Something darted through Shin’s mind; a thought, so fast and clear it registered in the back of his mind.
Shin’s eyes jerked up of their own accord, and were drawn to bizarre engravings on the wall: strange figures with long tentacle-like fingers reached across the dusky wall. There were empty patches too, interspersed in a consistent pattern.
Surely, these meant something….Slashes of color. Lines drawn together...
The power of his mind faded, leading Shin back into a dulled state of consciousness.
The hooded man dropped the three ropes on the ground and moved away, making no sound in the sand.
None of the Vakums made any move to escape. In fact, the smallest swayed on his feet, finally collapsing. The old man glanced over, snorted, and turned away.
Occupying the middle of the room was a large, rectangular rock. The same type of strange mystic paintings covered it, with swirling patterns in dark black and green paint.
Shin drew in a breath, feeling something deep in his chest. It expanded, growing out from his lungs, and shooting through his arms and into his fingertips, where it tingled. He pushed against the feeling, and his finger moved.
He blinked.
Moved.
For half a second, Shin held a thought in the back of his mind. Here. I’m here. Just as he held it, it slipped away, fading back into the strange darkness of his mind.
One of the hooded men strode over, his dark robe flashing in the weak torchlight. He grabbed a rope and gave it a solid jerk. The Vakum attached to it fell to his feet. His hands didn’t move to break his fall, and he landed with his nose on a rock. Blood spurted onto the ground. The Vakum made no sound, no move to pull his face out of the sand.
“The altar!” the old man screeched. “Get him to the altar! We cannot waste a single drop.”
The hooded man grabbed the Vakum by the arm, jerked him to his feet, and with the aid of another hooded man, shoved him onto the altar. Blood flowed down the Vakum’s face, dripping onto the rock. The wheels of the chair screeched as the old man approached the altar, a terrible shining in his filmy eyes.
“Begin. Let us begin while we are favored with lives to take.”
A thought wormed into Shin’s mind the moment he heard the first scream. We can’t scream, came the thought. The pain must be terrible if he’s able to scream.
He blinked, pushing his eyes to the left. The third Vakum stood, staring at the sand, his body swaying back and forth. No life flickered in his gaze. Shin looked away under his own power. The ability faded, leaving him gazing dully at the sand again.
Minutes passed.
Flashes of metal. Gurgles. The incessant drip drip drip of blood into one of many waiting buckets.
The old man reached into the stream, allowing the crimson fluid to run over his fingers. He cackled with glee. “It’s ours! A new life force. Another chance.”
The body on the altar disappeared with a thud. Two of the hooded men scurried around, carrying buckets to and fro, replacing full ones with new ones. All the while, the third hooded man chanted in the background, a deep, dissonant chant that rang all the way into Shin’s bones.
Not lost, came another thought. Shin latched onto it with his mind. You are not lost yet.
Shin blinked. His hand twitched. He longed to reach up, grab the rope, and rip it free.
As soon as the urge came, it disappeared, back into the far reaches of his mind in a gray swirl. His body gave no response, and his mind shrank back. But the thought remained.
You are not lost yet, Shin.
While the twisted chanting continued in the background, a hooded man appeared, grabbing the second Vakum by the rope. The Vakum, already lying in the sand, made no move to stand. With a grunt, the hooded man jerked his body toward the altar already stained with blood.
A coppery, metallic scent filled the air as they forced the Vakum on the rock. There was no need to tie him with ropes during the torture.
Seconds later, screams rang out again. Blood ran free. The old man, wrinkled as a raisin, tilted his head back and cackled. Long strands of white hair drifted behind him in a frigid breeze.
Escape.
The thought burrowed through the layers of Shin’s mind, moving beyond the eternal numbness he’d never expected to shuck. He grabbed onto it, holding it in his mind’s eye.
Escape, Shin.
The chanting continued in the background, deep, almost gleeful, and with a tinge of wild hysteria that made the hair on the back of Shin’s neck stand up.
Shin’s thumb and finger pinched together on their own. He felt a rush of . . . something. His spinning mind settled long enough to recognize the sound of silence.
The screams had stopped.
“The third,” the old man cried. Blood had speckled his face and hands like rain. “Get the third! We must finish. Do not change the buckets. There’s enough. There is enough. Get him!”
Escape, Shin! Escape!
The wild thought shot through his mind, spiraling into his body like jolts of lightning.
He tried to open his mouth, but his muscles didn’t respond. A scream gathered in his throat but wouldn’t release.
While the hooded man continued chanting, this time with frantic energy, the other two seized Shin by the arms and dragged him to the altar, shoving the Vakum body that was there off.
The other Vakum’s eyes were blank and lifeless. His mouth was open and round, as if he’d died mid-scream.
You will die!
The thought came with frightening clarity. The hooded men slammed Shin to the slippery, bloody altar, and it cracked the back of his head. As he lay there he saw the same strange mystic symbols from the altar on the ceiling, barely visible through the flickering torches.
Panic welled up in his silent mouth. His heart hammered. Desperate to flee, Shin strained to scream. To fight. To throw a fist and knock them into their ill-obtained blood, but nothing happened.
“Finish!” the old man screeched. “Finish!”
The flash of a knife glinted just above Shin. He closed his eyes, felt a hot tear drip down his cheek, and prepared to die.
Yuna
With a sharp gnash of her teeth, Yuna ripped the rope free from the man’s chest and threw it off the bed. It fell with a heavy thud to the woven rug on the floor.
He grinned, shoving strands of salt-and-pepper hair out of his eyes. His eyes gleamed. “You are feisty in the morning,” he purred, grabbing her wrist.
“Only when I’m pleased in the evening.”
She slapped him with a crack across the face, shoved him onto his back, and growled. He fell against the mussed covers, the ripped pillow spilling feathers into the air. The feathers floated around him like puffs of cotton. Her bare breasts, hanging free in the air, hovered just above his hungry gaze. He lunged for them but she moved away.
“Do you admit defeat?” she purred.
“Never.”
With lightning-fast moves, she grabbed a portion of the rope, looped it around both of his wrists, and pulled. The tethered rope tightened, pulling his arms above his head and up to where it was tied around the elaborate headboard. He groaned, licking his lips.
“Yuna. You must not stop. Please,” he begged. “The things you do to me. You cannot be of this world.”
“Silence!” she ordered.
She crawled up the bed, straddling him. Her skin dragged along his as she prowled like a predator, eyes alight. Wisps of bright red hair fell across her forehead, framing her electric blue eyes. She grinned at him like a sly cat, running a finger down his nose and across his lips. He panted. She tightened the grip of her legs around his torso, grinding into his belly. “I’m in charge here, ruler. Your presence as a leader doesn’t impress me. Show me you’re worth something. Make me scream.”
“I am nothing compared to you,” he said in a supplicating tone.
“Indeed,” she replied.
Their lips crashed together in a heated kiss. Lost in the silent spell she wove with her lips, he moaned. She shoved him back against the headboard with a thud, sliding down his thick naked body. With a mighty growl, she grabbed his hips and thrust herself upon him. He let out a strangled cry, digging his fingers into the rough rope.