sort of ladder, cunningly hidden in the sides, and the entire crowd of silent watchers observed as he climbed up to reach the top. He leaned over and whispered in the ear of the man. He descended and moved to the second throne. Repeated his ascent and whisper for each of the women, moving achingly slow amidst the quiet strangeness.

  Kay needed to pull herself together if she was going to walk out of here alive. She studied the three looming in front of her. On the highest throne in the center, a woman of cold beauty gazed arrogantly down at Kay. She was Gol, copper skin reflecting the torchlight. Her make-up accentuated high cheekbones and her tightly pursed mouth was tinted black. Her robe of gold and blue was linked to a headdress in the shape of a crescent moon which hovered behind her. She radiated a cold serenity which would have fit well among the crowd of Kay’s earlier evening engagement.

  The man sat atop the second highest throne, at the right hand of the first woman. There was a clear family resemblance to her, a brother or cousin. He looked something like Joah, young and confident in his good looks, somehow petulant. His eyes flicked curiously around the chamber and he restlessly shifted atop the throne.

  The third woman broke into a large smile as the messenger whispered into her ear. She lacked the beauty of the others, her face soft and wide, a gap between her teeth, eyes cruel. Her throne was lower than the others, forcing her to crane her neck upwards as she regarded them eagerly.

  The light in the chamber dimmed momentarily, perhaps somewhere above a cloud passing across the face of the Fire Eye, and Kay was struck by the dark silhouette created by the three thrones towering before her. She’d seen it. It was a common element in the paintings that scattered the streets above, the Fire Eye paintings. She never would have recognized it until she stood in this place, the thrones above her, like adults looking down on a small child, passing judgement. She had no doubt this group, this gathering, this cult, was behind them.

  The third woman was looking hungrily at Kay, leaning forward until it seemed she would topple from the throne in a pile of skirts. Her voice was high, sharply breaking the silence. “A mouse from the Palace.” She looked at the others. “Just what we’ve been searching for.”

  “A rather…unusual mouse,” the man replied. “Sella,” he said to the woman in the middle, “what do you think?”

  She didn’t reply and he sighed dramatically. He turned to Kay. “What is your name, little mouse?”

  The stillness and attention was too much. Kay glanced down at the mask still in her hands, the paint inside a mess of reds, blues, and blacks. As she’d felt when she’d landed a blow before her capture, it was made of a brittle slate. She gave it a little heft, then with a turn of her wrist she sharply flicked it towards the floor. It shattered as it struck, pieces skittering noisily across the stone. The deep silence returned as they fell still.

  The woman on the lowest throne gave a shrill laugh which echoed through the chamber. “Oh, I like this one.”

  “Shut up, Olive,” the man said. He leaned forward. “Your name, little mouse, or we will find ways of making you talk.”

  Kay held her tongue.

  “Do we care?” the man asked Sella. “If she remains unnamed?”

  “No,” Sella replied. “She is the messenger.” The arrogance in her face matched her tone.

  “Fine,” he replied. He studied Kay for a long, quiet moment. Finally he waved a hand in a circular gesture, directing Kay
’s attention around the chamber. “What do you think of our gathering, little mouse?”

  Kay looked around at the waiting ranks of hundreds, hanging on the words she exchanged with the three thrones. The over-the-top ceremony, the mindless audience standing at unnatural attention. Nothing held people so captive aside from the promise of reward or the threat of consequence. “Doesn’t look like much to me,” Kay said. “I’ve seen cults before. They never last.”

  The man was squinting at her. He ignored her words but turned back to Sella in the center. “Her blood is not pure. Do we care if she is impure?”

  Sella leaned in as the man leaned back, peeling Kay apart with her eyes. “No,” she said finally. “She is the messenger. Give her the message.” Both of them ignored Olive, who clapped gleefully at this.

  “This is no cult, little mouse. You are in the presence of the Gyudi Dynasty, the rightful rulers of Celest.”

  “I’ve heard of you,” Kay said quietly. Yamar’s tip had been timely, not that it had done anything to prepare her for this. Whatever this was.

  “Rumors of our return have been allowed to circulate at our wish. And it is now time for us to be more direct. We bear a message for the Melor Family. A message you shall deliver.”

  Kay almost asked why they thought the Dynasty would believe, or even listen to, her. She caught herself. She already knew the answer. They must have had eyes at the dinner and were looking for whichever of the guests could be nabbed. And Kay had been the only one foolish enough to travel alone and on foot from a gathering of Celest’s highest powers. They had overestimated Kay’s status at the Palace.

  “Tell the Melor that their reign is finished. We will spare members of the direct family if they abandon the Palace and city of Celest before the Fire Eye has closed. If they refuse, all will die. It is time for the Gyudi Dynasty to take back their rightful place as rulers of Celest.” He glanced at Sella as if for guidance. Seeing none, he leaned back. “That is all. Do you understand?”

  Kay nodded, committing the words to memory while trying not to delve deeply into the meaning. Her job was to survive this encounter. Let Yamar and the Melor Family parse out whether this was a legitimate threat or just a small group of madmen with powerful benefactors.

  At Kay’s nod, the man exchanged a look with Sella, one whose meaning escaped Kay. “Has she seen enough?”

  “Oh, let her stay for the party!” Olive said. “I like her.”

  The siblings on either side turned to the center. After a long wait, there was a nod from Sella.

  “Where is Jyurik?” Olive asked, looking around the chamber.

  Kay heard drumming strike up at the mention of the name, and a small parade entered from the back of the crowd of cult members. As the silent robe-wearers parted, a dancing troop of masked men led the way for a jester.

  The jester at their center, Kay could only assume this was Jyurik, wore a more elaborate mask than the others. His form-fitting body stocking had splashes of bright blue coloring. He bore a long scepter. A thin line of black smoke rose from the end of it, winding straight and unbroken up to the top of the dome and out the opening which let in the light of the Fire Eye.

  As he danced he wrapped the smoke of his scepter around him. It clung to him like a spider’s web, making it appear as if limbs were forming and pieces of himself rising and falling with the smoke. His display was both artful and terrifying, and Kay was glad when he veered away from her to continue dancing through the crowd.

  His arrival appeared to signal the start of Olive’s party. His drummers were spreading out across the space, pounding out a rhythm, and the robed cult members were taking off their masks, several beginning to dance. Trays of food were brought out, followed by flagons of wine. There was a smattering of conversation. They didn’t appear to be bound by any code of silence.

  Her masked escorts formed their circle around Kay again, preventing her from engaging the crowd and vice versa. Fine by her. Though the party had sprung up quickly and professionally, there was still an incredibly awkward and unnatural vibe in the costumes, the venue, and the way everyone interacted. A forced joviality. Kay watched the dancers. Each looked like he or she was putting on a demonstration, an art show. None moved with the rhythm of the drums. It was, for lack of a better word, lonely.

  Now that the masks were off, this was her chance to look for Jenna Weiss or any of the other missing children. She had little doubt that at least some of them had been drawn into this underworld web. She hadn’t given much credence to the idea of a cult before. This certainly wasn’t the only one within Celest, but the children Kay had been tracking, almost uniformly from wealthy families, were far more educated than the typical cult recruit. Of course, this looked like something far beyond a typical cult. Hopefully they were alive. This place reeked of violence.

  Chapter 9. Kallaha Test

  Kay spent the next five minutes or so scanning faces as the party grew more boisterous and further away from the somber ritual nature of her introduction. She saw none she recognized. Kay stopped when she realized Olive was staring at her and had been for some time.

  Each of the three on the thrones now held long, golden cups of wine, but they were otherwise isolated from the celebration around them. The man was slouched in his seat. Sella remained rigid like a statue. Olive was alternating looking at Kay and the others on the thrones.

  “Daemon,” she said, trying to get the man’s attention. When he didn’t respond, she raised a hand. The music abruptly stopped and, a beat later, all dancing and movement did as well. “Daemon,” she said again, “let’s give the messenger the Kallaha Test.”

  Kay felt the crowd’s attention fall back on her like a heavy weight, her status as an interloper restored. She wished she could find a wall to put her back to.

  The room was deathly quiet as Daemon appeared to consider the request. Finally, he shrugged. “We shouldn’t. She has a job to do. But I am bored and the Fire Eye is open. Any objection, Sella?”

  She didn’t move or acknowledge his question. After a while his eyes roamed back to the crowd. “Jyurik, what do you say?”

  The jester made his way through the crowd and capered over to Kay. He struck a pose in front of her, his legs spread wide, a mocking straightness to his back, and made a show of studying her. His mask had only one eyehole, like the others, and she could almost see the white of his searching eye. She looked over the strange scepter he held in his folded arms, which sent up an unbroken, twisting rope of smoke to the dome’s ceiling. It had a long shaft of smooth black wood with gold inlays. The end was wrapped in a hexagonal shape in gold wire. Jyurik saw her gaze and held it out, drawing her eyes along its length. Then he twisted the scepter and suddenly the smoke was flowing down, pooling at his boots. Kay took a half-step back as it neared her own feet. There was something unnatural to the smoke, moving and reacting like a living thing.

  At her retreat, Jyurik nodded as though he’d learned something profound. He abandoned his pose and ran over to the thrones. He climbed up each one with the exaggerated grace of a monkey, pausing when he arrived at the top to look out over the crowd. Each time his mask became visible above the shoulders of those around her, Kay felt a shudder of fear.

  Finally, as Jyurik perched next to Daemon, he gave a nod. The crowd greeted it with something not quite a cheer. More like a shudder of ecstasy. Jyurik dove off the throne and hit the floor in a perfect tumble, rising to his feet and setting several of his attendants into motion with a whirlwind of gestures.

  Activity in the dome took on a frantic pitch for the next few moments as Kay stared on, dazed. At some point her capacity to be unnerved was reaching its end and she was just rolling with the strange chain of events in a state of numb shock. Her only objective was to survive, because what more could be asked of someone conscripted into this bizarre theater?

  Some of the group in body stockings, who seemed to be the worker bees of the colony, grabbed a hold of the thrones at the base and began moving
them across the dome. Each of the towering structures was on wheels, like cheap scenery in a play. The wheels squeaked as they slid across the room and the movement of the thrones gave their previously formal and solemn appearance a more carnival-like look. At the same time, the robed cult members were forming long lines and streaming across the open floor after the thrones.

  Kay’s circle of masked guardians began pressing her into motion with the crowd. As she walked, she worried. It was unlikely the Gyudi would kill her, given they’d presented her with a message to deliver, but she wasn’t enthused about the idea of being tested. Especially not if Jyurik was involved. There was something deeply unsettling about him. A fool who seemed to be no fool. She watched him weave through the crowd, easy to track by the thin line of smoke, dark as paint, rising from his scepter.

  In a short amount of time, the entire court had reassembled beneath the opening in the dome’s roof. The orange light of the Fire Eye shone down on a raised dais the size of a fighting ring. The dais was a polished black marble with gold lines dividing it into segments. There was golden writing in a language Kay didn’t recognize and a series of pictures surrounding the outside, what appeared to be animals. It was about ten paces across. She had an uncomfortable feeling it would be the venue for the Kallaha Test. But Kay was left waiting on Jyurik, who stood at the base of the thrones’ new location.

  The jester collected all the attention of the repositioned room in the manner of an experienced performer. One of his attendants handed him a large wooden bowl. He passed off his scepter, which ceased producing the long line of black smoke the moment he released it. With his free hand, he withdrew a long paintbrush from a hidden pocket. He moved towards the waiting line of robed cult members. Each held out a hand, and Jyurik began walking along the row, painting a single line across each palm. There was no color to it, but Kay saw many of the cult members shiver in ecstasy as the brush touched them. More than one licked their palm after Jyurik passed. A drug, one they knew well and coveted. She would guess some form of crystal shroud given the hunger they displayed.