The Chosen by Marcus Lee. Chapter One.
‘Hold on, and don't let go.'
I look around, wondering if there will be more instructions, but the door to the room has already closed.
I'm gagged securely and have been told by a masked captor not to remove it. Whilst my hands and feet are free, I don't dare untie the gag, not yet.
Others are crammed into the room with me, all in soiled clothing, filthy from their journey here, wherever here is.
Everyone is wide-eyed and scared as they look upon each other for the first time. It seems we're all roughly the same age, although of varying size.
I want to scream and cry for help, but that will be a waste of energy.
A moon globe hangs from the ceiling, lighting the room we've been herded into. The floors, walls, and ceiling are covered by panelled wood. As my fingers absently trace the grain, I discover the wall surface is marred by hundreds of scratches, whereas the floor and ceiling shine with a deep, polished lustre.
Despite still being held captive, at least I can now walk around. It's the first time in two weeks that I've been allowed out of a small crate that confined me like a caged animal. Two weeks in a box stinking of panic, fear, and claustrophobia, my only company the desperate voices and tears of unseen others.
Hold on, and don't let go.
What does that mean, Malina? I ask myself.
I study my surroundings while most of the youths sit on the floor, exhausted. Some try to untie the gags, which are so tight that it's hard to breathe.
Thirteen leather loops hang from near the moon globe above me. Another is placed in each corner of the room - seventeen in total. I wonder what they might be for. Seventeen loops, but over twenty people. Hmmm.
Even on tiptoes, they're just beyond my fingertips. As I lower my arm, I catch the gaze of a filthy, blond lad taking note of what I'm doing. His hair and cleft chin suggests an Astorian bloodline, and he has the strangest eyes.
There's a distant jangling of chains, followed by a grinding noise, and then the floor begins to shudder.
Those sitting, scramble to their feet, as with a lurch, the floor splits down the centre. Everyone moves quickly away from the gap as the floor shakes and begins to slide back beneath the walls.
It isn't long before the distance between the two sides of the floor is about two paces wide. Cold fetid air rises from the depths, and I retreat away from the edge with growing unease.
Hold on, and don't let go.
The bigger boys begin shoving anyone and everyone smaller out of the way, so they can get closer to the corners' transient safety, and being one of the smallest, I can't even get near.
Two boys are trying to open the door, banging on it, pushing their shoulders hard against the unforgiving wood, but to no avail.
Relentlessly, the floor continues to move, and the gap between the two halves becomes ever wider.
Moans of fear fill the small room, and several boys and girls are crying. A puddle of urine gathers at the feet of a boy, and everyone edges away.
Don't just stand here! I admonish myself. I'd always been quick of mind in the orphanage, but here I am, freezing from fear.
I quickly move to the open edge of the floor and gaze down into the black abyss. The moon globe that easily illuminates the whole room doesn't shed enough light to penetrate to the bottom. The air that comes from below is foul. It reminds me of the back of the butcher's shop situated behind the orphanage. It assaults my senses, smelling like rotting meat.
If the floor continues to open at the same rate, people will soon start to fall in, and being small, I’ll be one of the first.
Do something!
I look at the loops in the middle of the ceiling. It's still an easy jump to grab them, but I'll be left hanging over a horrifying drop, and for how long, I don't know. I'm skinny, malnourished, and it's unlikely I can hold on for long. I'd have preferred the straps in the corner, but I can't get through the press of bigger youths.
Another lurch, and those banging on the door move away as the floor retracts further.
Everyone here has the same filthy, disowned look I have. No one wears fine clothes, has good shoes, or even a semblance of styled hair. They're all outcasts, perhaps orphans like me. No one will miss us if we die here.
Hold on, and don't let go.
My heart has never beat this fast. I make a decision, and my hands shake. It's hard to catch my breath past the thick gag, but it's now or never.
I take two steps back, then, propelled by trembling legs, leap and catch hold of the dangling leather. My sweaty palm slips, and I expect to fall, but as my weight bears down, the leather loop tightens around my hand, lending me its support.
Tears course down my cheeks. I've been frightened many times in my life; fear is nothing new, but this! Sobs wrack my body. Below my feet is nothing but blackness, and those words resound in my head.
Hold on, and don't let go.
Swinging my legs, I bring up my other hand to grab the leather and only then note the wide-eyed gazes of everyone huddling against the walls directed at me.
Suddenly, the blond boy runs from the group and leaps, catching hold of the loop next to mine. He sways wildly back and forth, but his grip is sure and strong.
Once again, our eyes meet. One of his eyes is blue, the other green. To have different coloured eyes is to be considered cursed in Astoria, and those born with this defect are usually killed at birth. I'd never seen anyone with them before. Then again, most people have never seen yellow eyes like mine either. We stare at each other for a while, and I can sense his terror, but he manages a brisk nod.
Others quickly follow our lead with a pounding of feet and squeals of fear.
The grinding gears screech louder, and the floor retracts faster. The largest boys have claimed the loops in each corner of the room, securing their safety. They bully everyone else away, fists pummel those who are too slow to move. Only the strong will survive, the law of the streets.
The distance between the floor and the central straps widens, and a small girl gathers her courage and leaps. She doesn't make it. With a gag tied firmly around her mouth, she can't even scream as she disappears, arms and legs flailing, to be swallowed whole by the darkness.
My tears follow, falling into the depths along with others from those now hanging around me.
There are only two straps left vacant in the middle of the ceiling, and a further two girls run and jump. Thankfully, they make the distance and hang on, knuckles white, swinging backwards and forwards like ripe fruit.
The smell of fresh faeces fills the air, nauseating, overtaking the smell of rotting flesh.
I want to vomit in fear and disgust at the smell, but know that if I do, the gag will cause me to choke, so I swallow the reflex down.
All the loops are now taken, yet two boys and three girls are still pressed tight against the walls, the edge of the floor mere inches from their toes. They try to dig their fingers into the wood, desperate to find a purchase.
Now I realise where the hundreds of scratches have come from.
The two boys look around desperately. Having failed to secure the corner loops, they now eye those of us dangling from the middle of the ceiling.
I guess what's going through their minds.
Please, no!
The two boys, arriving at the same decision, leap as one. There are no free straps left, and they’re too far to have made it anyway, but they leap nonetheless and grab onto the ankles of the girls who'd last made the jump.
Seconds later, all four disappear into the pit, arms and legs kicking.
Not long after, the three girls trying desperately to hold on to the wood panelling, follow, their deaths strangely quiet.
As I look around, fifteen of us hang on, arms trembling, sweat, tears and urine dripping.
By the time the floor is cranked back into place, only twelve remain.
Everyone falls to the floor. The smell of fear is rank, and I know my own stench adds to the thickness of the air. How long we wallow in misery and our own filth is hard to say.
My hope that this ordeal is over is shattered when the gears start rumbling, chains jangle, and the horror begins all over again.
This time around, I struggle to hold on from the very beginning. My hands are tired, and the loop I've chosen is damp with sweat. Quickly, the pain in my hands, arms, and shoulders becomes excruciating. Maybe I should just let go, fall into the dark embrace of the pit, and end the torment?
My moans are pitiful through the gag as death approaches and whispers to me like a friend. Just as I'm about to give in to that seductive voice, the Astorian boy comes to my rescue, his hand closing over mine. It hurts, his grip is powerful, but now I can't let go even if I want to.
The floor grinds shut again, and as I land, collapsing in exhaustion, I’m shocked that just eight of us are left.
The door to the room opens, and a robed and masked woman enters. The eyes give away her sex, as does her movement; graceful, purposeful, feet placed with certainty. Yet every step somehow exudes the potential for violence, like a predator stalking prey.
'You will say nothing. You will do as you're told without hesitation. There are to be no questions. If you fail at anything, you will die. If you question anything or disobey my command, you will die.'
The voice is slightly muffled by the cloth mask, yet the message is simple and chilling. Like a cat, the woman stalks amongst us, a glistening, tiny dagger in her hand. With swift movements, she severs our gags.
I draw in a deep breath, almost choking at the stench, but so grateful at being able to breathe freely.
The woman walks toward the door, pauses, and looks over her shoulder, beckoning for us to follow.
'My name is Lystra,' she says. 'Follow me if you want a chance to live.'
*****
We scurry along corridors illuminated by torches. Their flickering red light creates a hellish ambience, and I wonder if I should have let go of the loop after all, and embraced sudden death.
The air here is tinged with dampness, and I fear some disgusting spores will take root and fester in my lungs if I survive. Our soiled clothes only add to the foulness of the air.
Sobs and whimpering accompany the scuff of stumbling footsteps as my rag-tag group of filthy survivors follow Lystra, too scared to disobey or be left behind.
She halts at a closed iron-reinforced door, and we hang back, not daring to approach too close. After a quick search within her robes, she produces a key and turns it in the lock. It swings silently open under her touch. Fresh air wafts in, and following a flick of Lystra’s hand, we file past, heads bowed.
As I step into the open, the horror I’d just survived briefly fades. I gawk in wonder, for although I stand in something akin to hell, it’s a hell overlooked by the heavens.
I'd witnessed a training ring before, outside the soldiers' barracks in my hometown, and there’s no doubt I’m standing in one. Yet, despite its familiarity, it's as unlike that training circle I knew as fire is to water.
My rag-tag group and I stand in the heart of a mountain or maybe a dead volcano.
Way above us, blue sky and clouds offer a tantalising glimpse of heaven, and indeed, the interior slopes of the mountain are covered in trees and vines, lush and colourful. I can see birds flying amongst the foliage and animals leaping around.
Yet, as my gaze travels downward, the vista begins to change. First, the mountainside from halfway down is blackened, stripped of natural growth, and looks to have been burnt down to the bare rock. Then, below that, it's been fashioned into a coarse, circular wall.
Above the wall on the far side of the circle is a balcony upon which five dark-robed figures stand, observing us as if we were nothing but insects scurrying around their feet.
Set intermittently within the wall are doors, and from them, groups of filthy, frightened youths spew forth. Shortly, there are about sixty of us staring around, a mixture of wonder, hopelessness and fear plastered on our faces.
Stop gawking, Malina. Take stock!
I’m standing at the perimeter of the training ring ... but what a ring. It measures about two hundred paces across, with a raised circular dais in the centre. Robed guards hold crossbows at the ready wherever I look.
I don't know how long I've been standing here, but Lystra's sharp voice cuts through my thoughts.
'If you want to live, you won't be the last to the dais and back again.'
Silence greets her words, not that anyone would dare question anything. Then I see movement from the corner of my eye, and as I look around, I can see the other distant groups of children streaming toward the central dais.
Almost as one, we turn and throw ourselves into this race for life. The bare rock of the training circle floor is uneven, and my bare feet hurt with every step. Six of my group are already pulling ahead, and I strive to run faster.
Running was never my strong suit, and I haven't eaten sufficiently in weeks. I feel weak, and my gasps for breath quickly turn to sobs.
A tubby boy runs next to me as we lag behind the others. We’re still fifteen paces from the dais as those ahead turn and race back toward us. I can see his wide eyes snatching glances at me as sweat pours down his face.
Come on, Malina, I urge myself. Faster!
Then. as everyone runs past, skinny arms and legs pumping, I find myself alone as I reach the dais. I touch it with my hand, then turn back.
I’m too slow, and worse, I can barely see. Tears and snot stream down my face, running into my mouth as those ahead finish the race. Finally, I catch up to the group, lungs heaving.
No one looks up except for him with the strange eyes. On his face, as if clearly written, I can see relief for himself but also sorrow as he looks at me.
Lystra draws a long dagger from within her sleeve and stalks toward me.
RUN!
Despite my survival instinct telling my legs to move, I don’t have the strength. I wish I could, although to where I don't know, but anywhere to be able to draw breath a few more times would suffice. Maybe I'd have used the time to look at the sky and see the clouds a final time.
Yes, the clouds.
I tilt my head back.
Look at the clouds closely, Malina. You won’t see Lystra, her blade, or even feel it!
Death will end this nightmare.
Lystra’s footsteps approach and stop.
I’d heard it said that when death is upon you, all your memories flash in front of your eyes. I just wish I’d had happier ones.
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Prepare yourself for a relentless tale of survival that spans worlds, is filled with creatures of legend, tales of redemption, love, betrayal, and an incredible prophecy that might just save the human race.
It all begins with the Mountain of Souls and continues with The Last Hope, The River of Tears, The Oldest Foe, and the finale, The Chains of Destiny.
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