Every one of Octavia's senses was on high alert as the three fugitives moved through the tower like shadows. Their impossible luck was holding but a part of her knew that it wouldn't last. Murphy led the group and Octavia kept the rearguard, with Indra whispering directions between them as she carried Lexa's limp form. The general led them to a stairwell hidden behind a cluster of mostly crumbling rooms full of ruined furniture. The steps were covered in dust, showing no sign that anyone had passed in a very long time.

A faded sign half eaten away by rust showed that they were two levels below ground when they reached the bottom of the stairs and a closed door.

"It should open, " Indra whispered, "The opening to the tunnel is through the broken wall across the way, but we will be exposed. Eyes open."

Murphy nodded, opening the door slowly with one hand, gripping his club tightly with the other. He peered around the corner and frowned. Turning back to his companions, he held up three fingers, then pointed to his left. "Guards, but they're at the far side. Think we can make it?"

"We must; it's the only way out," Indra replied grimly, urging him on.

He pushed the door open slowly, holding it as they crept through. They found themselves in a cavernous space, long ago a parking garage, but now fallen into ruin. Ancient husks of cars littered the space, some crushed under large chunks of concrete fallen from the ceiling and support columns. On the other side Octavia spotted a large hole, big enough for two men standing shoulder to shoulder to pass through and with scorch marks at the edges, blasted into the concrete retaining wall of the garage. Beyond that, she could see the dark maw of a tunnel leading away into the distance. A low laugh echoed throughout the area, and she nervously glanced at the end of the garage furthest from them. Three guards stood around a burning trash barrel near the entrance of the garage, their backs to the fugitives as they talked amongst themselves.

They used the wreckage of the cars as cover, leapfrogging for the tunnel while keeping the abandoned machines between them and the guards. Murphy made it across first, gesturing wildly for the others to follow. Even burdened down, Indra also made it across quickly. Octavia's heart hammered in her chest as she crossed the garage, settling only slightly when she too made it into the relative safety of the dark tunnel.

She was never this lucky, she told herself. Murphy was right, there were probably a million ways to get killed tonight, and they'd probably already tried a few thousand of them. Yet they kept tempting fate. The thought made her tighten her grip on her sword.

The tunnel was dark and seemed to go on for miles. The carcasses of power conduits spilled rusty wires like bloody viscera along their path, and occasionally they waded through knee-deep sections of stagnant water seeping in from cracks in the concrete over their heads. Murphy had fished a small flashlight out of one of the pockets of his jacket, which provided a feeble light to show the path.

The group came to a four-way junction in the tunnel when Murphy yelped, nearly dropping the flashlight into the water. Octavia's gaze followed the beam of light and her lips set in a tight, grim line.

Bodies floated face down in the water, which swirled red with blood. Octavia counted at least ten dressed in the colors of traitorous clans, though judging from the…parts…strewn about there were probably more. The three of them all jerked, weapons at the ready, as a small low cough echoed from nearby.

"There," Indra said, jerking her chin to something crumpled against the wall near a raised power junction maintenance alcove ahead and slightly to the right of them. "Hold the light, Skaiboy. Oktavia, go."

Murphy said nothing, glumly pointing the flashlight in the direction she indicated while Octavia sloshed her way over to the area. As she got closer, she could hear another faint cough. She held her sword up to strike, but quickly sheathed it once she reached her target.

The crumpled figure was a small boy, no more than nine or ten years old. The black and crimson he wore and the symbols etched on his armor marked him as a ward of the Commander. His left hand was at his side, a short tanto blade-painted red with blood- resting in his slack palm. His other hand was cupped around the broken shafts of two arrows that protruded from his chest. His shirt was soaked with black blood and as Octavia drew near and knelt at his side, he turned with great effort, focusing his eyes on hers with difficulty.

"Oktavia kom Skaikru," he greeted. He breathed in short, labored pants. Octavia had heard that sound before. In The Mountain…from the dying. There was absolutely nothing she could do.

Her hand rose to grip the boy's shoulder firmly, one warrior regarding another. "Natblida."

"There were too many…" He coughed, and black flecked his lips.

"Shhh now, gona. You fought well. Did the others make it through?"

The Natblida's smile was predatory, and one normally found on the meanest of Trikru's warriors. "Sha. Aden took them ahead. I stayed to hold this place." Octavia's heart swelled with pride and broke at the same time. He took another, shallower breath. "Heda? Is she...?" His dim gaze was full of worry.

"She lives," Octavia replied, gesturing over her shoulder. "General Indra and I took her from under those jokas' noses."

His eyes brightened in brief triumph before they began to dim. "That's good…She will…need me when-" He breathed quickly, in short pants, and then was gone.

Octavia blinked and swallowed her grief. Taking a deep breath, she reached out and closed the Natblida's eyes. "Yu gonplei ste odon, strikgona." With gentle hands, she unbuckled the scabbard from his waist and collected the tanto from his hand. Her heart hardened with a solemn vow as she stood and turned, stepping back to where her companions waited.

She plunged the blade into the water to clean it before handing it to Murphy. "Here, you'll need this. I'll take point from here on." She deliberately avoided Indra's gaze. But even if she hadn't, she would not have found condemnation, only stoic understanding.

For once, Murphy didn't have a sharp comment for her as he clipped the short sword and scabbard around his waist. The trio of fugitives moved deeper into the miles of tunnels, leaving the dead in their wake.

It was before first light when they came for Clarke, rapping insistently on her door and awakening her from a shallow rest. She had barely slept, succumbing only to utter exhaustion once her mind had worn her down with worrying. A trio of replacement handmaidens-new faces from Yujleda that she didn't recognize and who were probably trained spies- entered a moment after Clarke rose from the bed and shouted softly for them to enter. She could see several guards outside her door before the doors shut.

She'd returned from her meeting with Titus to find that her room had been obviously searched. Her gun was gone from the nightstand, and her travel satchel upended on the floor. Fortunately for her, they hadn't found the dagger-the same one Roan had given her that she'd held to Lexa's throat-hidden behind a section of loose paneling behind the headboard. Her relief on finding the blade had paled next to discovering that they'd left her sketchbook in the satchel untouched. Although she found the idea of looking at the drawings and the length of Lexa's severed braid tucked within too painful to attempt, even in her need for solace.

Clarke bathed and dressed, only begrudgingly accepting the handmaidens' help with her intricate ceremonial braids. When one of them approached her carrying the pot of inky warpaint, she firmly refused the help, sending them all into the other room to wait for her. She stared at herself in the small burnished mirror atop the dressing table for a moment and found her sadness and worry blasted away in the heat of her anger. She had sworn to protect their people and to go along with Titus' deception, but she had never agreed to be Ontari's puppet. She picked up the pot of warpaint and dipped her fingertips into the kohl, embracing the anger and vengeance that flowed through her with every fiber of her being. As before, she traced liquid midnight in a thick bar horizontally across her eyes and bridge of her nose, but added three small, sharp fangs to the bottom under each eye. She would remind Ontari of her betrayal against Lexa, and that death would forever be a spear aimed at her heart.

When Clarke put down the pot of warpaint and looked into the mirror, Wanheda stared back.

She swept from the room, through the sitting room and out into the hallway. Her captors closed into formation around her and lead her deep within the bowels of the tower in icy silence. They stopped once they reached a set of intricately carved wooden doors decorated with skulls and withered vines, which another pair of guards opened to admit them into the temple beyond. Clarke stepped through the doorway with an air of haughty confidence and the low murmur of conversation in the room hushed, a hundred pairs of eyes following her as she took her place amongst the other clan ambassadors. She glared pointedly at Uzac as she stalked past him, choosing to stand next to the Delphi ambassador, a small woman with deep auburn hair. With the drama of her entrance past, the low murmur of the waiting crowd hummed to life again, and she surveyed the room.

The air in the sanctuary was thick with the scent of hundreds of years' worth of incense and soot. Torches flickered within holders along the walls, and dozens of candles flickered on nearly every horizontal surface, but shadows and gloom still clung to the corners. The front of the room was dominated by a series of steps leading to a low dais, on which rested a coffin-sized altar made of solid stone. Faint black smudges-the echoes of the blood of previous Commanders-stained the top of the stone.

For a moment, Clarke's mouth went dry at the sight of the linen-wrapped body lying atop the altar. Flashes of the previous night came to her unbidden; Lexa's eyes flashing defiantly as her blood stained the floor, the way her breathing had stopped and her eyes closed as she hung from the post, the way she had lain so still in Indra's arms. But as she looked closer, she could see that the body under the shroud was too broad-shouldered, the height slightly taller than Lexa. To anyone else, it was a match to the Commander's build, but Clarke-who had tenderly run her hands over every curve and plane of Lexa's body-knew that the corpse atop that altar was not Lexa's. The streets of Polis were littered with the dead; it would not have been too difficult for the Fleimkepa to take one for his own purposes.

A small door opened off to the side of the dais at the front of the sanctuary, and the room immediately went silent as everyone gathered turned to face the altar. Titus stepped through the door, followed by Ontari, then Roan. The Fleimkepa was solemn, almost priest-like with singular focus. Ontari, however, looked self-assuredly smug, her chin held high as she surveyed the audience. Roan stood just behind Ontari's shoulder as she took her place just off of the foot of the altar, while Titus claimed a place near the head.

"Yu gonplei ste odon, Leksa kom Trikru. Gonplei kom Heda kigon feva." He raised his hands to the sky as if in prayer before clasping them together in front of his chest. "Gonas teik em op en fleim."

A small cadre of warriors stepped forward from where they had been waiting rear the door. They carried a rough litter made of wicker between them. As they neared the altar, Titus lifted the body from the stone and placed it carefully on the litter. Nothing more was said as they marched from the room. Several minutes passed by in complete silence before a war horn split the silence of the blue-lit dawn. Those inside the sanctuary could not see it, but above them a plume of red smoke poured from the beacon fire atop the tower. Visible for miles, those who saw it paused; some in celebration, others in hidden dismay.

It took every ounce of Clarke's self-control not to let her expression betray just how firmly she was in the latter group. The horns blared, and she tightened her fist.

The blare of the war horn echoed throughout the forest. A flock of birds startled at the noise and burst from the undergrowth near Octavia.

"Indra? What's happening?"

The general shifted Lexa in her grip. Octavia could tell that their flight through the miles of tunnels beneath Polis, coupled with miles more throughout the forest, was aggravating her injuries and bringing her to the brink of exhaustion. Yet she refused to stop for rest or let any of the others carry the Commander. Lexa remained mostly unconscious, murmuring in pain only rarely. Her black blood still seeped through the bandages Octavia had put on her, marking Indra's armor. They had to get her to safety before long, or they would still lose her.

"Ascension," she said with disgust. "Hundreds of years of tradition and law ignored by the natrona in that tower."

"How much further?" Octavia asked, surveying the woods around them. With daybreak, the odds of an Azgeda patrol finding them was even higher.

"There. That tree, the one with the lightning strike. We'll take that path to the water."

"And then what?"

"You ask too many questions for a seken. Come on." Indra shifted Lexa higher within her arms and took off towards the indicated tree as quickly as she could, leaving Octavia and Murphy to scramble to catch up to her.

Minutes later they emerged from the tree line and onto the sandy bank of an inlet. Octavia was stunned to see a boat hauled up onto the sand at the water's edge. A man sat on the gunwale of the boat, but hopped onto the shore in alarm when he caught sight of the three of them.

"Indra!" He waved his hand to gain her attention before running to close the distance between them.

"Davan!" Indra's shoulders nearly sagged in relief.

The man ran forward and grimaced at the sight of Lexa dangling in Indra's grasp. "This is worse than I imagined. We need to hurry-"

"Hey!" The shout froze the small party in their tracks, and Octavia and Murphy both whirled around.

Four Azgeda warriors burst out of the tree line a few hundred feet down the bank. They immediately burst into a full sprint at the sight of the fugitives, raising their weapons menacingly.

Octavia didn't hesitate. "Go!" she shouted at the others. "I've got them. Get in the water now!"

They all sprang into action; Indra placing Lexa in the boat and then helping Murphy push the boat back into the water, as Davan pulled the cord in an effort to bring the stubborn motor to life. Octavia broke into a sprint and charged head on towards the enemy with a blood-curdling cry.

She was fortunate that there was not an archer among the patrol. Only quick reflexes and a last minute break to the side saved her life as a spear flew by her head. Her hand flashed to her belt and with a flick of her wrist she sent a knife flickering through the air and into the throat of the man who had thrown the spear. And then they were upon her.

The first man to reach her swung a wicked looking axe at her head, looking to end the fight with the first blow. She ducked the blow with a dancer's grace, slashing low at the tendons in his leg and then striking sideways with a vicious stab into his chest as he stumbled. He fell to the sand and was still, but his companions were on Octavia before he had finished hitting the ground. She dodged one sword blow, and threw up her arm to block another, the blade clanging off the metal of her armored bracer. She came up to strike, but instead ran headlong into one of the men's fist, which whipped her head around and caused her to stagger backwards. Seeing her mistake, he lashed out, opening a shallow cut just above her knee. It was only her backwards momentum that saved her from a more catastrophic wound. From the corner of her eye, Octavia could see his partner charging in at her from the side, waving a spiked club. She had only a split second to act before one or the other brought her down.

With all her strength, she hurled her sword at the man in front of her. The distance between them was short, and in her haste her aim was slightly off, but both of his hands gripped his weapon, and he was unable to block the blade. It arced directly into him like a thresher's blade cutting through wheat, burying itself deep in the junction between his neck and shoulder. He dropped, already dead, the moment Octavia stepped into the oncoming swing of the other man's club.

Her last-second adjustment meant that she caught the haft of the club on her arm, rather than the spikes, but the force of the blow still caused her arm to go completely numb. The man collided with her, driving his shoulder into her and bringing them both to the ground. They grappled desperately; his hands scrabbled to find purchase around her throat as she tried to drive her knees up into his ribs. Her hands scrambled in the silt around her, searching. It wasn't a moment too soon; her half-numb fingers closed around a jagged rock slightly bigger than her fist as he squeezed her windpipe in an iron grip. Through the black creeping at the corners of her vision she sighted her swing, and brought the rock against his temple with a sickening wet crunch. His eyes rolled back and he jerked spasmodically as she gasped, lungs filling with air and pushing with her hands to direct his fall to the side and away from her. She wasted no time in scrambling to her feet, wrenching her sword free from the body of her foe as she raced alongside the embankment.

Davan slowed only briefly to match her stride in the shallows a few before she leapt inside the craft. He gunned the motor as she sat up, her muscles thrumming with adrenaline. She spat blood over the side and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Well fought, ai seken," Indra said. She inclined her head slightly in acknowledgement, the barest hint of a salute. Murphy whistled his agreement before turning back to rummaging through the boat's storage lockers in search of medical supplies.

"Not bad for Skaikru," Davan winked. The humor was forced; Octavia could see the drawn look on his face as he glanced at Lexa's pale form lying on the bottom of the boat. "When they put this plan together, I never imagined it would come to this."

"Heda's life would always be under threat, Davan. Lexa and Luna knew this." Indra replied. "Thank the spirits Floukru still honors their oaths."

"That we do, General. Luna is a leader of her word. You'll see."

"The world could use more clans like yours, Davan." Indra's tone was unforgiving. "It is a dark time we are in where so many other leaders' oaths can be broken so easily."

Clarke felt her fingers might break if she clenched her fist any harder, but the ache gave her something to focus on other than the feeling of outrage brewing within her.

When the final war horn's mournful echo faded, Titus reached into a hidden pocket within his robe. He withdrew a small painted box, but unlike the one that he had given to Octavia, this one was painted white, with a blue infinity symbol on the cover.

"Ontari kom Azgeda, step forward!"

Ontari obeyed his order, and together the two of them stood at the side of the altar nearest the audience. "This is the Flame. It is the spirit of Trikru and the mark of our Commander. To take it within is to embrace all that it means to be Heda. You have been Called! How will you answer?"

Her eyes glittered as she spoke. "I will take the Flame, and rule Trikru. As I now rule the Kongeda." Something ugly wove its way within the tone of her voice, something that Clarke found abhorrent, if not unsurprising. It was exactly as Titus said: Ontari wanted power for its own sake, not as a sacred trust between a leader and her people. In that moment, Clarke knew the difference between a leader, and a ruler.

"Witness then, the sacred symbol of the Commander, and embrace the Flame." Titus opened the small box and drew out a small hexagonal chip. From her vantage point close to the dais, Clarke noticed that it was smaller than the Flame now in Octavia's possession, with no sign of the slivery tendrils. She tensed, waiting for someone to sound an alarm at their deception, but there was only silence as Ontari opened her mouth and Titus placed the chip on her tongue. She closed her mouth and swallowed, closing her eyes.

"It is done," Titus intoned. "You have Ascended, Heda Ontari kom Azgeda kom Trikru."

An Azgeda general stepped from the crowd, the Commander's pauldron and crimson sash in his grip.

"Ste kiken, Heda Ontari!" he intoned, resting the pauldron on the traitor's shoulder. The assembled crowd around Clarke repeated the phrase as he fastened the clasp over her chest. For a moment, Ontari remained completely still, eyes flickering behind her closed lids before they snapped open.

Clarke immediately got the sense that the Ontari that stared out at the people before her was not the same woman she had been only a moment ago. Her gaze was focused not on them, but at the back of the room, as if there was something-or someone-there that only she could see.

Ontari smiled. "Yes…" she murmured softly. When next she spoke, her voice was cold.

"Ai laik Heda! For too long this Kongeda has known weakness. For too long have we endured these insults to our laws!" Her gaze lingered on Clarke with that statement. "I will be the one to lead us to glory! I will be the one to restore the old ways! And I will have the heads of any who oppose my efforts! Jus drein jus daun!"

Clarke swallowed. Their deception may have worked, and she and Titus may have bought time for Lexa and those who would oppose Ontari. But she had the sinking feeling that it came at a greater cost than they could have realized.

Next Week, in Chapter Six:

Clarke turned to look each of them in the eyes. "So, a resistance? Will you stand together? With me?"

Roan was the first to stand, holding his cup aloft in a mirthless toast. "To rebellion at your side, Wanheda."

The other ambassadors followed his lead, knowing that, in their agreement, they bound each other to a traitor's fate, risking everything alongside the lives of their people.

"It is agreed then," Clarke declared, taking her seat. "We need to start now."

-
Trigedasleng:

Natblida: Nightblood
Sha: Yes
Gona: Warrior
Jokas': fuckers'
"Yu gonplei ste odon, strikgona": "Your fight is over, young warrior."
"Em gonplei ste odon, Leksa kom Trikru. Gonplei kom Heda kigon feva.": "Your fight is over, Lexa kom Trikru. The Commander's fight continues."
"Gonas teik em op en fleim.": "Guards, take her to the flame."
Natrona: Traitors
Seken: Second (warrior apprentice)
"Ste kiken, Heda Ontari!": "Long live Commander Ontari!"
"Ai laik Heda!": "I am the Commander!"

-
Art by Foomatic