*Panting heavily* Gah! Hey, you guys! I'm sorry, this chapter took way too long for me to edit. I've had this chapter back from Kira for weeks, and just haven't had the time to dive into it until today. (That's kind of a lie: I've been taking a break from writing to read the Harry Potter books. Oops.) Sorry about my absence! I'm not even completely happy with the first few paragraphs, but I'm so done trying to fix them. -_- Thank you though, Kira; your suggestions helped a ton.
This whole chapter is kinda...eh. Not a lot of excitement, but there's some important stuff! I'm sorry, the good stuff is coming soon! Like, I think I'm introducing new characters in the next chapter, and then the pace will pick up tremendously. This chapter is probably the last uphill stretch before we slide down the hill toward the finish line- and the other chapters will be shorter, too. This will hopefully be the last long one.
Enjoy! Thanks for reading and reviewing!
Bitterness
Varasach awakened the next morning to a splitting headache. She pressed the inside of her wrist to her forehead, moaning, and opened one eye a crack. But the light streaming in from her window hurt her head, so she ducked back under the blankets. Nausea swelled inside her belly and she grimaced, taking deep breaths to quell it. She hadn't felt this ill since coming off of her pain medication a little over a week ago.
It almost feels like the plague again, she reflected. She tried without much success to stifle those thoughts, trembling as she breathed under the blanket, filling the space with muggy air.
Cyrus hadn't ever told her if she'd able to contract the disease again. He had allowed her to go out with Kyle and help the other sick people once she was healed, so that meant she couldn't get sick again… Right?
It might have just been her imagination, but after a minute she thought she smelled blood on her breath. She threw the blankets aside, gulping for air. No, she thought. No! I can't be sick again!
This time, her eyes quickly adjusted to the light of the morning sun. She blinked at the bright patch on the floor beside her, shivering. The more she breathed, the easier it became to control her nausea and tremors, until at last she breathed a deep, settling breath and let it out with a feeling of finality. She was stressed and had overreacted. She did not have the plague again.
Her eyes drifted to the fireplace. Someone must have come in recently and fed it because the flames were still going as strong as when she'd fallen asleep. She stared at the dancing fire for a while, still shivering, though she didn't feel cold, as memories of yesterday trickled back to her. She had been kidnapped by Garmadon after her argument with Zane and brought to this inn by the snakelike Southern Lord Rector. Garmadon had explained with no small amount of hesitance the story of her mother, Kaeli.
Though Garmadon had left out the vulgar details, his story struck chords far too personal into Varasach's own experiences, and she hugged her belly as she all-too-easily pictured what those months must have been like for her mother. Pain and humiliation surely weren't meant to be felt on the levels that they had endured.
As recently as yesterday morning Varasach had believed that, though there was evil in all parts of the world, the worst of it was confined to the Dark Island. Garmadon's confession of the night before had been a rude awakening: that same evil resided in Ninjago, even in the hearts of men who were not controlled and indoctrinated by Overlord. And it filled Varasach's soul with frustration and despair. Why was mankind so evil? Men and women alike did horrible things to each other every day. Why would God allow such wickedness to thrive in His world?
Drawing herself from these troubling thoughts, Varasach finally noticed a green length of cloth draped over one chair. She stood and walked stiffly across the room, lifting the cloth to examine it.
It was a dress, accompanied by a pair of black woolen leggings, a gray cloak, and new boots. Thick, warm, and soft, she admired the clothes for a minute before realizing how they must have gotten there. Garmadon.
She dropped the dress on the floor and sank heavily into the chair, her back to the fireplace. She wanted no gifts from the King. The room she had tolerated, however, because she did need a place to rest. I should be grateful that Garmadon isn't making us share a room, she told herself, rubbing her face with her good hand wearily.
The rented room was comparably small next to her bedroom in the Sheshin Keep, but it felt far too large without anyone to share it with. She'd never slept in her own room before. She'd grown up in the large, crowded building for children too young to be "useful." Then at about age twelve she'd been moved to the brothels- a memory so distressing that she began to feel nauseated again- and then she'd been brought back to the first building to take care of the children after it became grossly clear that she could have none of her own.
After that, she'd escaped and shared living space with Cole. Then Kyle and Josi. And then, just Josi.
Now even Josi was gone. Varasach hugged herself a little tighter, shivering with a cold that seemed to radiate from within her, and not from the room itself.
After a while, the ray of sunlight moved across the floor, crawling toward her bare feet. She turned in her seat and stretched out her legs, letting the sun warm her toes.
Except there was no heat in this sunlight. Varasach drew her legs under the chair, staring bleakly at the spot of tepid light. The sun never felt like that on the Dark Island.
Though, despite her circumstances, she couldn't say she regretted being here instead of on that cursed island.
A soft knock came at the door, and Varasach looked up. "Yes?" Her voice was hoarse.
The door opened, and Garmadon came in with a tray of food.
Varasach stood and bowed at the waist as she'd seen the Priest do, saying nothing. She did not want to speak to him about last night- not about how she'd wept on the floor until long after dark, not about how, when she finally did manage to climb into bed, sleep had been slow in coming, and riddled with nightmares.
"Please, Vara-sak," Garmadon sighed softly. "I've already said not to bother with that. Don't hurt yourself; sit down."
Varasach sat, regarding her captor flatly. "And I already said, call me Vara."
Garmadon's chuckle had little spirit. "Touché." He shut the door with his foot and set the tray on the table. "Do you like the dress?"
Varasach shrugged. Nodded. "Thank you," she said. There was a long silence in which neither of them met the other's eyes.
"I'm not giving you any of these things in hope of earning your favor or forgiveness," Garmadon said at last. "I know I've done too much for that. So don't thank me for anything. You are entitled to everything you receive from me. Not as a gift, but as an inheritance."
When Varasach said nothing, he nodded at the tray. "I figured you'd be more comfortable eating up here." A wry smile twisted his lips. "Besides, there are too many eyes in the common room, and if people saw you with me… Well, I'd rather not have to deal with those rumors until we're home." He took from the tray a steaming bowl of shredded meat and potatoes and set it in front of Varasach, followed by a mug of dark tea. The remaining bowl and mug he took for himself. He sat and began eating immediately.
Varasach followed his lead much slower. The scents of the strong seasonings made her stomach feel queasy again. The tea was too hot to drink, so she picked at the hash without much fervor, wishing that Garmadon would leave her room: however much she disliked being alone, even that was better than sharing a meal with this man whom she now vowed to never call "Father."
Garmadon seemed to sense her rigidity, and he watched her for a moment, chewing more slowly. Then he swallowed. "We'll be resuming our journey north whenever you're ready," he said. "You'll be glad to know that I sent the Lord Rector to get a horse for you last night, so we won't be sharing Faris anymore."
Her and Garmadon sharing a horse was the last concern on Varasach's mind, but she nodded anyways.
"My home is about three hours from here," Garmadon continued. "When we get there, I'm going to need to explain who you are. It will be made public." Seeing Varasach's alarmed expression, he adamantly shook his head. "I might not tell them everything. Only that you are close blood to me. Wu's grandchild, perhaps? It's common knowledge that after Wu's death his son's family disappeared, so it's not too far of a stretch for the people to believe. Is that okay with you?"
No, she thought, unable to stop a scowl from darkening her face. None of this is okay with me. And why would he want to lie about who she was? Was he ashamed of her? If that was the case, why would he bring her to his home?
Garmadon's mouth tightened. He set down his fork. "Tell me what you want," he said. "I'm willing to listen. How do you want this to go?"
"I want to go back," Varasach said without hesitation. "I want you to take me back to Zane." To Josi. A knot rose in her throat, and she swallowed it painfully. "Why did you take me?"
Garmadon sighed heavily. "Saving you was in both of our best interests for a number of reasons," he began. "For one thing, you were being abused. I can't in good conscience see an innocent person in trouble and not act. Also, Kaytake took you to use as leverage against me. I'm not sure what his plan for you had been, or what Zane's plan was after that, but it would not have been good for either of us. I had to take that leverage away from him."
"They never planned on using me for anything," Varasach said impatiently.
"Then why were you there?" Garmadon asked.
"Because-" Varasach tightened her jaw. She was there with Josi as an emissary for Cyrus. They had come to tell Zane about the Way, and to help him get the South out of the rocky waters it had sailed into. But Varasach couldn't tell Garmadon that.
"You see?" Garmadon said gently. "They were using you. I'm very sorry, but it's the truth."
"It is not," Varasach said. She felt guilty for having to mislead Garmadon, but the more she thought about it, the more she began to realize she didn't have much of a choice, unless she wanted to lie outright. And she couldn't do that. Not in good conscience.
Garmadon reached across the table and took her good hand. "My final- and most important- reason for saving you was because you are my blood. I knew it in my heart the moment I first saw you." He faltered, looking away before meeting her eyes again. "As much as it shames me to admit it, I was actually relieved when Overlord took Keitorin, because it meant that you and your mother must be dead, and I would never have to recompense for the mistake I had made. But the guilt of what I'd done- and what I hadn't done to save you and Kaeli from Overlord- consumed my soul for years. And then my son died, and Misako left, and… Hosts, I couldn't take it anymore, Vara. I knew the First King was punishing me for what I'd done to you and your mother. But now…" Emotion misted his eyes and made his voice weak. "But now, I've been given a second chance, and by the thirteen moons, I'm going to grasp it with both hands and hold it tight, because you're all I've got."
Varasach clenched her teeth and ground them softly as she digested his words, fighting with all her strength to hold back tears. She'd known Lloyd, if only for a little while, as they'd fled the Dark Island on Cole's ship, the Black Bounty, several months ago. He had been so unlike any other boy Varasach had ever known. He was kind, and had loved to have fun. Varasach and Nya had spent much time together with the Prince during that week. She'd grown to like him. He often teased her about her eyes, joking that maybe they were long-lost siblings. Or cousins, like him and "Pix."
Of course, no one in Garmadon's family had red hair, Nya would always remind him as she pulled playfully on his blond tail, making him cry out, more in annoyance than pain.
"You think I am a mistake," Varasach said at last, voice tight. "That I was never supposed to happen. But now that I'm here, you are going to care for me like some pet because it makes you feel a little better about your blackened conscience."
She knew she was twisting Garmadon's words, but she was too upset to care: on the contrary, she felt immensely satisfied when Garmadon flinched slightly, looking at her as if she'd slapped him.
Varasach knew what she was doing was wrong, but oh, it felt too satisfying to stop yet. She curled her lips in a sneer and stood, palms pressed flat against the table. Held captive by her furious gaze, Garmadon seemed unable to even blink. "I have been hurt in more ways than you could ever know," she said. "Most of my friends have died, either by overbreeding, beatings, executions, or sicknesses given to us through stone warriors. But I survived. I was locked inside of a cell alone and forgotten for over a week with no food, water, or light. Again, I survived. I have been arrested by your Guards, and I have escaped. I have died, seen God, and have come back missing only a few fingers. So if you think for even a moment that I pity you…" She straightened, shaking her head.
"Missing fingers are the least of my scars, Garmadon." She placed her scarred hand on her breast directly above her Ouroboros mark. "There is nothing you can do to me that has not been done before. I have no fear of you."
Garmadon, who had sat rigid through her diatribe, finally blinked and looked away, gathering himself. His hand trembled slightly on the table.
After a quiet moment, he stood. "I'm sorry," he said. "You deserved a better life than this. I'll be waiting in the hall. Take your time; finish your meal and change into the warmer clothes I brought. We'll leave whenever you're ready."
The moment Garmadon departed, all of Varasach's anger fled, replaced with a heavy guilt that shoved her back into her chair, shaking with fear. She gripped her arms, groaning as the silent tears finally began to fall.
The ride to Garmadon's keep was a quiet one. Cold, too, despite the warm clothing Garmadon had given her that morning. Varasach and Garmadon- but not the priest; she was not sure where he had gone- kept their hoods up, and did not even stop for lunch: instead they ate cold bread, cheese, and meat as they rode. We can't risk going into another inn to eat, Garmadon had told her. As I mentioned earlier, it's better to just avoid rumors about your eyes and get home as quickly as we can. I can make an official announcement about you there, where you are safe.
But Varasach felt anything but safe, following Garmadon further and further from the South- and from Josi. The air only got colder as they went on. The snow grew deeper as well, though the main roads, at least, were packed down by frequent travelers.
The problem with these frequent travelers, though, was that Varasach and Garmadon always needed to keep their heads low. Garmadon had purchased a tattered cloak to hide his fine black and green one. He said that Varasach's clothing was suitable and did not need to be hidden. He did, however, caution her to keep her hood up and her head down to hide her eyes. He did the same.
Varasach had long since been used to people staring at her eyes: it hadn't taken long to gather that it was a rarity among these people. But since she'd been journeying with Garmadon, she had begun to feel ashamed of this rarity.
But Kyle had liked her eyes, and had told her numerous times that they were the loveliest color he'd ever seen. They say trees turn green in the spring, he had once told her. But I'll bet they aren't nearly as pretty as your eyes.
Would he still have thought my eyes were pretty, she wondered, if he'd known what I do now about my lineage? Cyrus and all of his followers had been bent on bringing down Garmadon's rule to save the Way. What would they do to her if they discovered what she now knew?
Even after hours of mostly wordless travel, free to gather and sort her thoughts, Varasach couldn't bring herself to forgive what Garmadon had done to her mother. The Way taught that it was wrong to be this bitter- she should forgive Garmadon, as she had forgiven her abusers on the Dark Island.
Since coming to Ninjago, nearly everyone she had met held a negative view of Garmadon. He was not trustworthy: he hunted down and murdered all those who stood in the Way, and fought the distribution of the antidote simply because he and Cyrus held conflicting world views.
Here Garmadon was, expressing deep remorse over what he'd done to Kaeli, all the while unrepentant about what he was actively doing to thousands of his other subjects. He valued his crown above his people. How could Varasach forgive that?
More than once Varasach considered just turning her horse around and bolting back down to the South. But she knew it was impossible: even if she could remember the way back, Garmadon wouldn't let her escape. Varasach didn't know much about horses, but his looked fast. He would catch her in a heartbeat and continue dragging her along with him. And then he might become angry and punish her.
Garmadon didn't seem like he would ever punish her as Overlord had, but she did not want to take any chances. It was better to comply and wait for Josi to rescue her.
Josi will come, she thought to herself. She will.
They eventually rode into a city set at the foot of a small mountain. Both sides of the city's many streets were crowded by merchants selling countless foods and other goods, most of which Varasach did not know how to even begin describing. Their shouts, and the droning of a hundred other conversations made by passing Middlefolk, made Varasach's head spin. Her heart thumped anxiously as she concentrated on navigating her horse, Adiva, through the crowd. Tall buildings- some four, or even five stories high- loomed over her on both sides of the road. Between these and the crowds of strange people, she felt anxious and cornered. Adiva seemed equally distressed, and Varasach almost trampled several civilians in her attempt to make the horse follow Garmadon.
Eventually, though, Varasach realized that the horse knew what to do on its own, and that her jerking on the reins was only confusing the poor beast, so she relaxed her grip and just let Adiva follow Garmadon.
The King navigated further and further to the right, toward the looming hill, where there were less people. Another mile or so, and they rode under a beautiful stone arch in the shape of two trees whose branches intertwined at the top. The empty street sloped gently upward. As the sounds of the city gradually grew farther away, the trees surrounding the well-kept way grew thicker. There were no people here, and Garmadon tore off his worn cloak. He shoved it into a saddlebag behind him. He looked more drained than he had earlier that morning, Varasach reflected as she frowned at him.
"Are you warm, Vara?" he asked. His sunken eyes did not meet hers.
Varasach looked away and said nothing. Partially out of disdain, but also out of guilt. This confused her greatly: Garmadon deserved far more than the few biting words she had given him at the inn this morning. If anything, he should be the one who felt guilty, not her.
Eventually, near the top of the hill, they came to a tall gate of thick, black iron bars, guarded by six men in green and gold uniforms. They each gave a start as they recognized the King.
Garmadon motioned for Varasach to lower her hood. She did, and her horse stopped beside the King's.
"My…King," one Guard finally managed, and each of the men bowed. "I was not aware that you had gone out… And without Guards." As he straightened he looked at Varasach, taken aback.
"I do not always need bodyguards," Garmadon said, a hint of impatience in his tone. "Call for the gate."
"Of course, My King. My apologies, My King." The Guard called to someone on the other side of the gate, and two Guards emerged from a small building to unlock it from the inside. The hinges swung outward, and Garmadon rode in. Varasach followed, accidentally meeting one Guard's eyes as she passed. The man blinked at her, then hastily returned to his work, pulling the gates closed behind the King and his companion.
The courtyard was at least four times the size of the one behind the gates of the Sheshin Keep. Leafless ornamental trees and shrubberies, laden with snow, were interspersed throughout the yard along branching pathways. In the center of the yard stood a massive, old-looking, empty black fountain, also covered in snow.
The keep itself was magnificent, larger than any building Varasach had ever seen in any of the towns she'd passed through. Made of red bricks, with a high, sloping roof and many windows, it looked large enough to house hundreds of people. Even Overlord shared his underground keep with all of the stone warriors. Does Garmadon live here all by himself, or does he share, too, with his Guards? As curious as she was, the question felt wrong on her tongue- especially after the way she'd been treating Garmadon all day- so she said nothing.
Garmadon dismounted and gave his reins to a stablehand who had just appeared through a thicket of trees a ways off on their right. "Help her down," he ordered, motioning to Varasach. The stablehand- he looked to be about sixteen- obeyed, holding out his free hand to steady Varasach as she swung one leg over and half slid, half fell from the saddle. The boy's hand on her shoulder kept her from stumbling into him as she tried- and eventually succeeded- in regaining her balance.
"Thank you," she murmured, turning away with a grimace as the stablehand noticed her eyes. Why had Garmadon told her to take off her hood?
As the surprised boy hastily guided the horses back in the direction he'd come from, Garmadon hooked Varasach's arm in his to steady her. They began to walk.
"I don't expect you to ever feel comfortable calling this place your home," Garmadon murmured as they ascended the peppered white marble steps leading to the massive front doors, attended by four more Guards. "But I promise that you will be safe here."
"I would be 'safe' if you hid me anywhere in the Middle," Varasach bit off, boots crunching in the snow. "Why bring me here? It is the first place Zane's people will look when they come to find me. And you are not trying very hard to hide me, now that we're here."
"Do you think I don't know that?" Garmadon snapped quietly in the same tone- he apparently didn't want those Guards overhearing this discussion. He composed himself with a sigh. "Yes. Yes, Vara, this will be the first place they look. But do you really think they'd be able to get past my security? I have scouts hidden all along the road on the way here. The front gate can only be opened from the inside. I have over five hundred Guards on and around these grounds alone; there are many more outposts all throughout the Middle that will come immediately if they receive the signal. My patrols throughout the grounds are frequent and staggered.
"But I don't believe that Zane will come for you, Vara. He may have hoped to use you in the past, but now he has Misako, whom he undoubtedly views as a much larger bargaining chip. I don't think he needs you anymore."
Zane does not view anyone as a bargaining chip! Varasach wanted to shout. But she chose instead to purse her lips and look away.
"So of course I'm not hiding you now that we're here," Garmadon continued. "There's no need. You're safe here. And besides; there's no way to hide you. Word will spread in the keep that their King has brought a strange woman home. It's better that people see your eyes, so that everyone doesn't think I've taken a mistress." He grimaced at the thought.
"My King," one Guard said as they reached the landing, sounding just as surprised as the Guard at the gate. "Welcome back. Who-"
"Summon High General Derek and the Middle's Lord Rector," Garmadon interrupted briskly. "Send them to the conference room."
"…It will be done, My King," the Guard said, frowning slightly as he examined Varasach. "Forgive your servant for asking, but…who is she?"
"If you are not blind, you can see that she is of the Blessed," Garmadon said impatiently. "That is all you need to know for now. Open the doors."
The Guard bowed apologetically, then withdrew a large key from a gold chain fastened to his uniform and unlocked the door. It took all four men to pull it open. Varasach wasn't surprised: it looked rather heavy, made of dark wood and inlaid with many precious metals in the shape of a great tree which split down the middle as the doors swung outward. Varasach wondered what all the trees she'd seen lately symbolized.
Once the doors were open, Garmadon and Varasach stepped through, the Guards bowing as they passed. All this formality seemed a bit excessive.
But then again, she thought, gaping at the interior of the warm entry room, Garmadon seems to have a thing for excessiveness.
Everything about the Sheshin Keep had seemed large to her. She'd had trouble believing that any house could be as large or beautiful as the one she had lived in for a week in the South.
The King's Keep put Driniah's home to shame: massive, multicolored tapestries hung floor-to-ceiling. Paintings in frames of ornate wood depicted scenes of battle, feasts, and nature. Elaborate candlesticks held flickering candles that let off a sharp, slightly bitter scent. Large chandeliers hung from the high, painted ceiling.
The door banged shut behind them, and Varasach jerked herself suddenly from Garmadon's grip, whirling to look at the exit. Two Guards stood at attention on either side of the door, hands on their swords, looking straight ahead. Varasach suddenly felt trapped. The scented candles seemed to constrict her breathing. Run! a part of her mind shrieked. Run, run! Get out of here!
But where could she go? Those doors would not open for her unless Garmadon commanded it, and running further into the keep would not do anything but exhaust her already shaking legs.
"Vara," Garmadon said, sounding concerned, but impatient. "It's okay. Come this way."
Varasach followed him through the large entry room, suddenly feeling no more interest for the countless beautiful items.
Yet another set of Guards stood at the opposite end of the room. They opened the door as Garmadon and Varasach came close, bowing wordlessly to allow the King to pass. Varasach was grateful that, if they had noticed her eyes, they gave no indication.
As this door was still shutting behind them, Garmadon pointed to another Guard. "Summon Senai," he ordered.
The sandy-haired man bowed and rushed off to do as he'd been told. Varasach watched silently until he ascended a flight of stairs on the far end of the room and was out of sight.
"You may sit," Garmadon said, gesturing to a set of couches made from black leather. Varasach complied willingly: she wasn't sure how much longer she would have been able to stand without a rest.
While the motif of the entry room had been red and gold, Varasach noticed this room- much larger even than the first- displayed dark, muted colors; mostly blacks, grays, and greens. Large windows let in natural light, and the floors were made from dark wood. Varasach found the atmosphere much more peaceful and pleasant- especially with the large, crackling fireplace set in a wall nearby, which let off much nicer smells than those stifling candles. She wondered if this was a calculated move on Garmadon's part: overwhelm and possibly frighten his visitors, remind them just whose house they were entering, and then bring them into this second room to give them a wary sense of ease and hospitality.
Varasach had hardly finished examining the large and sparsely furnished room before she heard the sound of hurriedly approaching footsteps, and she looked away from the fire to see a young woman, no older than twenty-five winters, running toward them.
"Varasach," Garmadon said as the servant came to a halt several paces from him and bowed. "This is Senai. She is yours now. She will take care of you. And Senai," he frowned at the woman as she straightened. "This time, do not let your mistress out of your sight."
"I am sorry, My King. The Queen-"
"I will have no excuses," Garmadon said sharply. "Vara, you may rest in your room, or wander the keep as you wish under Senai's supervision, but do not go beyond the outer wall. And I want you to come to my study an hour after dinner. Do you understand?"
Varasach nodded.
"Good." Garmadon motioned for Senai to approach. "Your new mistress will be sleeping the third bedroom. Send someone to get her lunch, and she can eat there. She will be staying for a while, so she needs a new wardrobe as well."
"It will be done, My King." Senai bowed again.
Garmadon nodded and turned, walking with a purpose past the fireplace and down a hall on their left. Varasach was glad to see him go, but at the same time it made her more anxious to be left alone with a stranger, surrounded by Guards.
When Varasach thought about it, Guards like these ones were the reason she had gotten sick in the first place and lost her fingers and strength. She wasn't sure which emotion she felt the strongest: anger that they had done that to her, or fear that they would do it again.
What if those Guards that arrested me and Kyle are here? Varasach's heart leaped in her chest. She recognized none of these men, which was good. But she resolved all the same to be cautious around the Guards, just in case: if they told Garmadon that they believed she was a fugitive, he may put the pieces together and realize she had information about Cyrus.
"This way, my lady," the servant Senai said, bowing her head respectfully as she gestured to the staircase.
More stairs, Varasach thought ruefully, but stood and started forward as steadily as she could. Senai followed close behind. Varasach found it a bit easier to walk now that she had rested her legs a bit, and she made it to the staircase without the servant's help. However, once she examined the wide wooden steps up close, she paused.
"Do you need help, my lady?" Senai asked.
Varasach took the servant's outstretched hand without a word and used it to maintain her balance as they climbed the steps, cursing their invention every step of the way. If there was any one thing Overlord had in his favor, it's that we never had to use stairs…
"If my lady doesn't mind my asking," Senai began, "you are one of the Blessed?"
"Yes," Varasach sighed. "Garmadon believes so."
Senai froze suddenly, blinking at Varasach in surprise.
"What is wrong?" Varasach asked.
Senai composed herself, looking around as if to make sure no one else had seen her breach in composure. "Apologies, Mistress," she said hastily. "You just… This is the first time I heard you speak."
My accent. Varasach pursed her lips. She had been practicing her Ninjagian accent with Kyle and Josi for many weeks. Though she had long since become comfortable mimicking many nuances of the Ninjagian tongue, it was hard to train her tongue to say all of the sounds properly. Slip-ups were particularly common when she was stressed.
People who speak the language of the Dark Island rest their tongue on the bottom of their mouth, back toward their throat, Kyle had explained to her once. But a Ninjagian's tongue sits pressed against his top teeth. Tongue placement has more to do with controlling an accent than you realize, Vara. That's why it's so hard for you to learn the sounds we make, and vice-versa.
Her eyes, her accent… One way of another, everything she was singled her out.
"I'm sorry," Senai said, tone quieter now. "You look tired. Let's just get to your room."
The staircase only ascended to the second floor, but Varasach was breathless by the time they reached the top. More elaborate decorations hung on the walls or were displayed on narrow tables or pedestals, but Varasach did not have half a mind for those right now. She just wanted to get to her room. Senai led her to the right, and they walked at Varasach's pace through the hallway.
At a distance Varasach noticed a man dusting a picture frame on the wall. This was not so unusual: Varasach guessed that there must be dozens of servants servicing Garmadon's home each day. But something about this man seemed oddly familiar to her, though she was certain that she had never seen him before in her life.
He looked to be around Varasach's age- nineteen, maybe twenty winters- with blond hair and remarkable height. His head turned just enough for Varasach to see part of his face. His dark eyes remained downcast as he recognized Senai. He returned to his work with resigned indifference as they passed him.
It was then that Varasach figured out what was so familiar about him: it wasn't his physical appearance, or his lanky build. It was his posture.
The realization felt like a slap to the face, and she stopped and turned to the man, praying that she was wrong.
"Hello," she said, smiling gently.
The man gave a start and whirled to face her, completely silent. He saw her eyes- moons, Varasach wished she could cover them somehow- and backed up a step, averting his gaze almost apologetically. Senai looked a little worried herself, but Varasach ignored her.
"I'm sorry if I startled you," Varasach said to the man. "My name is Vara. Who are you?"
A moment of silence lingered, in which the man did not even dare to blink. His arms remained inert at his sides.
"Laval," Senai said at last, setting a hesitant hand on Varasach's arm. "His name his Laval." She looked up at the tall man with a nervous but kind smile. "I'm sorry about our intrusion; Vara doesn't know. How are you, Laval?"
Laval nodded, managing something like a smile. He had trouble holding Senai's gaze and looked down at the damp rag in his left hand. Varasach followed his eyes and noted with growing alarm that he had a large black, gold, and green tattoo on the top of his hand: an intricate wreath of vines, chains, and leaves. Inside of this circle were five numbers. Laval noticed her staring and turned his body slightly so she could no longer see his hand.
"Good." Senai nodded back, smile becoming slightly more strained. "I'll see you later."
Laval immediately- gratefully, even- returned to his work, and Senai guided Varasach down the hall at a faster pace than they'd been walking originally. Varasach hardly noticed the rest of the short journey despite her exhaustion, her mind was so clouded with thought.
Senai stopped before a door and lifted the latch, and they walked into a new room.
Dark wood paneled the walls, and the natural light filtering through the thin, grayish-blue curtains gave the bedroom a relaxing, sleepy feeling. Varasach let go of Senai and walked to the middle of the room. She sat on the bed, feeling the soft gray sheets beneath the fingers of her good hand.
"The King doesn't usually make us servants keep these spare bedrooms clean," Senai explained. If she was still flustered about their short meeting with Laval, she did not show it. "But this was the Prince's room, before he…" She sighed and shut the door. "Misako instructed that all of Lloyd's personal things be moved into the attic. But empty or not, Garmadon ordered us to keep this room made up: he likes to come in here sometimes to think. I suppose that's a good thing, or you would have had to wait a while for this room to be prepared." She smiled softly. "But of course, you probably don't want to hear me talk about our Prince, however loved he might have been. Hold on a minute: I need to grab a measuring tape..."
"Who is Laval?" Varasach asked before Senai could disappear into the closet.
Senai paused and looked back, thinking for a moment. "You have a very strong accent," she said, approaching the bed. "You must be from one of those villages in the North. Pregnda, perhaps?"
Varasach nodded cautiously. Pregnda was the large village that hid Cyrus' base. A lot of the rescued slaves lived there, hence the accent adopted by most citizens there and in many surrounding villages.
"Ah." Senai looked slightly confused, but she soon leveled her expression and continued. "That makes sense. Life in those remote villages greatly contrasts life in the big cities, so I understand your confusion. Laval is a slave."
Varasach had suspected as much. Indignation made her skin feel warm: Ninjago was supposed to be a free world; a haven where men and women were treated with respect and dignity. Why is it that, no matter where I go, there is evil?
"There aren't many slaves here," Senai explained, sitting in a chair beside the large bed. "A hundred at most across the entire island. And not all of them are as hurt as Laval. But all the same, please be careful, especially with the slaves kept here at the King's Keep. They are the most damaged people: Laval had his tongue cut out, which is why he never spoke to you. Another woman you may see while you're here, Marina, was beaten excessively and lost her sight in one eye."
"Why?" Varasach asked, horrified.
Senai waved her hands. "Ah- don't misunderstand me, my lady. Garmadon does not under any circumstance condone the mistreatment of slaves. When officials discovered what Laval's master had done, the poor boy was immediately relocated. The same for Marina, and at least a dozen others." A surprising warmth entered Senai's eyes. "Garmadon brings the abused slaves here, and they are allowed to live as equals with the hired servants, which is unheard of in practically every other slave-owning household. I admire him for that."
"But why must they become slaves in the first place?" Varasach demanded.
"It seems inhumane at first glance," Senai said. "And in some rare cases, I'd agree with you. But...well, here. Take Laval, for example. Five years ago, he was an arson. He destroyed six homes before he was caught. He worked for three years to repay his debt to those families. But, once his debt was payed, he set fire to two more houses. Because of this, he was marked for servitude and sold. That money, and everything he owned, was split between those two families to recompense at least a little of what they'd lost. And Laval has committed no more arson since then. The world is safer because he has that tattoo."
Varasach looked away, frowning. She reluctantly supposed that it made sense. And it was arguably better than Overlord's system of punishment: if a Dark Island slave had started fires as Laval had done, the offender would have certainly earned a slow, painful, and bloody public execution.
"What about murderers?" Varasach asked. "Do they become slaves?"
"If it was the deliberate taking of a life, the murderer is executed. But this is a rare crime. Executions don't happen as often as you'd think." Senai stood. "Let's not talk about this anymore. I was given orders by our good King, and I intend to obey." She went to the closet and disappeared inside, returning a moment later with a measuring tape and a pad of paper.
"Can you stand?" the servant asked. "I'll measure you for your new clothes as quick as I can, and then I'll get you something to eat. Okay?"
"Okay." Varasach stood and held out her arms as Senai wrapped the tape around her waist. She let her eyes wander around the room, absently taking in the details, though her mind was still caught on Laval. She had never heard of slaves in Ninjago before now. Driniah didn't keep them, and neither did Cyrus. So who did, besides the King?
The more time she spent here, the more she saw the similarities between Ninjago and the Dark Island. Yes, the oppression here was not as bad as it was in the West. But it was here nonetheless, and it made Varasach's heart heavy.
"Are you a slave?" Varasach asked.
Senai gave a start. She held up her left hand, which was free of any mark. "I'm a paid worker," she said. "Put this from your mind, please. And lower your arms; I need to measure your height..."
The fire had long since dwindled to embers, and all of Sheshin Keep had settled down for bed. The quiet struck Peran as sacred- unbreakable- as he sat in the library, fingering an empty wine glass. He longed to go for a second drink, and no one would blame him if he did just that, but he had to stay sharp: Garmadon had entered his jurisdiction yesterday, killed eight of his soldiers, kidnapped an innocent girl, and waltzed in and out of the keep virtually unscathed. Peran could not let that happen again.
All of Peran's efforts had not been enough to save Varasach. She could be dead. Or worse. As one of Garmadon's former advisors, Peran recognized just how far the King had fallen in recent months. Even before the Prince's death, Garmadon had been fast sliding down that slippery slope into insanity. What he was capable of now, deep in the throes of grief, Peran could only speculate.
That's the difference between me and you sheltered green-eyes, Garmadon, Peran thought, spinning the stem of his glass between two fingers. I lost my boy, I got back up. You're still sinking.
That's not to say that Makeri's death hadn't shaken Peran to his core. No indeed. Even now, twenty days after his son's death, the memory of Makeri's last moments had Peran's heart trembling like a child's. The blood oozing from every orifice, the moans, the cries for an end to the pain…for death…
"Can't sleep either, huh?"
Peran looked to the door on his left.
Iam leaned against the doorpost, arms crossed, face hard. Forcefully so, as if his body eagerly wanted sleep, but his mind was too tense to allow his tired eyes to close for longer than a blink; and only then because they got too dry.
Peran knew that feeling well.
"No," he said, uncrossing his legs, setting the glass on the table beside him. He took a deep breath to loosen his chest.
"I feel you." Iam smiled wearily. He pushed off of the doorframe and gestured to the couch across from Peran. "May I?"
Peran nodded. Iam sat heavily, looking at the empty glass. "I'm surprised you don't have the whole bottle up here, General."
Peran's chuckle was as dry as sandpaper. "We don't have time for that," he said.
"No. I suppose we don't." Ian touched his forehead. "How are your wounds?"
"The wine took care of my headache," Peran sighed heavily, touching the healing wound on the back of his head. "But my arm hurts like hell." Though he was vexed by his defeat yesterday morning, he was not surprised that Garmadon had won. There was something about that man… He had more strength than one would guess at first glance.
And the fact that he'd used that strength to seize Varasach only confirmed Peran's lingering suspicions- and fears- about the girl's mysterious green-eyed lineage.
Iam's blue eyes narrowed curiously, and he leaned forward, an elbow on his knee. "What are you thinking right now, General?"
Peran hoped his lip-curling smile carried half the frustration and fury that he suddenly felt surging through his blood. "What I'm thinking is not relevant to our task, lieutenant."
"Varasach," Iam said. "Listen, I'm kinda good at psychiatry. Not the best by any means, but…when you work with people as long as I have, you start to subconsciously glean information from their every twitch, every-"
"I don't enjoy the sound of your voice," Peran snapped. "Did your 'gleaning' tell you that much, at least?"
Iam raised his hands in surrender. "Varasach," he said. "You're thinking of the girl."
Peran scowled. "And who isn't?" he asked. "Everyone in this Mena-cursed place loved that girl. The fact that Garmadon, of all people, took her, has shaken everyone in the keep." He huffed, looking away. He felt hot again and clenched his fists. Hosts, he just wanted to break something. The wine glass looked like a good candidate, but he had to keep his composure. And he'd been doing a good job of it, too, until Iam entered the room…
He imagined throwing the glass in his mind. The sharp crack as it hit the stone fireplace. The ringing of a thousand pieces falling to the floor, clear and refreshing.
It frustrated Peran then that he was more concerned about this one girl than for the deaths of eight of his men. Why? The lives of his men were worth more than one handicapped girl.
You know that's not true, he told himself ruefully. He should have known what happened to Kaeli would come back to bite him. The First King has a poor sense of humor, slapping my face with her child's appearance so soon after Makeri's death...
"It wasn't your fault," Iam said. "None of us saw Garmadon's attack coming, and no one could have predicted that he would take her."
"I know his coming wasn't our fault," Peran said brusquely. "There is something about Garmadon that, even at his age, makes him a difficult opponent. And I'm not just saying that to cover my ass: I've seen him spar on the training grounds back in the Middle many times. Anyone skilled enough- or stupid enough- to fight the King would have to be much stronger than me- and I'm not exactly weak. I'm fortunate to have held him off as long as I did." His eyes went back to the fireplace, and he shook his head.
"Now, what is our fault is that we haven't found Vara yet," he said, bringing his hand up to his chin. By the thirteen moons. That poor girl… What does the King have planned for her?
"Our good Lord Zane gave us our orders," Iam sighed. "No one is to leave the South without his permission." He looked away, then back at Peran with a slight grin and a raised eyebrow. "But really, weren't rules made to be broken?"
Peran lowered his hand, staring at the lieutenant. His blood chilled.
Was Iam insinuating rebellion? What situation could be so dire that Peran would disobey a direct order from Lord Zane?
Though, Peran reflected, if this situation doesn't count as dire enough, I don't know what situation ever will.
Faster than Peran would ever admit, the heat returned to his body, and his heart beat quicker. He leaned forward, eying Iam warily: the man could be joking. Or worse, this could be a trap from Zane to test Peran's loyalty. Is Vara worth it? he wondered. Should I risk the wellbeing of the South- and my position- to help that one girl?
An image of Makeri's smiling face entered his mind. Bright, excited brown eyes as he was given his military training uniform at the admittance ceremony, age sixteen.
Then, three months ago, at age nineteen, when he had graduated at the top of his class with a score only bettered by his uncle, Colvyr, over thirty years before. Peran had never been more proud of his son.
Peran exhaled slowly through his nose, jaw flexing.
...Well, damnation.
He stood and drew his sword, smiling grimly as it sang its way out of his sheath, glittering in the firelight. He ran his thumb along the engraved blade and turned his gaze to Iam, who grinned at him knowingly. "What did you have in mind, lieutenant?"
Regardless of the fact that this chapter wasn't very fast-paced, I enjoyed writing it. Peran's bit, especially. Though, Kira seemed a bit worried that the last paragraph was a bit too dramatic. I kind of agree, but I can't bring myself to get rid of it. XD What do you all think?
Man. Regardless of what you think of Garmadon, doesn't he just give you all these feels? I get so sad when I write him. He can be nasty, but, unlike Overlord, I cannot bring myself to hate him.
Okay! You know that's two chapters away? Go on. Guess.
If your guess was "chapter 123" you are correct. Haaaa. I'm so nutty. For some reason I'm super excited about that number.
Anyways. I'm getting goofy, so I'm signing off here. Thanks for reading! It would be an *amazing* Christmas present to get some reviews from ya'll, but of course it's not obligatory. :) Oh! Before I forget again, do you guys have any ideas for a Christmas one-shot? I have actually been brainstorming for months to no avail, so some suggestions are welcome.
Have a great Christmas, you guys, and God bless!