Chapter Six
The Sorceress of Grayskull sat rigidly on her throne, fingers gripping ancient stone, eyes closed in deep meditation.
Tonight marked the second time in thirteen years that the Sorceress had made any sort of psychic connection with Princess Adora, and she was trying to hold the link for as long as possible. The first time this had happened, Adora would have been seven years old. The connection had lasted for less than ten minutes, and the Sorceress was never sure exactly what had caused it, or what was happening to Adora during that time. All she knew for certain was that the child's innocence had been shattered and her mind turned toward the forces of evil. That a spell of compulsion had been cast on the child did not surprise the Sorceress; Adora was, after all, a daughter of Grayskull, and an inherently noble person. Hordak would have found it nearly impossible to bend the girl's will without the use of magic. What, the Sorceress often wondered, had made Hordak order the spell cast? What had Adora seen, discovered? These were questions that remained unanswered- the link was not strong enough to help the Sorceress locate Adora.
Neither was this link, yet it was entirely different from the last. The Sorceress could sense Adora's fear, just as she had six years ago, but the reason for her fear was not the same as it had been then. Before, Adora was scared for someone else; now she was scared for herself.
The doors to the throne room blew open then, and a wind wholly supernatural in origin whistled through the room. The Sorceress did not open her eyes. The wind hit her full force, bringing with it the realization of what was happening to Adora. The woman shivered violently and tried to speak to the girl, to calm her, but to no avail. Adora had not been trying for a psychic connection, and was clearly unaware that one had been made.
The Sorceress opened her eyes, ascended from her throne, and walked to an eastward-facing window. She lifted her head to the black, starry heavens, clasped her hands tightly in front of her, and began to softly chant. She would stay in this position for a long time, trying to prevent that which had never been prophesized.
Adora was dying, long before her destiny was fulfilled.
Adora staggered down dark, familiar halls, teeth chattering and body violently trembling. She wondered if it had always been this cold in the Fright Zone, then realized that the chill was coming from within her. Her strong legs quivered under her, fatigued from traveling a route that had never before left her struggling for breath. Normally she would have been mortified at the thought of anyone seeing her so weak; now, she could only hope that someone would see her, help her. She was so scared.
Something was terribly wrong, and Adora knew it had to do with the large gash on her side. The wound had been dealt during a particularly rigorous training session two weeks ago. The physician assigned to the Horde training facility- a squat, filthy man called Drikken- had hastily applied stitches to the cut. Adora remembered how his dirty fingers had soiled her skin, the needle, and the thread used to suture the wound. The teenager did not know much about medicine or healing, but she did know that wounds should be kept clean, and had tried to apply that knowledge to her own cut. There was little time to do so, though. Soldiers-in-training like Adora were kept busy from morning to night, with barely enough time to eat or sleep. Adora herself was held to an even higher standard than the rest. She did not know it, but General Tarza was under strict orders from Hordak himself to turn Adora into a fighting machine. The man's life depended on it, in fact, so he was not at all inclined to allow the injured girl time to heal from what he surmised to be a mere flesh wound.
"You are going to be a soldier!" he roared at the girl when she asked to go to the main infirmary. "A soldier does not stop fighting because of one little cut!" He pinned Adora against the wall and leaned forward, his hot breath burning her face. "A soldier does not stop fighting until he is dead!"
Adora did not dare ask again to leave the facility; instead, she held her head high and her tears firmly in check, and continued her training. Even now, certain as she was that she was deathly ill, Adora refused to cry, and her lips quivered as she fought to keep from moaning. Though she looked straight ahead, Adora was only dimly aware of her surroundings; she knew robot troopers guarded the halls only because that was the way it had always been in the Fright Zone. She did not know how close she was to the infirmary, or if she was even going the right way, and she was afraid that General Tarza would find her and drag her back to the training facility.
A light flickered at the end of the long corridor, like a beacon, and Adora stumbled toward it. She was halfway there when her knees buckled and she fell to the floor. She tried to stand up, but her legs refused to support her. She began crawling down the hall, swallowing back screams of pain as the grating dug into her hands. Everything was starting to spin at a nauseating speed, and Adora closed her eyes. She thought she heard someone call her name, and tried to crawl faster, toward the sound. The grating vibrated under her, and Adora lifted her head and forced her eyes open.
A woman knelt before her. Shadows clouded Adora's vision, but she could make out a pale, worried face and auburn hair. She knew who the woman must be, and managed to stammer out a name before succumbing to the shadows.
The sun shone brightly in the Eternian sky when the Sorceress finally opened her eyes and moved away from the window. She slumped into her throne, exhausted in both body and mind. Yet sleep was impossible, so she stared blankly into the room and hoped that Adora could somehow pull herself from Death's embrace. She would have to, for the Sorceress could do nothing.
Marlena held Adora's cold hands in her own, chafing them, trying to rub warmth back into the slender fingers. She could feel eyes boring into her back, but paid them no mind. All fear she felt was reserved for her daughter.
Bridden had recently mentioned that Adora had been in her present condition for a week. Marlena had to take his word for that, since time had long ceased to exist for her. All she knew was that Adora was being taken from her, again.
Voices rose and fell behind her: Bridden, whining that he had done all he could for the girl; Shadow Weaver, explaining that her extensive powers did not include the ability to heal; Hordak, snorting and threatening to kill them both if Adora died.
Suddenly, strong fingers clamped down on the back of Marlena's neck, and Hordak hissed in her ear, "You are nothing to me without your daughter!" Marlena turned and stared at him, bleary-eyed and impassive. Did he not understand, did none of them understand, that life without her daughter held no meaning?
Hordak released her and stormed out of the room, followed closely by Shadow Weaver. Bridden proceeded to take his frustration out on an injured slave, and screams soon filled the room.
Marlena winced. Her mother, a nurse, once told her that hearing was the last sense to leave a dying person. She knew from personal experience that this was true. She had been critically injured during her crash-landing on Eternia, and it was Randor's voice and kind words that made her want to live. Though she never actually understood what the voice was saying, the fact that someone was at her side had meant the world to Marlena, and she could remember being eager to meet the person who obviously cared so much about whether she lived or died. She could not imagine that Adora would be anxious to return to a world filled with screaming voices.
Marlena slipped from the edge of the cot and moved so that she was standing over Adora's head, then knelt down on the cold marble. She cupped one hand over one of Adora's ears, the one closest to the source of the screams, ensuring that hers was the only voice Adora heard. She then leaned forward until her forehead was mere inches away from her daughter's, placed her other hand lightly on the top of Adora's head, and began to speak.
There was no other world beyond this cold, dark place; Adora wondered if there ever had been. It seemed as if she had always been here, kneeling in the darkness, deprived of warmth and light.
She was alone. Sometimes she thought she glimpsed shadowy figures in the distance, and sometimes she imagined they beckoned her to join them, but Adora was reluctant to do so. Something about the figures scared her, and she somehow knew that she was better off staying where she was…
Now the shadow creatures were advancing upon her, coming ever closer. Adora knew they wished to carry her away to their realm, but she was unafraid. The voice would hold them at bay…
At first, the words being spoken held no meaning for Adora, slipping from her comprehension like water through her fingers. She did not know where the voice was coming from, only that it somehow formed a barrier between her and the shadow creatures. Soon she began to sense differences in the voice: sometimes it hummed, sometimes it sang unfamiliar melodies, but mostly it talked in soothing tones.
Now the shadow creatures were retreating, and now Adora understood exactly what the voice was saying: I love you, Adora. Wake up. Live, my child. Come back to me.
The voice was moving away now. Adora stood and followed it, listening for the sweet sound, the loving words. As she ran, faint light illuminated her path, and gentle heat thawed her limbs. The light was brighter now, the voice closer, and Adora plunged headfirst toward both sound and light. She understood now. The light was life, and the voice belonged to someone who loved her, who was waiting for her.
Her mother.
Marlena was adjusting the blankets around Adora's wasted body when her daughter began to moan. She sank down to the edge of Adora's cot and began to stroke her hair.
"Wake up, Adora," she murmured soothingly, "Open your eyes."
Adora's fever had finally broken three hours ago, bringing an end to almost two weeks of illness. It was time for her to awaken; to, as Marlena's mother might have said, 'join the land of the living.'
Marlena continued to talk softly, and soon Adora's cerulean eyes fluttered open. She moaned, then spoke.
"Lena?"
It came out a parched whisper. Marlena hastily poured water into a cup and held it to Adora's lips. The teenager slowly swallowed the liquid, her eyes intent on Marlena's face as she did so. Once the cup was completely drained, Marlena put it aside and took Adora's hands into her own.
"How are you feeling?"
"Tired." Adora whispered weakly. "Am I in the infirmary?"
"Yes."
"What happened?"
"You had an infection and high fever."
"How long have I been here?"
"Twelve days."
"Twelve days!" Adora repeated, horror momentarily strengthening her voice. "General Tarza must be so angry at me!"
"The esteemed general" Marlena said acidly, "has no one to blame but himself for your prolonged absence. He should have sent you here as soon as you were wounded, not to some second-rate physician who obviously has not bathed in twenty years!"
Adora smiled faintly, clearly amused by the accurate assessment of Drikken. Then she frowned.
"Lena?"
"Yes?"
"Something happened when I was sick, something I don't quite understand."
"What is it, Adora?" Marlena said gently. "What happened?"
"There was this voice," Adora began, "a kind, gentle voice that hummed and sang and spoke to me. It kept me safe, kept the monsters away."
"Oh?"
"It was a woman's voice. She said that she loved me, and told me to wake up and live. Lena," Adora's voice dropped to a whisper, "the woman was my mother. Please don't ask me how I know that, but I do."
It took Marlena several moments to respond.
"That's not so unusual, Adora," she said gently, "Many believe that the dead do speak to us when we are at our most vulnerable."
"That's just it, Lena!" Adora's voice rose in excitement. "Right before I woke up, I was running toward a light. The voice… my mother… was leading me to it, and as I entered the light I just knew that my mother would be on the other side, waiting for me. But she wasn't, Lena. She's not here."
Marlena bit her lip to keep from screaming, She's right here! I'm right here!
Adora was watching Marlena, waiting for a response. There were no other patients in the infirmary, and Bridden had left soon after Adora's fever broke. There were also no monitoring devices in the infirmary. For the first time in thirteen years, Marlena was truly alone with her daughter.
Now was her chance to tell Adora the truth, to push through and break Shadow Weaver's spell. Illness and fever had left the girl mentally vulnerable, and she already half-believed that her mother was alive. Though this had not been Marlena's intent when talking to her ill daughter, she saw now that it would work to her advantage. She could tell Adora the truth about her family, her origins. Adora was thirteen years old, certainly old enough and wise enough to understand the importance of keeping such a secret.
It would take Adora a week or more to recover from her illness, time Marlena could spend planning an escape. She still had her two gold rings, and there were always guards who could be bribed. She had no doubt that Adora herself would agree to the escape, once she understood that Marlena was her mother and Hordak, evil incarnate. With a lot of planning, bribery,and just the perfect timing, mother and daughter could finally be free.
This is it, your only chance. Marlena thought as adrenaline coursed through her veins, replacing the fatigue of the last twelve days. Tell her now!
"Adora…"
The girl's eyes widened and held, staring at something behind Marlena. The imprisoned queen closed her eyes and sighed softly. She did not even turn around as a raspy voice said,
"Ah, Adora. I see you've finally decided to awaken."
Marlena mentally cringed when a second voice snorted,
"We were so worried."
"You're not angry with me?"
"Angry?" Hordak stepped around the cot and settled on the other side of Adora, Shadow Weaver standing behind him. "At you? Why, no, child. You could not help being ill."
"Is General Tarza angry?"
"General Tarza is no longer in any position to reprimand you."
"Oh."
Adora looked at Marlena, then down at her hands, clearly uncomfortable with Hordak's last remark.
"Lord Hordak," Shadow Weaver said, "I believe we might have interrupted a conversation with our entrance."
Marlena lifted her head and glared up at the witch.
"You were just about to explain something to Adora."
"Possibly." Marlena feigned ignorance. "I do not remember."
Shadow Weaver reached out and stroked Adora's hair. Her fingers, dancing over the blonde tresses, began to glow.
"Something about her mother, I believe."
Marlena's stomach twisted at the implied threat. She wanted to scream, Take your hands off my child! Instead, she turned to Adora and gently said,
" I've told you before, Adora: your mother is dead. She died when you were born. Whatever you think you heard while unconscious was only a fever-induced hallucination, and best forgotten."
"Liar!" Adora hissed. "I felt her!"
Shadow Weaver's fingers glowed brighter.
"Whatever you felt…"
"I should never have told you! You're only trying to hurt me!"
"I'm only trying to help you." Marlena choked out.
Shadow Weaver removed her hand from Adora's hair, her fingers now back to their normal color.
"Now you've gotten the poor girl all excited," she rasped, "and we certainly don't want her getting sick again. Perhaps you should leave."
"Yes." Hordak smiled menacingly. "Leave."
Marlena looked at her daughter. Adora glared back, hurt and anger darkening her eyes.
"Goodbye, Adora." Marlena stood and tried to stroke Adora's hair. The girl turned her face away. "I'm happy you're feeling better."
Tears burned behind Marlena's eyes, but she refused to appear weak before her captors. Instead, she walked briskly out of the room, then hurried down the corridors to her cell. She closed the door, fell onto her cot, and cried herself to sleep.
Deep inside Castle Grayskull, a warm breeze washed over the meditating Sorceress. She opened her eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. The link to Adora had long since dissipated, but the supernatural wave of warmth conveyed to her that which she had longed to know.
Princess Adora was still alive.