The Commander: A Sacrificed Short Story (The Last Oracle)
Read The Commander: A Sacrificed Short Story (The Last Oracle) Online
Authors: Emily Wibberley
THE COMMANDER
A
Sacrificed
Short Story
Emily Wibberley
The Commander (A
Sacrificed
Short Story)
Copyright © 2015 by Emily Wibberley
All Rights Reserved
Published by Paranoid Productions
Cover Art by Adrijus Guscia
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This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
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THE COMMANDER
“Is she dead?” Esso asked, his voice shaking.
“She better not be,” Riece groaned, trying to get to his feet. The slave had hit him harder than he thought possible. Most of the girls were too weak, too scrawny to be of any serious threat. But this girl—she had nearly gotten away.
Tenoch still stood over her, his eyes black and greedy. He was staring at her legs, which were left exposed in her fall.
“What were you thinking?” Riece raged at the beastly guard, pulling him away from the defenseless girl.
“She was going to get away, and she just attacked you. She needed to remember her place.” Tenoch spit on the ground.
Moments like these tried Riece’s patience. Mostly, the guards were good men. They were honest and hardworking and left with no choice but to serve the Emperor in his pyramid. But there were a few men, like Tenoch, who took this post not out of desperation, but because they saw it as an opportunity—a place where young girls were stripped of nearly all protections and forgotten in the days before they were sacrificed.
“You cannot lay hands on the slaves. No matter what.” Riece filled his voice with as much authority as he could, but sometimes it was still hard for him. He was so much younger than the other men, and he’d hardly spent any time in the Emperor’s army before his promotion to commander. Usually his reputation was enough to earn the men’s respect. When it wasn’t, Riece didn’t have trouble quickly demonstrating his own strength and skill. But Tenoch was less easily impressed. He was stronger than Riece. And no matter how slow or stupid Tenoch was, challenging the massive guard would be no easy feat.
“Whatever you say,
Commander
,” Tenoch said with a sneer before turning down the hallway back toward the cells.
Riece knew he would have to deal with Tenoch sooner or later. But with the latest offering and now this dangerous slave girl—Tenoch would have to wait.
Still, Riece didn’t feel comfortable leaving the man unattended.
“Esso,” Riece addressed the younger guard. “Go with Tenoch. Help him with the girls.”
Esso nodded dutifully, but Riece could tell the boy was scared. Rightfully so.
“Keep an eye on him,” Riece added as the boy retreated. “If he tries anything with the slaves that you would not want him doing to one of your sisters, find me immediately.”
“Do you want me to call a priest on my way, Sir?” Esso asked, looking at the fallen girl.
“A priest? For what purpose?” Riece tried to keep the priests as far from the cells as possible. Of course, there was always the occasional unpleasant visit from the High Priest himself.
“To tend to the girl. She needs healing,” Esso answered.
“No,” Riece said too quickly. “No, I’ll take care of it.” The thought of one of those priests alone with this girl made something in Riece’s chest tighten.
Esso nodded and left.
It wouldn’t be proper for Riece to tend to the girl himself. He knew that. He knew he should call a priest. Instead, he found himself kneeling beside her. Glancing around to make sure they were truly alone, he reached out and gently slid his hand under her head, turning her face toward his.
There was tension in her brow, as if she were still in pain. Riece brushed his hand against the side of her head, where Tenoch had hit her. It came away without blood. Good. Her eyes were closed. Her hair—a brown matted tangle—fell in dirty streaks across her face. He swept them aside to see her better.
No, she was too beautiful to be trusted with one of the priests. They would take one look at her and use her to slake their own perversity, knowing no one would care if she were hurt or killed.
He straightened the tattered rags she wore, pulling them down over her legs. She was filthy. Dried mud nearly coated her shins. Beneath the mud, he could make out angry red lines traveling up her calf. He knew what that meant. She was injured, and badly.
Tenderly, he took her foot in his hands so he could find the source of the blood fever. There, just above her ankle, was the danger. A deep gash split her skin. Dried blood and filth caked the ragged edges. He’d seen injuries like this before—had almost died of one himself. He rubbed the ruined and scarred skin of his neck as he gazed down at the girl. He could heal this—heal her—but should he? He knew the answer, but he knelt over her anyway.
With one arm under her knees and the other just under her shoulders, he lifted her, bringing her close to his chest as he walked through the hallways deeper into the bowels of the pyramid.
Her head fell against him, and Riece couldn’t help but look down on her slumbering form. She fit so well against his chest. Her skin, beneath all the dirt, was dark and smooth. Noble ladies would have envied her for her beauty. But she wasn’t noble, Riece knew that.
She was a slave. When he had first seen her in the lineup, he thought her a pleasure slave. But surely, no master would sell a beauty such as she. And she had managed to slip out of Tenoch’s grasp. She had been fast, much faster than a girl who had been dragged across the hollow lands should have been.
And when she had spit in his face, he had understood why her master would have wanted to sell her. She was rebellious, spirited. Qualities that did not sit well in a slave. When she kicked Riece, he felt her unusual strength, and he didn’t know if he should be impressed or scared. He’d never come across a slave such as her—never come across a girl such as her either.
He reached the infirmary and gently laid her down on a feathered mat.
She mumbled something in her sleep, sending a wave of relief coursing through Riece’s body. She would be all right.
Until she was sacrificed.
He pushed the thought from his mind and knelt down to try to catch the words slipping from her lips.
“Derik…” she breathed. Her eyelids squeezed shut, as if she were fighting off a stab of pain.
Derik
. Curious. Perhaps the girl had a boy in her life. Someone to miss her.
Riece moved a small pot over the hearth and lit a fire beneath it. He couldn’t help but imagine who the girl was, where she came from, where she learned to fight. It was such a waste to give her life to the Deities, but there was no questioning the Emperor on this.
Derik.
Why had this boy let her get away from him? How could he let her be sold as an offering? Something churned in Riece’s gut, and it took him a moment to recognize the feeling. Jealousy. But that was foolish. He could not be jealous of this boy he didn’t even know, on behalf of a girl he didn’t know—a girl he could never know.
He soaked a piece of torn cloth in the hot water and looked down at his reflection. His sister Tirza was right—he did look worn. Too many sacrifices this moon. He had stayed up all last night guarding the cell of the last daughter of the Oracle of Sheehan, forced to listen to her cries. Tenoch was in a particularly foul disposition over it. He had thought that surely Riece wouldn’t deny the men when it came to a blasphemer and a traitor. Riece had harbored no kind feelings for the Oracle, but he couldn’t let the men even consider abusing any slave, no matter her crimes.
Bringing the dripping rag over to the sleeping girl, he began to clean and dress the wound. It would be futile. He knew that much. But if he could ease the pain of this girl—this fighter—in her final days, then he would.
He felt her wake beneath his hands. He wanted to ignore her, to treat her with the distance that was proper between guard and slave, but instead he found himself speaking to her.
“You know, for someone with such a severe infection, you really put up quite the fight.” He allowed himself a brief glance at her face, wanting to read her secrets through her eyes, but her expression was guarded. “I can’t say I approve of that move you pulled back there,” he continued, “but it was doubtless effective. A lesser man than myself might be concerned about his potential for progeny.”
This time he caught something flash in her eyes—anger.
“Then clearly I didn’t hit hard enough,” she finally said.
He laughed and found himself smiling at her as if she were one of the ladies from court always trying to garner his favor. But she didn’t blush and simper like any of those ladies. Instead, she glared at him, unamused. There was something wild and fiercely intelligent in the way she eyed him. She tried to pull her feet away from him to get up, but he held them tightly in his hands.
“Like I said, you have an infection,” he repeated.
This time his words seemed to sink in. He watched as the edges of panic crept into her expression.
“What are you doing?” she asked, struggling to sit up, but he laid a hand on her shoulder, pushing her back down.
What
am
I doing?
“I’m trying to clean out the wound. Stop moving,” he answered.
“Why?” Her eyes narrowed.
Another good question
.
“Well, because it will hurt more if you don’t keep still. But you choose.”
She shook her head. “No, I mean, why are you trying to clean it?”
He didn’t know how to answer, so he dipped the cloth into a basin at his side and went back to cleaning the wound. He felt her muscles clench with the pain, but she didn’t make so much as a gasp.
“Because,” he finally answered, “there’s no need to suffer while you are here.” His voice came out soft.
Because I don’t want to watch you suffer
, he might have added. But he bit that back.
“Isn’t suffering kind of the whole point?” she asked, her eyes wide with surprise.
“No. It’s not.” His tone was firm. “Sacrifice and suffering are not the same thing.”
“Oh, so I won’t suffer when I have my heart cut out?” Her voice carried a sharp edge, and she raised an eyebrow in challenge.
“No, that’s not—what I mean is suffering without sacrifice, like letting these wounds fester, is meaningless. The suffering in sacrifice has a greater purpose.”
“Well then, you need to cauterize that,” she ordered, her voice firm in its command.
Riece looked up sharply. This was bad. She was too comfortable with him. He needed to be harder with her.
“Usually, the slave doesn’t give the orders,” he said in warning.
She ignored him. “If you don’t know how, I can do it. Give me a heated blade.”
“And now the slave is demanding a weapon. After your near-escape earlier, I don’t think that would be wise.”
“You afraid of a girl, a slave?” she asked, challenging him yet again.
“It’s a foolish man who pays no mind to desperation, especially armed desperation.” Their eyes locked for the first time, and Riece felt his mouth go dry.
He swallowed and finally recovered his voice. “Plus, I know how to cauterize a wound. I just don’t think that such pain would be the humane thing to do in this circumstance. It’s too much.”
“I’m telling you that the pain is not too much.” She sat up and grabbed his hand. “I’ll die within the week without it.”
“You’ll die in three days.” He said, more to himself than to her.
She didn’t even flinch at the number. “Just do it. I’ll need my leg if I’m going to escape.”
He stared at her. “You know, you really shouldn’t be so forthcoming with your plans.”
“At least give me a fighting chance. It would be the honorable thing.” She met his eyes once more.
“You are as foolish as you are arrogant,” he said sadly. She shouldn’t be so brave. He didn’t want to see that bravery underneath the priest’s knife—didn’t want to see that defiant fire in her eyes fade.
“Come on,” she pleaded. “I’m sure you can handle one girl. You are what, third rank?”
She twisted around to try to see his plumage, but Riece spun out of reach. For some reason, the idea of this girl knowing just how many lives he had taken filled him with nauseous guilt.
He picked up a blade and walked over to the fire. “Out of curiosity, what were you before you were sold? You are much stronger and quicker than most slave girls.”