Chapter Nine

There was really no need to interrogate the prisoner. After all, he had been nothing but truthful about his involvement in the latest rebel skirmish; and his friends may have eluded capture, but it was no secret that the Great Rebellion operated out of the Whispering Woods. So Adora had no right at all to be standing in front of the prisoner's cage, hands on hips, barking out questions that had nothing whatsoever to do with yesterday's battle.

"This sword" she held out the blade that had occupied her thoughts for the last day, "feels like it was meant for me. Why is that?"

The warrior who called himself He-Man shrugged. "I am as confused as you are. It does seem like you were meant to wield the sword; but it was forged by the Ancients, and therefore cannot be used by one who serves the forces of evil."

"I do not serve the forces of evil."

"You serve the Horde, do you not?"

Adora stiffened. "Yes." When the prisoner did not respond, she snapped, "The Horde is not evil!"

"Oh, really? So you see nothing wrong with trying to overpower a defenseless planet?"

"I see nothing wrong with exerting authority over a world that is rightfully yours."

"I don't know enough about the history of this world to say whether or not your leader is its rightful ruler," He-Man returned, "But I have seen enough to know that the way in which Hordak chooses to exert his righteous authority is beyond cruel."

"Cruel!"

"What else would you call it when innocent people are enslaved?"

"They are not innocent," Adora said slowly, as if addressing a mentally deficient child, "And they are not enslaved. Only those who defy the Horde are arrested; and they are free to leave as soon as they verbally, publicly, acknowledge Hordak's supreme authority."

"Sounds simple enough," He-Man said pleasantly, "So, most of the people arrested by the Horde end up agreeing to this?"

"Well…no," the woman admitted, "Etherians as a whole appear to be fairly stubborn."

"You speak as if you are not Etherian yourself."

"I am Hordian." Adora stated proudly.

"You don't look it."

"And yet, I am." Adora smirked.

"So, if the prisoners publicly submit to Hordak, and are freed, where do they go?"

Adora blinked at the rapid shift. "Why, to their homes, I suppose."

"What if they do not have homes left to go to? What if their homes were destroyed by the Horde?"

"The Horde does not destroy homes!" Adora snarled.

"The Horde destroys everything: homes… villages… entire lives. Everything!"

"You know nothing about the ways of the Horde!"

"Perhaps. But it appears that you know even less."

"Maybe you did not hear what I said earlier: I am a Force Captain. That means that I know everything about the Horde."

He-Man seemed to consider that for a moment. "Alright." He said finally. "Since you know so much: go prove me wrong."

"Excuse me?"

"Explore this world. See for yourself what the Horde has done. Perhaps then you will be worthy of the sword."

Adora stared at him, incredulous. She had come for answers, not insults and dares. The man crossed his arms over his expansive chest and leaned casually against the bars of his cage, making it clear that he would not be answering any of her questions until she accepted his challenge. Adora looked down at the sword; the jewel sparkled back at her, matching the impudent gleam in the prisoner's eyes. Hordak's most loyal Force Captain tossed her hair back angrily and retorted, "Fine. But I am only doing this to show you just how very wrong you are."

She then turned on her heel and stalked out of the room, slamming the door against the bark of the warrior's laugh.

He-Man stopped laughing as soon as the impetuous blonde left the room. He shook his head, amazed at the woman's ability to deny the blatantly obvious. She reminded him of Teela, in that way. That thought segued into thoughts of home, and he sighed.

How long had he been gone? Two days? He wondered which lie Duncan had had to trot out this time; he hoped it was one that cast Adam in a favorable light. Although, to be fair, Duncan usually did tell Randor as much of the truth as he could, so this week's excuse would most likely be something along the lines of "Adam is helping He-Man and the Sorceress." It was only when Adam himself had to explain his absence that trouble began. This usually happened when Teela was involved in whatever situation required He-Man's presence. Adam could not very well say that he was helping He-Man when Teela could, correctly, refute the lie. In those instances, he was forced to resort to excuses that involved eating, sleeping, or fishing; and nothing, he knew, raised his father's blood pressure quite like finding out that the heir to the throne was once again too lazy to help defend his kingdom. Then would come the inevitable lecture.

Actually, Adam had not been lectured by his father in quite awhile; one month, to be exact. As grateful as he was for the reprieve, the young man was also ashamed of how it had come about. Now, even in his He-Man form, he flushed at the memory of the words he had hurled at his father, at the thing he had said about his mother. Here he was, chosen by the Ancients themselves to defend an entire planet, and he had behaved like a child. How could he blame his father for seeing exactly what Adam wanted him to see: a lazy, carefree, immature young man, and nothing more. The Sorceress had made it very clear, two years ago, that Randor could never know about his son's secret identity; that such knowledge would only place him in extreme danger. Adam understood that; but he often wished that he could go back to being the son who told his father everything, and made his father proud. Every lie he had to tell tasted sour in his mouth, and every truth he had to swallow turned his stomach.

Yet the lies he told were necessary; he was reminded of this fact every time he faced Skeletor. Now, as he slid heavily down to the cold floor, He-Man thought about the Sorceress's last words to him: "Sometimes we lie to the ones we love, because we love them." He thought about how it could just as easily be his father being held prisoner by the enemy, or worse; and he vowed, as he had every day since being entrusted with the Sword of Power, that he would tell a million lies before he would allow the bad men to take his father away.

A sound shattered his thoughts, and he turned his head just in time to see the door of the holding cell being forced open. A second later, a lavender-haired woman slipped into the room, followed by a brown-haired man armed with a bow and arrow.

"Glimmer, Bow," He-Man called out softly. The two looked over at him, and he grinned. "Good to see you. Now get me out of here."

Adora slipped out of the compound, her athletic figure covered by a light brown cloak. She made her way to the stables, where she saddled and mounted her beloved steed; then she galloped out of the compound of Beast Island. Had she looked back, she most assuredly would have noticed Hordak and Shadow Weaver standing at a window of the large prison complex, watching her departure with no small amount of interest.

"Well, well." Shadow Weaver rasped. "Where could she be going?"

"I know not." Hordak snorted. "But I think that perhaps that little mother-daughter reunion might be happening a bit sooner than planned."

Unaware of the exchange, Adora rode toward the west, where she knew several Horde-controlled villages lay. The pace she set made the hood of her cloak slide down her hair, forcing her to take notice of the wasted, abandoned fields. A bad crop, she told herself, refusing to acknowledge the fact that bad crops do not leave footprints and scorch marks.

The sight of the first village made her want to vomit. Bodies littered what had most likely been the town market. Whole families lay in the dirt, their limbs tangled in a final embrace, their eyes wide open and staring at the road, at her. There were no buildings, only heaps of burnt straw and wood. Adora called out; the only response was the wind, blowing dirt and debris over the corpses. There was no denying the forces responsible for this destruction: the Horde symbol had been seared into the trunk of a massive tree. Adora rode up to it and ran her fingers over the mark. Bile rose in her throat, and she hastily pulled away and spurred Spirit forward, out of the conquered village.

The second village was almost an exact replica of the first; the only difference was the dozen or so survivors, their faces devoid of all emotion as they broke the earth with their fingernails and buried the bodies that littered the streets. They looked up when Adora rode past, flicking their eyes over her clean cloak and healthy complexion. She dismounted and wordlessly began to help the villagers, using the hilt of her small knife to burrow into the dirt. She gently placed men, women, and children into the crude graves; after placing a newborn onto the still chest of its mother, Adora's eyes filled with tears, and she could no longer see the bodies she was helping to bury. After each hole was repacked with dirt, the eldest male survivor wheezed out a prayer; the others bowed their heads while Adora stared off into the distance, at another tree branded with the mark of the Horde.

The last body was buried just as the first of Etheria's two moons was beginning to ascend the sky. Adora helped the survivors build a fire, using pieces of broken furniture to feed the flames; then spent the night staring into the heart of the blaze, wondering how she could have been so very wrong. She thought about what she had told He-Man: that the people imprisoned by the Horde were not innocent; then she thought about the newborn infants lying, still and lifeless, in the arms of the mothers who had probably died trying to protect them. She closed her eyes and saw the body that had been pulled from a charred pile of rubble: a little girl with tear tracks on her dirty face, still clutching a soft cloth doll. Adora hugged her knees to her chest and quietly wept. How could she have missed what was happening all around her? The fact that she had never personally participated in such a brutal raid was cold comfort. She may have never killed anyone, or allowed the soldiers in her command to take lives; but she had led hundreds of innocent people into slavery, all in the name of the Horde. By the time the sun's ray began to tint the sky, Adora's sorrow had been replaced by an uncontrollable rage. How could they have used her this way? How dare they lie to her!

She left before the villagers awoke, galloping furiously toward the Fright Zone. She felt as if her head was being cleared of a mental fog, and she remembered something that had happened six months ago. She was walking past the infirmary when she heard a scream, and raced through the door just in time to see a dirty, bedraggled woman drag the blade of a scalpel down her wrist. Bridden saw it at the same time, and the physician tackled the woman just as the weapon fell from her fingers. Adora watched, awestruck, as the man threw the woman onto a cot and hastily began to apply pressure to the wound. He yelled for a needle and thread, and Lena appeared a second later, pushing past Adora and bearing the necessary items. Meanwhile, the woman was still screaming; the words were shrill past the point of comprehension, but Adora nonetheless understood that the woman wanted to die. She took a step forward, certain that she could calm the woman; but Lena stepped in front of her, then draped a thin arm across her shoulders and turned her around, back toward the entrance of the infirmary.

"You should not have seen that," she breathed into Adora's ear.

"Why does she want to die?" Adora asked, turning her head and straining to see the woman. She felt Lena's arm slip from her shoulder, and looked over to find the auburn-haired woman studying her face, her head tilted to one side and her expression guarded. She seemed to be considering her next words.

"I really could not say," she finally murmured. Then she pushed Adora gently out of the infirmary, and closed the door.

Adora thought she knew now why that woman had tried to end her life, or could at least guess at the reason. She wondered how many members of the woman's family had died in the raid in which she had been captured, and how much the woman had been forced to witness. Which village had the woman come from, and how many more had been captured with her? How many had died; and were their bodies still lining the streets, their vacant eyes staring at the road, waiting for salvation? As she lead Spirit to a brook for refreshment, Adora bowed her head and swore upon the grave of her dead mother that she would avenge those people's deaths.

By the time she reached the Fright Zone, Adora was shaking with righteous fury. She strode angrily to her room, where she yanked clothing from a battered trunk and shoved it into a saddlebag. As she pulled out the last tunic, she realized that it was heavier than it should be; a second later, something fell from the cloth and clattered to the floor. Adora looked down at the one costly, non-combative thing she owned: a gold diadem, its single spire rising to a polished point. She had a vague memory of finding the tiara in a dusty corner of Hordak's throne room, of tucking the mysterious item into the folds of a voluminous red dress and rushing off to show Lena her treasure; but like most memories of her childhood, this one was faint, and Adora's head throbbed when she tried to remember anything more. Instead, she placed the crown gently in amongst her clothes; Horde soldiers never received monetary compensation for their services, so she would need something to barter for food and shelter. She slipped back down to the stables, where Spirit was waiting for her. She attached the saddlebag and was just about to mount when a thought occurred to her: she was running away, and it was not in her nature to do so. She patted Spirit's mane reassuringly, murmured "I'll be right back," and marched toward the throne room. She had every intention of leaving the Fright Zone and never returning; but not before she confronted Hordak about what she had seen, and about the lies she had been told.

So angry and determined was she that Adora did not even bother with the formality of knocking; she simply flung the door open and walked right in. Hordak was sitting in his throne, looking up at Shadow Weaver as she spoke to him. Both turned and watched Adora advance. Hordak's eyes glowed in obvious anger, yet his posture was relaxed, his voice gentle when he spoke.

"Welcome back, my dear. We missed you."

"Sure you did." Adora spat out. "I'll bet what you really missed was having someone help you murder and enslave innocent people."

"Why, whatever are you talking about, my dear?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about!" Adora hissed. "The raids… the fires… the dead babies lying in the streets! You know about it all, because you ordered it!"

"Are you absolutely sure about that?" Hordak asked, adopting a tone one might use with an irrational child.

"Of course I'm sure!" she snarled. "I saw that vile mark" she jabbed a trembling finger at the emblem on Hordak's chest "burned into the trees."

"Really?" Shadow Weaver rasped, almost lazily. "How very interesting."

Adora felt her face flush at the witch's obvious indifference; and she suddenly understood, completely, why Hordak and Shadow Weaver could listen to her accusations and feel no remorse whatsoever. "You are evil." She whispered. "Both of you. You are the essence of evil. And I worked for you." She turned her angry gaze on Hordak and cried out, "I all but worshipped you! But no more! I am resigning my position, effective immediately. I am leaving this place, and you will never see me again."

"Calm down, child," Shadow Weaver murmured, floating down the steps of the dais and toward Adora, "and think about what you are saying. Leave the Fright Zone? What utter nonsense! Where would you go? No one is going to help the infamous Force Captain Adora."

"I'll join the Rebellion," Adora flung back, "I'll dedicate the rest of my life to driving you from this world. I'll… Stay away from me!" she screamed as she felt Shadow Weaver's hands on either side of her head. She tried to pull away, but the heels of the enchantress's hands dug into her temples, her fingers burrowing into the back of Adora's skull. Adora was horrified to see a sickly green glow coming from the woman's fingers. Her heart pounded rapidly in terror when the witch leaned forward and began to rasp into her ear.

Suddenly Adora's brain was on fire, and stinging, as if Shadow Weaver's words were small, hot needles. She shook her head frantically from side to side, trying to dispel the sensation; but to no avail. Shadow Weaver forced her head back, until they were staring into each other's eyes; the enchantress's lips slowly curled into a thin, cruel smile. It was a familiar smile, a smile that Adora sometimes saw if she tried to remember too much of her early years; and now, as psychic fingers peeled back the layers of her will, Adora realized why that was.

She's done this to me before! Adora thought. Darkness was pushing at the corners of her vision, bringing with it a nightmarish image of an old man lying on a cold, black floor, blood pouring from his head. Her brain, now achy and unbearably hot, flooded with the sound of a woman shrieking; then Adora's knees failed, and the last image she saw was of ebony marble, rushing up to meet her.

Shadow Weaver almost let the younger woman fall, but felt Hordak's eyes boring into her back and thought better of it. Instead, she gently lowered Adora to the floor, then turned and faced her master. Hordak rose from his throne and came to stand beside his witch. Both gazed down at the unconscious woman for several seconds; then Hordak spoke, "I thought we agreed not to use anymore spells."

"But she was right here," Shadow Weaver whined, "and Marlena is all the way in the infirmary. Magic was so much more efficient in this instance."

"Yes. But blackmail would have been so much more effective."

Shadow Weaver stiffened. "My magic did not fail."

"Oh? Then what made the girl turn on us like that?"

"My guess would be, something she saw." Shadow Weaver smirked.

"I know that!" Hordak yelled. He stalked back to his throne and dropped angrily onto the crimson cushion. "But what compelled her to go out and see those villages in the first place?"

Shadow Weaver looked back down at Adora. A silver hilt stuck out of the sheath on her back, and a clear crystal looked up at the witch. She knelt down and withdrew the sword, then straightened and regarded it carefully. The blade vibrated with mystical energy.

"This sword." Shadow Weaver rasped. She turned and caught Hordak's gaze. "This sword- and that muscle-bound warrior who destroyed half of your prison on Beast Island- are the key to everything."

"How?"

"I do not know." The witch said. She ran a sharp fingernail over the beveled surface of the crystal and smiled. "But there is great magic here, and I will make it ours."