He had lied to himself,told himself that he wished to rescue his stranded village when really he hadwanted to dominate them, make them indebted to his martyrdom and sacrifice. He cravedtheir esteem and worship, not their well-being. Bitterness, delusion, and fear hadbeen his downfall. He was no mythical hero, no legendary savior. He was a mereboy, but surely it was not too late. Even a boy could die with some sense of honor,no matter the trials he faced.
Rorroh and her sleekminions delivered Cyrus to the port side wall. Rock klops and nagen walked the battlements,securing the perimeter defenses.
“Your orders, Mistress?”Captain Greves asked, ducking through a hatch in the steel wall.
The lean monster’sbeady red eyes glared behind his scowling mask, and his black armor glistenedlike a beetle’s shell.
“Take him to myship,” Rorroh wheezed. “Find out where the yeti are hiding.”
No! Cyrus’ worst nightmare was coming true. He could not step backon board that ghost ship, suffer its torture. He began to kick and thrash againsthis bonds. He would rather die among the nagen than again be trapped within thathell hold.
“Hold him still,”Rorroh choked.
Captain Greves raisedhis staff. Something in the woods caught Cyrus’ eye. He looked towards the trees.A dark figure moved within the shadowy forest. Fibian?
“I expected more, ChildEater,” Captain Greves seethed.
Then he struck Cyrusin the head, and Cyrus wondered no more.
Chapter31
HELLHOLD
CYRUS AWOKE achy and nauseous from a hellishnightmare. His nose filled with the acrid stink of charred wood and mold. He peered around his dank surroundings. Afamiliar pot-bellied stove rusted in the darkened corner of the room. Smoky shacklesdangled overhead. Small, blackened skulls adorned the scarred walls.
Nomore. His head felt swollen, and his eyes struggled to focus. He heard the toll of a bell.
“Stop,” he croaked.
Blood and sweat drippeddown his chest. He tried to move. He hung, boundby the wrists, from a meat hook overhead. He attempted to shift his legs.His ankles were trussed and tethered to a cleat behind him on the floor. He movedin vain to drag his feet beneath him. He twisted his hips. His ribs spasmed andthrobbed. He struggled to recall how he had gotten aboard Rorroh’scursed ship. All he could remember were the beatings, the questions. The yeti. Had he told?
He wasso sweaty and cold, clothed in only his woolen leggings. His tunic! Where was Edward?
“Edward,” he whispered.
He did not recognize hisown choked voice.
“Edward?”
Footfalls descended the creakingstairs. Cyrus’ torso quivered reflexively. His teeth chattered and his muscles shivered. The cabin door groanedopened. A tall demon entered the shadowy chamber.Captain Greves…
The flickering light fromthe stove’s fire shone off of the nagen’s polishedarmor. The creature stepped before Cyrus, taut with rage.
“Where are the yeti hiding?How did the froskman defeat them?” Greves asked.
“I told you,” Cyrus managed,coughing blood, “I don’t know.”
He heldhis breath. It did not help. Greves lashedout with a three-foot-long cudgel, strikingCyrus in the ribs. The pain drove through his side and into his heart. Hislungs flagged and his breath faltered. He tried to scream. A guttural wheeze passed his lips.
“Where are the yeti hiding?How did the froskman defeat them?” Greves asked again.
“She didn’t defeat them,”Cyrus groaned. “They destroyed her entire army, razed her fortress to theground.”
Thwack!
Greves struck Cyrus again in the side. His bulletwound screamed. His bound arms twisted in their sockets. Blood spurted fromhis mouth and splattered the deck. He tried to breathe.He managed only short, panicky gulps.
“Where are the yeti hiding?How did the traitor defeat them?”
Cyrus struggled to regain his breath. His heavy headlolled between his broad shoulders. He could not manage the words. He could noteven brace for the impact. Greves clubbedhim in the flagging belly. Cyrus' lungs foldedlike drained wineskins. He gasped in vain,fighting to inhale. He was drowning, surrounded by air. His body lost all strengthand he fell into a waking delirium.
Greves clutched his long, dark hair andwrenched back his woozy head.
“You will break in theend,” the captain said, pressing his cold helmet to Cyrus’ bloody forehead. “Theyall do. Time and pressure, that is all ittakes.”
Then Greves released his grip. He crossed the roomand stepped out of the narrow doorway. Footsteps ascended the stairs. Cyrus hunglike a dripping corpse from his rusted chains. Several tortured minutes passed.He began to gather his breath. He would not survive another beating.
Through red, bleary eyeshe peered around the blackened room. Several crystalorbs peeked out of the ashy remains of their burnt shelves. A broken rack of steelswords stood half-leaning against the starboard wall. Strange glass vials of varyingcolors lay in shards along the stained floorboards.
Again, Cyrus thought ofhis people. Was there really no hope? Were they truly doomed to eternal slavery? Were Cyrus’ actions so unforgivable?
He thought of Fibian. Why had he turned him away? He owed the froskman so much. If only he had listened to Fibian, maybe the villagers, maybe Sarah, would not havebetrayed him.
Cyrus felt sure that Sarahhad not been corrupted. Her heart wasstill pure. She must have thought Cyrus monstrousto have done what she had. He wished dearly to correct those mistakes, but was ittoo late?
Hethought of the children’s haunting cries, of the girl with the ice-grey eyes.The adults were bent, tainted, lost forever. He could never untwist their toxicminds, or cleanse their crooked souls, but as long as there were alves like Sarah, and as long as there were children untouchedby Rorroh’s lies, surely there was still a chance. If only Cyrus could managehis own demons, master his own fears and anger, maybe he could be the one whowould guide those still worthy to their one true destiny. But first, he had to escape.
Chapter32
ANGELS AND DEMONS
CYRUS GAZED DOWN THE DARK, narrow hallway. It was there he
