Shades of Grey

CRONAMIA— MARCH 1843

I released them and heard three very loud cracks followed by an ear-piercing wail. I turned to make my escape in the smoke, but Cerberus suddenly barrelled into me from behind, knocking me against the far wall of the maze.

I got up quickly but froze in horror as the dog’s three faces grew frighteningly vicious amongst the smoky green light of the swamp. The dog lunged at me again, snapping my arm and shoulder in between two of its powerful jaws while the numerous snakeheads proceeded to clamp their fangs into my skin.

I cried out as the beast thrashed me around, tearing muscle and narrowly ripping into bone until finally it relented and threw me down the topiary corridor, my blood flowing from its huge, snarling jaws. I cowered against the maze wall as I hastily poured my analgesic over the deep wounds. I winced as they sizzled and began to cauterise.

Cerberus prepared for another attack, but I was ready this time and I withdrew my Flamesword, striking the beast in all three jaws with one fluid motion. It whimpered and hurried to put out the flames on its snouts, howling in pain.

I looked at the wailing beast and tried to decide whether I would add another tooth to my necklace or let the pitiful creature tend to its wounds. I decided I would give my injuries a chance to heal and leave the poor monster with some shred of dignity. It had been under Persephone’s control, after all. I sheathed my Flamesword and turned, running down a long straight path before I arrived at the ominous courtyard in the centre of the maze.

When I got there, a huge Cronamian stood atop a large stone mausoleum, but in place of walls there were bars surrounding a lone sarcophagus inside which sat a beaten, bound girl that I recognised as the queen Anesthia.

“Welcome to the centre of the maze, Hunter!” said the Cronamian in the same dark voice that had guided me through this entire ordeal. His pale skin and enlarged limbs showed the characteristic signs of a species that had evolved underground: huge yellow eyes, stringy hair and long limbs meant for moving underground in the wet caves. It was hard to believe they were once a proud, beautiful race of near Elvish pefection.

At the mention of the word ‘Hunter,’ Anesthia turned around and looked at me with grateful reverence: she knew I had come for her.

“Release the queen and I will leave quietly, Prince Lanark,” I said, taking one step forward. The prince cocked his head, impressed at my ability to identify him. He leapt from the roof of the mausoleum, landing on the ground with an earth-shattering thud.

“You are not in a position to make demands,” he snarled, daring to step right into my face, expelling his rancid breath. I closed my eyes and resisted the urge to breathe, waiting for him to step away.

“You have made me angry by kidnapping my friends and forcing me to do these menial labours, therefore you are not in a good position either, so it is best for you if you release the queen and my cohorts,” I said steadily, secretly grasping the hilt of my Flamesword in preparation for attack.

Prince Lanark smiled and walked over to the cage, unlocking the door and grabbing the bound queen by the forearms, roughly dragging her towards me.

“I think you had better ask the queen whether or not she would like to leave.”

I let my eyes slip to the queen’s face and I withheld in a gasp of horror. I remembered the paintings I had seen in the palace of Esthen of the beautiful girl who seemed fit to only be a queen and I shuddered at the difference between the painting and the frail ghost I saw before me. Her hair had grown long and stringy, her skin was pale and hung loose from malnutrition and her once beautiful royal robes had long since been reduced to scraps that draped loosely over her thin body. Her pale skin was littered with countless gashes and contusions and I noticed a very large scar in the shape of a V just above her sternum: the Xanthar Key — the source of her power and the balance of her kingdom — was gone.

“I will not engage in your mind games any longer. Release the prisoners and let me on my way,” I said through gritted teeth.

Prince Lanark cracked a smile and released the queen’s arm and she collapsed to the ground, coughing and wheezing weakly.

“Bring forth the Maisling,” he called behind him.

A door then slid open and Rodag walked forward with bravado, carrying a rope in his hand that was tied around the neck of a human-sized Forma.

“No!” I cried in horror as the realisation struck me.

“The Cronamians offered me unlimited wealth and power if I delivered both you and your Fairy to them. Who could resist such a proposal?”

Rodag wore a large, sly smirk worthy of Iago on his beautiful face and I felt the shame sink into my bones. He then raised his hand and I saw that he gripped a very small stone: a lepidolite, and he held it just over a torch. Forma cried out in pain and began shifting rapidly, just as she had done during the ball in Esthen. It had been Rodag’s doing, he had wanted us to leave at that moment. Forma had been right all along. I stood transfixed in horror, watching as Forma knelt on the ground in agony, shifting even more rapidly than before.

“Why?” I asked.

Rodag’s face grew rageful and he threw the stone at my feet. I jumped as sparks flew from the rock and Forma’s shifting ceased. She crumpled to the ground as Rodag stormed angrily towards me.

“Your mother nearly killed every Nemorosa on the island and because of you, I lost my powers! I am simply giving the Echo family what they deserve and sending a message to all other Hunters in the world! The time has come to pay for your wrongly justified murderous practices!”

I gasped in shock and horror, trying furiously to gather my thoughts as I watched the smile of Mammon creep across Rodag’s Adonis-like face.

“On the brighter side, Forma has provided hours of entertainment for the Cronamian workers,” Rodag said darkly, testing the limits of my patience.

“What have you done?” I asked through tight lips as my fingers clenched.

Rodag only turned to Forma, who suddenly began to cry as I saw the exhaustion and humiliation sink into her face. At that moment, I did not want to know what he had forced her to do and I suspected it was the last thing that Forma wanted to disclose to me.

“Is Lord Remacus aware of this as well?” I asked as I shifted my angry gaze to Rodag. My Lancelot had been viciously ripped away to reveal a seethingly ugly Ascalaphus.

He and the prince both laughed.

“Aware of it?” cried the Prince. “It was his idea!”

Now it was Anesthia’s turn to be horrified.

“What?!” she cried as she pulled herself to a standing position. “Remacus would never betray me! How did you force him to agree? What manner of bribery did you utilise?!”

“Oh my dear, foolish young queen, he needed no persuasion,” taunted the Prince as he slid his disgusting hand down the side of her face. Empathetic choler rose in me.

“You lie!” snapped the queen, angry tears of frustration welling. “Lord Remacus has been a trusted advisor to my family for years!”

“In the absence of a Riadas, he receives complete control of the throne and the country. What makes you think he would uphold his loyalty when presented with such an opportunity?” sneered the prince.

The queen’s legs gave out from under her and I only barely caught her before she hit the ground. We both stood together, united by our simultaneous betrayals.

“I loved you!” I hissed at Rodag. The queen found the strength to stand on her own and I marched over to him angrily. “How could you do this to me?!”

Rodag actually dared to laugh and place one of his filthy hands on my shoulder in a gesture of Mephistophelean malice.

“No matter how strong Hunters think they are, they are no match for the allure of money and power.”

He reached his hand behind my ear and pretended to unearth a small gold coin from my hair. If I were younger, it would have been a great trick, but there was something else I saw that greatly disturbed me, something that I should have seen earlier. Nemorosa did not have the power to create and there was no way he could have hidden the coin anywhere on his person, there was only one way he could have produced it: if he had stolen and swallowed the Xanthar key, gaining its power.

My anger reached its zenith and I withdrew my Flamesword, slicing Forma’s bonds in one languid motion. I then held the sword at Rodag’s throat, fury coursing through me. Rodag held up his hands and slowly walked over next to the Prince. Both wore chauvinistic grins on their faces. They did not believe I would do anything.

“Now, let’s not do anything rash,” Rodag said sarcastically.

“We would not want to strain any delicate muscles,” the Prince added.

Forma then joined me and I felt anger equal to mine pulsating from her: she would exact her revenge for whatever tortures Rodag had forced upon her.

“I will give you three seconds,” I said softly. “Then I will add your teeth to my necklace.”

Rodag and the Prince both laughed as I counted to myself. Once I reached three, I brought my Flamesword high above me and then down towards Rodag’s shoulder. He blocked me easily with his traditional Nemorosa claymore.

“You’re going to have to do better than that, Grey. I’m not just a mindless Coeur Troll.”

My rising anger increased the speed and force of my attacks. Forma changed into a Cronamian of equal strength to the Prince and two landmark subterranean battles commenced.

“Why do you persist?” Rodag taunted in between strikes. “You will never defeat me!”

At this particular moment, a surge of magical energy shot out from his hand and knocked me into the steel cage of the mausoleum. I collapsed to the ground and looked over to where Anesthia stood. Her eyes met with mine and I saw that she knew exactly what to do with Rodag. I smiled and turned back to him.

“You’re right, I will never defeat you.” I then quickly knocked away the claymore and wrapped the rope with which he had bound Forma around his own hands, binding him to the bars of the cage.

“But she can.”

Rodag’s face fell as I moved to the left, revealing the weakened queen, who had a seductively maniacal grin on her face. She limped toward Rodag and placed her hands on his stomach. He gave a lurch and cried out as he realised what was happening.

“No! NO! Please no!”

Anesthia’s lips met with his. Rodag began suddenly struggling and grunting in discomfort as the key began to rise out of him, sensing the presence of a true member of the Riadas bloodline.

She finally broke away as a golden smoke came out of his mouth and entered hers, carrying with it a small gold key: the Xanthar key.

Rodag’s appearance then began to deteriorate, as Anesthia’s grew stronger and more vibrant. With the key inside of her once more, Anesthia’s malnourished muscles and sagging skin slowly grew to their natural size, her hair became soft and healthy and all of her wounds faded. In seconds, she stood up straight and appeared as the queen I had imagined her to be: strong, powerful and fiercely handsome.

She walked to Rodag, who was now shaking and twitching in fear as she advanced with each step. I stood back and watched as Anesthia undid the ropes that bound him. He crumpled to the floor, whimpering pathetically while tending to the exact same wounds that Anesthia had endured during her captivity — every scar, every bruise and every mark.

“I shall let you decide what is to be done with him,” she said to me in an alluring, authoritative alto voice.

I looked down at the pale reflection of what used to be a tall, proud and beautiful Nemorosa and then I looked back at the stunning queen, standing with the cold confidence of Zenobia herself.

“He deserves to stay down here, under the world of the civilised.”

Rodag whimpered and shook in fright, cravenly looking to me for mercy.

“No, Grey you can’t lock me down here! I only deal with these beasts when I have to! You must show me mercy! Remember what we had on the island!”

I stared at him, remembering my foolish attraction to him. Never again would I make so stupid a mistake. He had taught me a very valuable lesson.

“We had nothing.”

I turned away from him and saw Forma standing atop the lifeless corpse of Prince Lanark, holding a clean tooth out towards me. I smiled softly at her and gently took the tooth.

“Thank you,” I said.

“You’re welcome,” she replied quickly, embarrassment still ripe in her eyes. She tried to conceal it, but it was written all over her face.

“I’m sorry,” I offered pathetically. “I should’ve listened to you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said in a shaky voice as she tried to hold back tears. “You’ve couldn’t have seen it coming…”

I closed my eyes briefly in guilty embarrassment.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked gently.

“No, not particularly. I really would like to leave,” she responded quietly, trying to avoid my eyes.

“As would I,” interjected Anesthia as she approached us. “The Cronamians will not take kindly to the fact that we have just killed their prince. I suggest we leave as soon as possible.”