This last one.
She was ashen, her stormy eyes dead and lifeless, framed by dark grey and deep blue bruises, the likes one only saw on washed up corpses. Her nose was red and chapped and so were her lips. The bright orange of her clothing accented the ghoulish look of her features. Galan thought he was looking at a doll, a dead doll.
Her silky, wavy black hair was tangled and unkempt and pushed back out of her face—a gaunt one that had been out of the light for far too long.
He and his brothers couldn’t stay within the shadows for longer than several dawn cycles. Their energy sapped immediately in the dark, but when they were outside the light for too long, they shriveled up, their bodies turning into husks; the golden pallor of their skin would fade to grey and the color of their eyes would dim.
Their wings would lose strength and they’d molt until every last feather was gone.
It was painful. It was how Lusheenn punished them.
Yahiro looked like she had been away from the sun for countless world spins, made up of dawns, noons, and dusks. Next to her were black bars. She held an electrical screen with a number on it over her chest.
Prisoner.
Galan dropped the picture as if he’d been burned. It landed atop a black device, which he took out next, hoping Lusheenn would miraculously return and clear his thoughts. When his Creator didn’t, he picked it up out of the bag and opened it. The same picture of Yahiro, the dead one, was tagged on the front. His pulse thrummed at the sight before he tore that image off and placed it face down with the other.
Cryptic writing filled the interior pages, and he flipped through them, finding many. At first glance he couldn’t read them, seeing only scribble, but when he concentrated, the tech in his head made him understand. What was nothing become something. And it was all about her.
Galan flipped back to the beginning and began to read.
Yahiro was a monster.
***
YAHIRO
“Yelp, piggy, yelp! I’ll give you the pigpen for another yelp!” Light flooded behind her eyelids, but she squeezed them shut. The hand in her hair pulled, yanking her head up painfully. “Open your eyes, piggy. Today you’re broken.”
Tears streamed down her cheeks. She didn’t dare refuse Snake. Her puffy lids opened and the light shot daggers into her eyes. It had only been a day since she last saw it, but spending twenty-two plus hours in the pitch still made it painful. Her hair was pulled. Snake waited, patiently, for her sight to return. He gave her time. He played with her head. Yesterday had been quicker. A month ago had left her sobbing. Three months ago, they had shared a pleasant conversation as he commended her on her witty mind.
She didn’t know what today would bring. When her eyes focused, the ever-present camera was aimed at her. Snake hauled her up by her arm and drew her into the bathroom.
It was the same ritual. He showered her in ice, then in blistering heat, scrubbed the flakes out of her hair, wiped yesterday’s makeup off her face and then toweled her off. She never looked presentable afterward but she also didn’t look like a rat caught in a trap. Her usual clothes were thrown at her and she meekly put them on, all while he watched with bored interest.
The Snake was a typical man, hedonistic maybe, but so normal he teetered on basic. The only thing that cracked his exterior was his age; he was twice as old as her and couldn’t quite hide the years of abuse he’d submitted his body to anymore. They’d fucked on numerous occasions since sex always helped her cover, but it was always under a haze of stimulants or depressants... or both. He was her father’s most trusted peon. William trusted Snake even with his own daughters.
Yahiro had once thought William had trusted her the most, but Snake was his first born, and her step-brother.
The ritual, the daily routine was becoming second nature to both of them. It was the only thing that kept her going, knowing if she only waited long enough, hoped a little harder, dug her nails in deeper, she could take him by surprise.
She sat down and applied makeup, covering her murky, messed-up features as much as she could. When she was done, Snake picked up the video camera and led her out of the room. He gave her a hit, put his mask on and they got started.
Her job was to go from room to room, cell to cell, and get all the women high. Get them all checked out, cleaned up, spirits lifted before they were put back on their nightly routine while the Snake recorded everything. At the end, he’d sit her down, and they’d watch the video. If she didn’t play her part, someone lost a limb. Each screw-up cost someone else something precious.
Her only punishment was the occasional beating below her face and the terrible dark.
William never knew when he’d need both his daughters present for appearances.
Yahiro woke again with a start within the bands of Sundamar’s arms, feeling achy. It took several beats before she managed a couple stretches and got her bearings. His golden hair tickled her naked skin and when her sudden embarrassment subsided, she glanced up to meet his eyes.
But he wasn’t looking down at her, he was looking forward and up. She followed his gaze and found that the jolts to her body were stairs, and those stairs seemed to reach up for miles. A zigzagging pattern, not unlike the beautiful gilt of Sundamar’s armor.
Yahiro held back a gasp as Quist flew several yards away beside them. The breeze his wings created cooled her sun-scorched skin. She looked at them and the stairs until it dawned on her that they were climbing the molo.
Their city.
Home.
