"Hey, are you all right?" Quinn, a fellow prisoner, whispered to me from across the bars after the guards had left, laughing and tossing their gloves onto the ground, the gloves with my poisonous blood fresh on them. Quinn was one of the lucky ones, one eye a clear hazel with the other a breathtaking gray, his Grace was being able to see further than most people. One of the useless graces, he'd always say, I'd always thought that was a blessing.
I didn't reply or show any any sign that I even heard him. "Sorry, that was stupid. Of course you're not all right." I turned my head on the moldy hay of the dungeon floor and whispered, "Do they do that with any of the others?" Quinn shrugged and looked away uncomfortably, he was never tortured like I was even though he was graced, same as me. I stared up at the cracked ceiling, dripping with sewage water, it was always damp here, always dark, always cold. But what did I expect?
Without even looking at myself since the past three years, I still knew exactly what I looked like, well, what mattered anyway. Brown stringy hair, gangling arms and legs, and red and gold eyes. Different colors, they were all that mattered, and they sealed my fate in this little piece of hell on earth. Since the number of Gracelings had decreased quickly and immensely over the past fifty years, war had taken over the countries and the remaining Gracelings found were thrown into prison, claimed to be an abnormality and a hazard to what remained of the countries and the human race.
Suddenly, the sound of boots made me sit up and scramble away to the back of the cell. The guards just finished torturing me barely an hour ago, I think they liked the power they had over me and they weren't afraid to abuse it. But something was off, the boots weren't the steady march of the prison guards, they were fast and almost teetering, like one leg was broken or something. And the footsteps were light like it was from someone young. I crawled to the bars and glanced along the passages.
Coming from the left, a small boy barely the age of 12 was running frantically, hobbling on the lame leg and glancing at prisoners, even talking to a few. Finally, he made his way over to my cell, I looked away, my eyes were told to be frightening even more so than others. The boy asked,"Are you the Graced one? The one with the poison touch?" My eyes widened, how did he know?
"So you are." He didn't look a bit frightened as he opened my cell door. He had no key and the door was always locked. Then I saw his eyes, one dark brown to the point where it was almost black and one light brown, like molten honey.
"You are Graced." I murmur, "Wait, please don't touch me."
He reached for my arm with a gloved hand, "We know about your talent. Come, quick, before the guards come." He hauled me up with strength impressive for one so small and thin.
"Wait!" I cried and stumbled to the door of Quinn's cell. Quinn stood up quickly and grabbed the bars on the door, "Free him, please." The boy shook his head, "I was sent to get you, no one else. You will get a chance to rescue him later." And with that, he tugged my arm and dragged me away before I could say another word. We ran through winding passages and spiraling staircases, and hid in jail cells whenever we heard footsteps. The boy seemed to be able to open any door, even ones that were heavily padlocked. The prisoners inside always looked at us in daze, but we were always gone before they could say a thing. At last, we reached a large wooden door that the boy pushed open and at the first breath of fresh air, I dropped to my knees in awe.
The sun, I haven't seen it since I was five years old, grass, and trees, forests, blue sky, clouds, from the hushed gossip of prisoners, I expected the earth to be in ruins. "We must hurry." The boy says watching me closely.
"Who are you?" I asked, "And why are you helping me?"
"My name is Peter and I'm working against the King. We all are. You are the one of the legend. 'One eye red as the blood she will spill and one gold as the sunrise which she will bring.' You are the Poison Keeper. The one who's supposed to save us all."
"What?" I gasped as Peter dragged me to my feet and we began to sprint into the forest. He didn't answer for a while and I was too dazed to mind. The adrenaline and delight in seeing the world for the first time in ten years was still pumping through my veins, making me feel like my mind was about to burst. Finally, we stopped at a small creek.
"They should be here soon." Peter says and as if on cue, two hooded figures appeared from behind the trees. "I've brought the girl." Peter says as if I were a little child. I suppose I am, in more ways than one.
One figure took his hood off revealing a young man with shocking red hair and stunning emerald eyes. He stepped closer to me and narrowed his eyes, "You'd expect one with a lethal touch to look more, I don't know... horrifying?" His companion took off his hood and smirked, he was older with black hair that was starting to turn gray and one blue eye and one silver. The red head stepped even closer to me and noticed me back away. He laughed and said, "Look, she's frightened of me."
"Am not." I snap. "Who are you and what do you want?"
The older one's face turned solemn, "We are the Assassins of the Black Mountains. We train assassins, only, we want to execute the king and end the war."
"I've heard of you." I say, Quinn had often talked about how the war between the kingdoms would end and the good assassins would free us all. I didn't understand how assassins could be good. Maybe I do now. Suddenly, I thought of the friend I had left behind, the only one who talked to me and kept me through the worse of the nights and the unbearable suffering from the merciless guards, I had to go back for him.
"You cannot go back." The old one said, I nearly jumped in surprise. A mind-reader, they were supposedly gone for over a hundred years, it was a miracle the king hadn't gotten him, or Peter. I thought there were no Gracelings left, out in the world. "I was born and raised in the assassin's village." The mind-reader said, "The king had no chance of finding me. You must come with us. We have heard of your gift." It isn't a gift. I thought and saw the old one smile. "My name is Gavin and the 'red head' as you call him is Rowan, it seems you have already met Peter." With a short, sharp whistle from Gavin, two horses came out from where the men had appeared moments ago. "I will ride with the Poison Keeper, Rowan, take Peter." Gavin reached out gloved hand to me, I stepped back, "I will kill your horse." I blush apologetically. He didn't even flinch, none of them did, Gavin threw a cloak over my tattered cloth shift and lifted me onto the onyx colored horse. I wrapped the cloak around myself the best I could and tried not to touch anything. I felt Gavin hoist himself up behind me and nod to Rowan.
"I don't understand." I said once we were off, "How did you know about me?"
Rowan grinned, "The old prophecy from an old Graceling who predicted the future."
"Prophecies." I rolled my eyes.
"Yes." Rowan grinned, "Sounds stupid but the old witch was always right. You know, she once predicted that the love of my life would be the end of me." He frowned, "Still trying to figure that one out actually, and she also said that the love of my life would steal everything from me. I'm actually kind of reluctant to fall in love now you know, and once-"
"That's enough." Gavin sighed, "What he means to say is, no matter how strange it may sound, the Sage's predictions always came true. And this prophecy is sure to do so too. It was said that:
'When the Graced is all but gone,
When wars have scarred the land,
When all seems pale and lost,
Look to the one with an eye red as the blood she will spill,
One gold like the sunrise she will bring.
She will form an army from the ashes,
Hope from the dead.
Long may she reign.' "
Rowan rolled his eyes, "The Sage said the last part."
Peter shrugged and turned to me, his contrasting eyes burned into mine, "Long may you reign."
And I was speechless.