Day Three

Thepa awoke in a dark, damp room, facing a cold stone wall. The out of body experience had jarred her both physically as she felt the aches and pains in her muscles to mentally as she tried to adjust to the reality that she just experienced. She shifted on the narrow platform beneath her, rolling her shoulders until a few small pops echoed through the silence. It was a comfort for sure, and while part of her knew she should be taken stock of her surroundings, for the moment, she needed to process what she considered to be the more pressing issue.

Is that why I've been acting so strangely? Thepa wondered. Throwing myself at a stranger... because my ancestor made a deal with a god?

The thought was overwhelming. The whole experience was not only strange, but way above her comprehension. Logistically, there was nothing confusing about it. What was being asked was easy enough to understand, but mentally it felt like she had been handed an entire library of knowledge and expected to digest it in a single day for a test. And worse, she wasn't even sure if the books—or the test—were real.

Did they really expect me to have a youngling?

But then again, I agreed, she reminded herself. She had understood their request and affirmed her promise, even if the weight of it now seemed unbearable. Even if she wasn't ready to be a mother, she knew it was her duty—as the Matriarch—as a Warbol to uphold the covenant. She had spent so long resisting the mantle of Matriarch, and now that she'd accepted embraced its calling, she was expected to abide by everything that came with it.

Fear coiled in her gut as she thought back to her conversation with Vivian at the docks.

"Have you spoken to your mother lately?" Vivian had asked.

""Every day," Thepa had replied, half-truth and half-lie. She spoke to her mother often enough, but never about the power welling-up inside of her, bubbling its way to the surface. She had pushed those conversations aside, but now she desperately wished she hadn't. If the dream had been real, and Thepa was starting to believe more and more that it was, logically, her mother must have gone through the same ordeal.

It was then Thepa found herself wondering if her mother had treated her Mimi in a similar fashion. Tears prickled at the edges of her eyes, her confidence slipping. Once again, she felt more like a lost youngling than the strong, capable Matriarch she was supposed to be.

But then, a new sensation crept over her—a vision. Vivid images filled her mind, pushing aside her doubt. She saw herself gazing into the bright blue eyes of a newborn, a tiny Matron whose delicate horns barely broke through her pale skin. Thepa saw her guiding a youngling's hands as she taught her how to hold a bow, standing proudly as the youngling grew strong. She caught a glimpse a distant future, tears of joy in her eyes as she placed a diamond-tipped crown on the head of a fierce warrior, draped in ceremonial white gown; much like she had worn on the day of Sulack.

Suddenly, the fear began to fade. What the ancestors expected from her no longer felt like a burden, but instead she found the experience wanting. The journey ahead might still be overwhelming, but she thought with her mother's help, she could do it. No more secrets, no more half-truths, no more lies. The matriarchy might need a Warbol, but a Warbol needed a mother and daughter, just like Esha intended.

Thepa's heart settled, peace and contentment filling her soul. She took a deep breath—and instantly regretted it. The air was thick with a putrid stench that hit her like a punch to the chest. Her throat tightened as she gagged, the rancid odor invading her senses. Her eyes watered, and she spat, trying to rid herself of the foul taste that clung to the back of her tongue. She could smell mildew and damp earth, but it was the other scents that disturbed her most—rot, decay, dung—and something she couldn't quite place but gave her the shivering fear of failure.

She scrambled to sit up, throwing off the blanket that had covered her now-dry body. Her feet dangled over the edge of the platform, but before she could take stock of her surroundings, a voice, fragile and trembling, broke the silence.

"Ma...tir...arch. You...'re awake," it whispered, echoing faintly off the cave walls.

Thepa turned toward the voice and froze. Huddled in the corner, shivering and frail, was Zuna. The sight of her friend—malnourished, scarred, barely recognizable—sent a pang of sorrow through Thepa's chest. Long gashes ran across Zuna's head and face, and Thepa was suddenly reminded of Rory, broken and bleeding in the hospital all those months ago.

"Matron Zuna!" Thepa cried, rushing to grab the fallen blanket. She carefully wrapped it around the broken satyr as carefully as she could. "What happened? Where are we? Why are we here?"

Zuna remained silent, still shivering. Despite the urgency of their situation, Thepa could see that her friend needed time to warm up. She slid beside her, wrapping an arm gently around Zuna, trying to share whatever heat she had left. Slowly, she felt Zuna's trembling subside.

"Thank you," Zuna whispered, her voice trembling. "Those monsters only gave us one blanket... You were so cold and soaking wet. I couldn't let you get sick. You were thrashing in your sleep."

Monsters? Thepa thought as she scanned their surroundings more closely. Indeed, they were trapped in a cave, but the section they occupied had been fitted with iron bars and a thick wooden door—clearly intended to keep prisoners. A small cot was bolted to the stone wall where Thepa had woken up. The only other notable thing was a bucket in the corner; the source of the putrid odor. Despite the fact she was now able to pinpoint its source, she tried not to fixate on it and turned her attention back to Zuna.

"You didn't have to do that," Thepa said softly. "You needed it more than I did."

"No, Matriarch," Zuna replied, a desperate edge to her voice. "Your life is more important than mine. The future of the Sisterhood depends on you."

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Inwardly, Thepa cringed. She hated when the Sisterhood treated her like she was more important than them. She might have a bigger role to play, but in her eyes, every Matron was valuable. "Zuna... tell me what's going on."

Zuna closed her eyes and took a shaky breath before speaking. "After we teleported from the temple, I don't know what happened. I felt like I was being torn apart from the inside, drowning in a pool of water. I can remember the sensation of heat and cold pelting my senses, as I struggled to remain afloat. Somehow, I dragged myself to shore, but the pain... it was unbearable. Eventually, I passed out and when I woke up, I was here."

Thepa hugged her a little tighter. "I think we all went through something similar. Somehow we were all sent to different ionic crystals."

Zuna's eyes flickered with a weak smile. "Thank the Beachwick... For a long time, I thought they were keeping us apart. When they dragged you in here, I feared my nightmare had come true."

"I was lucky," Thepa said, her cheeks flushing. She didn't want to burden Zuna with the fact that she had ended up near home, unlike the others members of Elite Team One who had been stranded far from help. There were more pressing questions to ask. "Who are they?"

Zuna's eyes darkened, the first hint of spirit returning to her expression. "Galaks. Monsters who dare call themselves Saintians."

That took Thepa by surprise. She had known many Galaks throughout her life, even counted some as friends—like the General Todla in the Lightmount army and Tash, both battle-hardened soldiers but honorable. The Galaks Zuna spoke of felt... wrong.

"Galaks?" Thepa repeated, disbelief lacing her voice.

Zuna hesitated for a moment, her face softening. "Not the Galaks we know. They call themselves the Remembrant. Galaks who have never left their homeland. At least, that's the impression I got. They rarely spoke to me unless it was through interrogation or torture.

"Torture? Why? That doesn't make sense. What did they want?"

"They thought I was working with a... Realmwalker."

Thepa frowned. "What's a Realmwalker?"

Thepa watched Zuna shake her body as if she was shaking off a bad memory. "I'm not sure. Half a completion ago someone came through violently, just as I did. Their magic tore apart the protections of this land, shattering the region's magic. At first, they believed I was one of these walkers. Eventually, they decided I was an accomplice and demanded to know where the walker was. When I didn't give them the answers they wanted, they brought me before their elders... then the real nightmare began."

Zuna's voice cracked as tears welled up in her eyes. "They tortured me, Sister Thepa. Beat me to the brink of death, starved me, burned me. When I thought it was over, they'd promise me water—then drown me with it, demanding answers. When I couldn't give them what they wanted... they did it again. I've endured knives, I've been whipped, I've been put in chains and had my arms pulled, but still they tortured me."

Thepa felt tears slipping down her own cheeks as Zuna's confession bled out. "I confessed everything—I uttered my inequities against my mother and the Sisterhood. I..." Zuna looked away from Thepa in embarrassment. "...told them my frustrations with you not being the leader you should be, but they cared for none of it. So I lied. I made up stories. I begged, pleaded, cried, wished for death more times than I can remember, but no matter what I said—"

Zuna broke, collapsing into Thepa's lap, sobbing like a wounded animal. It wasn't like her selfish grief in the middle of the jungle mourning the lost of her freedom and Sister Sonia; it was the raw, unrestrained agony of a soul shattered beyond repair.

"THEY STILL TORTURED ME!"

Thepa's heart twisted, torn between rage and guilt. She hated the Galaks who had done this to her friend, but more than anything, she hated herself—for not being there, for not saving Zuna sooner.

Silently, Thepa rubbed her friend's back, offering what little comfort she could. She wanted to promise that everything would be okay, that they'd escape and return home. But she couldn't bring herself to give false hope. So she simply sat with Zuna, sharing her tears, their grief mingling in the damp, oppressive air.

After a time, perhaps longer than either one of them imagined, Zuna finally spoke again, her voice weak and trembling. "At some point... the torture stopped. I don't know why. They stopped dragging me out of the cage. Once a day, they give me a scrap of food. Once a week, they empty the bucket. And then... the dreams started."

Thepa felt a cold chill run down her spine. "Dreams?"

Before Zuna could answer, the unmistakable scrape of footsteps echoed through the cave. Someone was descending. Quickly, Thepa's mind snapped into action. She slid a hand beneath her shirt, her fingers closing around the cool metal of Rory's pendant. It was still there. Relief surged through her as she quickly turned to Zuna.

"Can you walk?"

Zuna hesitated, then wobbled as she shook her legs. "I think so."

"Good." Thepa's voice dropped to a fierce whisper. "Get ready. We're leaving."

Thepa hoisted Zuna to her hooves. The transition went smoother than expected—Zuna's legs, though shaky, found their strength with Thepa's support. As soon as she stood on her own, Thepa grabbed the blanket and laid back down on the hanging cot. She draped the blanket across the cot, her fingers trembling slightly as she positioned herself to face the wall. Every nerve in her body was alive, waiting for the door to creak open.

"Back, vile beast. We're not here for you, so count yourself lucky this time. I know how much you love to scream."

The mocking voice pierced the silence, each word a twisted blade cutting through Thepa's restraint. Rage surged, hot and fast, threatening to consume her. She clenched her teeth, forcing the fury down, tamping it into the pit of her belly. The metallic scent of blood filled her nostrils as she gripped Rory's pendant like a lifeline praying the magic inside still worked despite having not tested it.

"Help me, sister," she whispered.

Fortunately, it did. The magic stirred within the pendant, and reality shifted.

Once again, Thepa found herself in the misty realm where time stood still. By the door she saw two large Galaks both armed with a spear. One menacingly kept its weapon trained on the both of them, while the other was reaching for a set of manacles it had wrapped around its neck. Knowing she might have seconds, Thepa raced out of the room and double checked the hall. When she knew the coast was clear, she set her attack by flanking the one who reached for the manacles.

In a heartbeat, she burst from the mist and slammed her elbow into the Galak's neck. The force of the blow shattered his stance, sending him crumpling to the floor like a broken marionette. His companion barely had time to turn before Thepa snatched his spear and drove the blunt end into his jaw with a vicious upward swing.

The crack of bone echoed in the small space as the second Galak staggered back, crashing into the cot. His eyes rolled back as consciousness abandoned him.

Panting, Thepa stalked forward, spear still clenched in her hands. The first Galak lay unconscious, his chest rising and falling in a ragged rhythm. She hovered over him, rage prickling beneath her skin, her muscles coiled with the desire to end his miserable existence, but as soon as Zuna placed a tender scarred arm on her bronze one, was enough to pull her back from the edge.

Thepa glanced down at the frightened look in Zuna's eyes and softened her own. Her breath hitched, the fire in her veins cooling to embers.

With a grunt of frustration, Thepa turned and shoved the Galak's limp bodies into the cage. The lock clicked shut with grim finality.

"Stay close behind me," Thepa growled, her voice low with a steely resolve. She raised the spear, its tip glinting in the pale light. "All hell's about to break loose."