CHAPTER THREE
The room was warm. It was the first thing Daimona noticed as she came to. Her whole life she had lived in and out of containment cells, thrown into one frigid room after another, and when she did escape, it was only to trade in her cot for piles of leaves and twigs under the night sky. The atmosphere here-- wherever here was-- was different.
The walls around her were painted a soft mint-green. There was a fully stocked medicine cabinet on one side, with a sink stationed to the right. A curtain separated Daimona’s bed from the only other one in the room, revealing itself to be empty as she tore the curtain aside. The white sheets were thrown off the side haphazardly, and there were small droplets of blood staining the pillow.
Daimona yawned, swinging her legs over the side. She stood up, arms stretched high as she made her way to the cabinet. She yanked open the drawers one by one, emptying their contents onto the floor in a pile. Bandages, rubber gloves, needles and thread spools all came crashing down. Once they were all empty, she threw them over her shoulder, listening intently for the crash each one made against the floor.
Daimona turned her attention to the sink. It was a shame, really. It looked like such a nice sink. The faucet was a bright, untarnished silver, with white handles that turned easily. Daimona wrapped her fingers around the right handle and pried it upwards. The metal groaned, fighting against her for only a moment before it gave. She tossed the handle with the pile of cabinets, then broke the left one off to join it.
As she twisted the faucet off, admiring the sharp end she had created with it, Daimona recognized that this was probably not what Norok would have done. Norok would have investigated the room, searched for clues regarding their whereabouts or their captor’s identity. Norok would have looked for her.
But, Daimona thought as she gave the sink basin one solid kick, bringing it crashing down to the floor triumphantly, Norok never has any fun.
“St--stand down!” A shaky voice called out from behind. Daimona pivoted on her heel, spinning around to face her visitor. A nervous, twenty-something year-old man stood in the open doorway. His silver and blue uniform elicited a good giggle out of Daimona.
“You must be related to rock boy,” Daimona said, then eyed the staff he had pointed towards her. “Or maybe fire boy? Which one is it, then?”
“By the-- By order of the Sword, I command you to-- To--”
“To what?” Daimona tilted her head, holding out the broken faucet. “If you didn’t want me to break your junk,, you shouldn’t have left me here in the first place. That was your mistake.”
The man’s staff glowed, green light sparking from the tip. But the flow was erratic, buzzing with a chaotic hum. He hissed in pain, shifting his grip around the staff. “I’ll-- I’m not afraid to shoot! So just… Just don’t move!”
Daimona rolled her eyes. “Tell me where my brother is.”
His mouth was a firm line, sweat beading down from the line of his cap. “He’s safe.”
“Tell me where,” Daimona repeated, this time feeling her magic bubble in her throat with the words.
His eyes clouded over, his mouth falling open. “He’s with Sergeant Cowell, in Interrogation Room B.”
“Which is…?”
“Down the hall, three doors down,” he chirped, then with a throaty noise he choked out, “It’ll be on your left.”
“That’s better,” Daimona replied, clapping her hand on his shoulder as she passed him. She pushed the sharpened faucet into his hands. “Choke on this for me, would you? Thanks.”
Daimona skipped down the hall, the sounds of the man’s excruciating gurgles echoing out behind her. She waved to the cameras protruding from the ceiling. It was an impressive feat, taking her and Norok down in the woods. Daimona had to give them credit for that. But then, on top of leaving them alive, their captors had separated them, pulling Daimona away from the closest thing she had to a conscience. In short, they had made two mistakes that they were now going to pay dearly for. Daimona was going to make sure of it.
The door to Interrogation Room B, as the plaque read, was unlocked. As Daimona pushed into the room, a wave of relief washed over her. There was Norok, sitting on one side of the dark wooden table. His eyes widened as he saw her.
The other figure in the room was a tall man, with broad shoulders and rich brown skin. His uniform was almost the same as all the others, only with a delicately embroidered sword on his shoulder. His gray-white hair was neatly cut, every part of him clean and stern. He looked at Daimona through a pair of dark sunglasses, his gaze unreadable. This must have been the Sergeant Cowell the weakling from before had mentioned, Daimona guessed.
“Ah,” he said with a nod. “Perfect timing. We were just talking about you.”
Something was off about the scene. If this man was a problem, Norok would have taken care of him himself, and the man would be a pile of flesh smashed against the floor. Daimona studied Norok’s face. Her brother stared back at her, a tinge of unease written in his eyes.
“Mona,” Norok called out. His voice was low, barely a breath. “Come sit.”
Slowly, Daimona took the seat next to him, folding her hands on the table.
“We were just discussing the terms of your enlisting,” Cowell said lightly. “There’s a couple papers to sign, measurements to be taken, all standard regulations.”
Daimona turned her nose up at the papers the man pushed in front of her. She refused to reach for the pen he offered, instead focusing her attention on Norok’s scrawled signature.
“Why?” She asked, snapping her head to face Norok. He avoided her gaze, swallowing dryly. Daimona urged, “This wasn’t the plan.”
“Respectfully, miss, this is the best you’re going to get. Fable doesn’t take well to those who mutilate her own, especially outsiders like yourselves. If you decline, I’m afraid the life that awaits you will be a rather short and unpleasant one.”
Daimona sneered. “Don’t make threats you can’t hold to, old man.”
Norok elbowed her, clearing his throat. Daimona elbowed him back.
“I think you’ll find you’re in stronger company here,” Cowell replied, adjusting his glasses. Daimona rolled her eyes, but the tension oozing from Norok’s body unnerved her. He was scared, Daimona realized, but of what? What had this sergeant done to make her brother of all people fall in line?
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
“Tell her what you told me,” Norok said. “About the benefits of enlisting.”
“Our new recruits can look forward to free room and board,” Cowell replied, straightening out his shoulders, “free travel between Fable borders, free food…”
Almost on cue, Daimona’s stomach gave out a hollow gurgle. She frowned, eyes shifting back from Cowell to Norok again. “I still don’t like it.”
Norok sighed, then held out his fist. “You don’t have to. Play me for it. If I win, you sign the damn paper. If you win, we make a break for it.”
“Deal!” Daimona held her fist out in return. “On shoot?”
“On shoot.”
“Rock, paper--”
Just as Daimona formed paper, Norok played scissors, and the game was done.
…
Cowell strode through the pristine white halls of the base as Daimona and Norok lagged behind. The pair had undergone an intensive afternoon of grooming. The burlap scrap-rags they had fashioned were a thing of the past. Now, they wore matching white and blue uniforms, with freshly pressed collars and cuffs. Their hair had been combed, cleaned and clipped, much to Daimona’s excitement. Every few seconds she would shake her head and feel the short pink locks move with her.
Norok was less excited by the change. He refused to button his uniform, going so far as to threaten to feed the silver buttons to Daimona when the tailor tried to argue against it. As they passed by windows looking into the facility’s offices and communal rooms, Norok scanned the faces of each individual, looking for any signs of hostility in anyone just passing by. But no one seemed to pay the duo much mind.
“So where’re we headed, Sarge?” Daimona asked, bounding up to match the sergeant’s pace. Cowell grunted, flicking his chin up as the hallway gave way to a grand marble clearing. The room was a perfect circle, with four stark pillars positioned symmetrically on all sides. Rings of silver and blue were braided in the floor tiles. Daimona raised her head, gasping at the incredible domed roof.
Though other people were passing through the aperture, there was one figure who stood in the center of the room, surveying Daimona and Norok with a look of irritation. The man looked no older than twenty, with a short build and a pale, baby-faced complexion that made it look as though he had rarely seen the sun. His straw blond hair was cropped stylishly close to his head, and a pair of silver, rectangular glasses sat firmly on his nose. He narrowed his cold gray eyes as Cowell gestured for Daimona and Norok to stand in front.
“Private Will Saint, I’d like you to meet your squadron’s latest recruits--”
Daimona suddenly let out a loud cackle, pointing to Will’s face and holding her stomach. She nudged Norok with her shoulder, leaning into him as she said, “Look at the specs on this dweeb, Norok he-- He looks like a--” She doubled over, holding her stomach as she gasped for air between hysterical giggles. Norok patted her back with a gleeful smirk of his own.
Will struggled to compose himself, his face flushing bright red. He gritted his teeth, straightened out his shoulders and turned his attention to Cowell. “Where are the others, sir? I was told I’d have four.”
Cowell shook his head. “Just these two will be joining you, Private. The original group we were sending you have been repurposed elsewhere.”
“Repurposed as fertilizer, yeah,” Norok said under his breath, earning another amused outburst from Daimona. Will glared at the two.
“It is terribly disheartening to see how little respect the academy instills in recruits these days,” he said, crossing his arms. “Seems like we’re just taking in anyone these days.”
“No kidding,” Norok replied, sizing up Will with an unimpressed glance.
“You’d think they’d care if their soldiers can see good or not,” Daimona added.
“My eyesight is perfectly fine,” Will countered, then speaking more to Cowell than the pair of pink tyrants, “and I’ve proven myself as a soldier worthy of my rank and worthy of leading a strong squadron. I don’t understand why time and time again you’ve put me with-- with incompetence!”
Cowell’s face was a stone wall in response. Daimona cocked her head at Will, frowning hard.
“Okay big guy,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “What’re you gonna do when you’re inna fight and you get hit in the face? How good’s your eyesight gonna be when your glasses are knocked off?”
Will scoffed. “No enemy of mine has ever or will ever get that close.”
Just as the words left his mouth, Daimona’s tightly curled fist came crashing into Will’s nose, sending him flying into the pillar behind him. The impact of his body against the stone echoed throughout the room, startling several passerbys. Cowell opened his mouth to say something, then closed it as Will groaned with pain, his left hand covering his face. Small drops of blood dripped from the gaps between his fingers as he staggered to his feet.
“You--!!” Will started, but his rage quickly gave way to confusion as he pulled his hand away from his face, his glasses missing. He whirled around, his bleary eyes scanning the floor by the pillar, but there was nothing.
“You kinda had it coming, dude,” Norok said, kicking out Will’s knee with his heel and causing the private to drop to the floor again. Once he got to the pillar, Norok turned around and stuck both of his hands out palm up. Then, staring directly at Will, Norok flipped his right hand over and pointed to the ground. “Down.”
Will’s glasses, which had been suspended high in the air, dropped down into Norok’s left hand. Will’s eyes widened with bewilderment and rage, watching as Norok placed the silver spectacles on his own face. Norok hummed with satisfaction.
“Actually, these are kinda nice… What do you think, Mona? Keepers?”
Daimona shot him a disgusted look as he pushed the bridge further up on his nose. “Makes you look punchable.”
“More or less than the military dog over there?”
“More,” Daimona said with a grimace. “Definitely, definitely more.”
Will stood up again, dusting himself off with shaky hands. He turned to Cowell. “Permission to discipline my recruits as I see fit, sir?”
Cowell gave a half nod, then to Daimona and Norok, said, “Consider this your first lesson in hierarchy, you two.”
Before either of them could reply, a circle of blue-white light appeared just to the right of Will’s body. He reached into it, pulling forth a silver pistol. Delicate wings were carved into the slide, the lines glowing as Will raised the gun. Without a second thought, he took aim, and fired.
For a moment, there was nothing. Then, Daimona crumpled over, holding her stomach as she fell to the ground. The pain seemed to erupt from the inside, rolling out in waves of agony. Blood bubbled up from her throat, dribbling down her chin and falling onto her new uniform. She looked up, wiping at her mouth with her hand, only to see Will close the distance between himself and Norok. Will quickly twisted Norok’s right arm behind him, threatening to break it as he kicked out Norok’s knees. Norok yelped at the strain, cursing at the ground. Daimona snarled.
Will pressed the gun against Norok’s throat, locking eyes with Daimona. “I shouldn’t have to say this, but if you so much as breathe before I say so I’ll fire every round of my magic into your friend’s neck.”
Daimona tensed. Every nerve in her body screamed to run at the man and tear him to shreds, but the stern look on Norok’s face told her not to. Slowly, she nodded, and remained completely still.
“Good,” Will said approvingly. “You’re strong, I’ll give you that. But that’s all you are.” He trailed the gun up from Norok’s throat to press it against his temple, earning a frustrated grunt from Norok. “As for you, I can tell you have a strong affinity for magic. But your casting is rudimentary. The fact that you’re helpless without this,” Will twisted Norok’s arm further, causing Norok’s eyes to water as he finished, “says everything I need to know about you.”
Will shoved Norok away, tossing his gun aside. The circle of light from before reappeared before it hit the ground, swallowing up the gun and disappearing once more. He clapped his hands, stepping over Norok and moving to stand by Cowell. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, dabbing up the blood still gushing from his nose, then offered a calculated, cold smile to the bitter pink duo on the ground.
“Now that lesson one is over, why don’t we move on to lesson two?”