chapter two -- "negotiations"


What price would you pay for freedom?

The guard led the blonde through a maze of turns and twists. Doors appeared from nowhere and stairs that seemed to go on forever. Here and there, the blonde could sense others moving about in the rooms behind the secret doors and each time he thought they were there, the guard would turn down another corner and lead them further and further into the labyrinth of the castle.

"Here," the guard stopped suddenly in front of a larger than life painting. The blonde stopped, staring at the masterpiece before him.

"Is that … ?"

"Yes, it was done when the Black Rose first came to these shores. Captures him quite nicely, don't you agree?" He watched as the blonde licked his chapped lips, unable to give the guard an answer as he continued to stare at the painting. The guard decided that it was all right to linger for a moment, if only to give the blonde ample time to appreciate the artwork in front of them.

As the guard has said earlier, it was a painted portrait of the recognized Black Rose. It was a battle scene, zombie-like corpses surrounding the main figure. He was tall and muscular but lean. A torn black cape fell over his shoulders and down to the ground in a powerful sweep, covering him in a shadow of blacks, grays and reds. The right side of his body seemed to have been covered in cuts and deep wounds.

"You've heard of the experiments that the adults did?" The guard spoke quietly, gently. When the blonde shook his head, the guard took a step forward and placed a hand on the painting, his two fingers pointing to what looked like a smudge in the far back of the portrait. "They were German doctors, fueled by the past actions of Adolf Hitler. Before the Virus, they experimented on breeding, among other things. They tried to bring the dead back to life, even. Experimental, all of it, but still very dangerous. They kept it quiet, far from watching eyes and for years, no one knew." The guard moved his hand down to the ghostly faces of the sprawled corpses. "After the Virus, however, things changed. The doctors grew worried that humanity would die out and sought to create a new race. A perfect race, as they said."

"Is that what they are? Those … things were people?" The blonde stared at the faces, then back to the Black Rose. The figure looked so large compared to the corpses but his face, the color of his face was no different. It was pale, gray, with no hint of color at all. "Is he one of them?"

The guard chuckled. "No."

"But his face –"

"A simple symbolic gesture. But shall I continue?"

"Oh." The blonde nodded his apology. "I'm sorry. Go ahead."

"As you can see, the experiment was only that. An experiment. They couldn't complete it and they were dying too fast. They figured they could try to save their experiments by infusing them with the Virus. It took a nasty turn. The experiments began to feed off the doctors and they mutated into what you see. They broke free and terrorized the cities. Thankfully, they only remained in one spot." The guard removed his hand and stepped back, his head bending back to see the entire picture. "Black Rose came to France first and heard of the stories people were telling. He decided to see if there was any truth in the matter. And … as you can see, the rest you can imagine."

"How did no one believe this?"

"The experiments had only been out for a month or so, not long enough to spread very far and by the time it did, the Black Rose had already eradicated the problem and so, truth became fiction."

"Who painted this?"

The guard closed his eyes as if remembering something very painful. "I did."

The blonde almost regretted the question but he wanted to know. Whoever painted it had obvious connections with the Black Rose. He remained silent though and decided to look the scene over again. A bright but stained sword was held in the figure's right hand while his other hung loosely at his left side. A simple black mask covered the top half of his face, leaving his stern lips in full view. The blonde found it to be of no coincidence that the only very detailed portion of the portrait was the Black Rose's face, more importantly his eyes. They were sapphire blue and milky white, swirls of grim black with them. They reminded him of the ocean, caught in the middle of a storm.

What price would you pay for freedom?

"Eyes are the window to the soul, they say." The guard patted the blonde's shoulder. "Story time is over. We've kept Black Rose waiting long enough. Come," His hands went to the side of the portrait and grasped the engraved frame. With a gentle pull, the frame moved and it became a door.

The blonde then felt the guard place a hand firmly on his back and push him forward. Through the door he stumbled, the darkness of the room catching him off guard. As he turned around to question the guard, he watched in horror as he shut the portrait door on him. There was a loud menacing click and the blonde knew he wasn't getting out. Quickly, he turned around, his back against the wall.

There was very little to see. Nothing but shadows and moonlight were in that room. There was an outline of a bed but the light from the moon showed that no one was in it, or had been it in a very long time. To the right, he could see a large table, small objects and many papers covering it. It was so simple, hardly anything was there that would cause anyone to assume that someone actually lived there.

But the blonde knew whose room it was.

"If it isn't the General." A low, whispery voice creeped through the room. "My, my. What Ram wouldn't give to have you back under his command and here you are, under mine."

"I am not under your command." The blonde shouted into the darkness. "I do not take orders from tyrants."

Silence.

"No." There was the sound of something moving to the left and the blonde turned just in time to face his captor. Those same blue eyes caught him in the most demanding of gazes. "But you are under my power." It was terrifying, he had to admit, to see what he had so often dismissed as nothing but a rumor, a story to keep the children from wandering off.

No, the Black Rose was very much real.

A hand came to clutch his chin suddenly, turning his face away and then back again as if to size him up. "So, you are the General. I had my doubts but there's no mistaking you, I'm afraid." The hand released its hold and the blonde couldn't help but sigh in relief as the figure moved away, back into the shadows. "I wonder what Ram would pay to have you back."

"You can't!"

"Can't I?" That voice again. It filled the room with that dangerous tone, making the hairs on his neck tickle with fear.

The blonde's eyes widened, trying to search the dark for that elusive figure. "He would send the kids to the camps and the others, he would try to bend them to his will. We've gotten this far. Please, just release us and we won't bother you. We have no desire to fight."

"Nor do you have the means. Your kids are starved and weak, barely able to walk any long distance." The voice changed to something soft. "You yourself haven't eaten in three days."

"How did you-"

"I make it my business to know, General. It is my castle."

"We'll manage."

"No, you'll die. And then, where will you be?" The blonde watched as the figure moved out of the shadows and towards one of the windows. He kept a gasp from erupting through his lips. It was the same image as the portrait. Same stance, same cape.

Same stern lips.

The Black Rose had just stepped out of the painting and into real life, it seemed. Like a ghost come to haunt him, reminding him of times past. He watched as the Black Rose crossed his arms and leaned against the window, eyes on him. "Tell me your name, General. You didn't give it to my guards when they asked."

"Jay."

"That wasn't so hard, now was it?" The Black Rose said in a clearly taunting tone of voice. He brought his arm and waved it to the blonde. "Come, if I am to negotiate with you, I ought to see your face."

The blonde, or as he most commonly called, Jay narrowed his eyes at the Black Rose and proceeded to comply. Slowly, he came forward. It was still very dark and hard to see. He stopped when he was three feet from the Black Rose. It was then he noticed that he was significantly taller than the black-shrouded tyrant. This somewhat amused him and he couldn't stop the grin on his face. Instead of annoying him, like Jay would have thought, this amused the Black Rose and he managed to smile back.

"Height is over-rated, General."

"I admit, I expected you to be quite taller."

"I think you'll find I make up for it in other ways." The Black Rose then turned and swept his hand to the table behind him. There was a bowl of bread and a small wooden cup of water. "Onto more pressing matters, you should eat these. And you needn't worry about what the others will eat." The Black Rose moved away from the window and like before, disappeared into the shadows. "As we speak, they are being led to our main kitchen where they will be fed and then bathed and cleaned."

Jay went to the table and took a small piece of bread. His lips hurt as he spread them apart but there was little choice. He was starving. Soon, he grabbed another piece and ate that as well. The cup of water was grabbed and brought to his dry mouth just as urgently. And no sooner was the cup sent down when he heard it being filled. He looked up and watched as the Black Rose held a large jug of water over the cup, pouring carefully so he wouldn't spill. "Thank you," Jay told him before stuffing his mouth with another piece of bread. Once he had eaten the entire bowl's contents, he turned to the still figure. "If you had planned to help us, why did you keep us locked up for so long?"

"You asked my guard the same question and so you receive the same answer." The Black Rose smiled wearily. "For political reasons. I had to know that you were no threat to me or my men. You should understand. You were once a General in the same position as I was."

Jay pondered on how to answer. Part of him wanted to tell the tyrant that he was nothing like him but that would have been rude, especially after the recent change of events. But he still didn't trust the man so agreeing with him would have been too polite. He settled for a nod and a change of subject. "Your guard mentioned there were … negotiations."

What price would you pay for freedom?