Chapter Five

It looked like it was close, but it's not. It takes me hours to reach it, and all the while its high stone walls grow taller and wider, signifying just how huge this city is. It really does put that village to shame. The two aren't comparable at all.

The city of Laconia reminds me of a castle, except bigger. Not that I've ever seen a castle in person, but I've seen bits and pieces of Game of Thrones online, so I know the gist. It sits in the highest place around, good vantage points, practically a mountain in itself.

I eventually find a cobblestone road, and I decide to follow it as it zigzags up the small mountainside to the city.

It looks as though the city used to be surrounded by either houses or farming fields making use of the small leveled portions of land around it, but as I walk along, the houses are as empty as the first village I came across. No one's here.

I try not to let myself think about how terrible it would be if Laconia is also empty. Please don't let me be trapped here, in this strange world, with nothing and no one but Rune as my only company. That'd be torture.

"Okay, seeing as how we're getting close," I say as I glance at the black mark on my wrist and hand, "let's go over some rules."

"Rules?" Rune mumbles, sounding entirely uninterested in whatever it is I'm about to say. Like he seriously couldn't care less—but if he knows what's good for him he'll shut up and listen.

"Yes, rules. You're a talking tattoo. You glow when you're talking to me. I don't know if other people can hear you—"

"Just you."

"—but I don't want to put it to the test. When I'm around other people, I don't want you talking to me or glowing." The last thing I need is for these people to think I'm talking to myself. "No magic while we're in there, either."

Rune mutters, "Reasonable, I suppose. Anything else?"

"Not right now." Honestly, I just want food. Food and somewhere to wash my clothes. I doubt washing machines are a thing here, so I don't know what that means for my clothes. A hot shower would also be nice, but I know I'm just dreaming for that.

The constant switchback of the trail makes it a longer journey than it should've been, but unless I want to scale some cliffsides, I'm forced to stick to the trail. The moment I make it to the final stretch of the trail that leads to the giant doors of the city, I swear I spot two people standing above the castle-like doors, on the stone wall that surrounds the city.

Fifty feet away, I can see they're wearing armor of some kind, but they're definitely people, and I can't help but grin. Thank God. Thank God I'm not alone in this weird place.

Never thought I'd be happy to see strangers.

"All right," I hiss to Rune. "Remember what I said. Let me do the talking."

I make it just outside the shadow of the wall. The large doors are closed, two stories tall. The men above keep looking at each other, and then at me, like they can't believe their eyes. I lift a hand and wave to them.

"Uh, hi," I say loudly. "My name is Rey, and I need some help. I don't know where I am or how I got here—it'd be easier to explain if you let me in, so I'm not shouting all of this to you." Neither of the men above me move. "Can you hear me? Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Shit. What if they don't speak English? Maybe Rune only knows English because he's attached to me and we kind of share everything now? That'd be a dilemma I'm not prepared for. I wouldn't even know how to continue. I'm no good at learning second languages. I barely scraped by in Spanish in high school.

I open my mouth to say more, but right then I hear chains clinking. In a few seconds, the giant doors before me are opening, and a group of twelve men and women come marching out, swords and spears in hand. They each wear a similar uniform, silver metal with a lion banner on their chests. They circle me and…

Point their weapons at me.

Great. We're off to a good start.

I hold up my hands in what I hope they understand a surrendering gesture. My eyes survey the guards. Can't tell who's in charge, so I don't direct this toward anybody in particular: "I'm not a threat. I just need help. I don't know where I am or how I got here. I'm not from here—"

"Not from here," one of the men repeats. Thank God for English. He leans into the woman beside him and whispers something I can't hear. The woman says something back. Within a moment, the man nods and sheaths his sword.

It's too soon for relief to flood me, however, because that man reaches to his side and pulls a pair of cuffs out. Handcuffs, the medieval version. Big and thick, made of semi-rusted iron.

"Uh, you don't need to do that," I say, an uneasy smile on my face. "I'm not a danger or anything. I won't cause trouble. I just—" One of the guards behind my back grabs me roughly, and before I can say anything else the man before me clamps the cuffs around my wrists.

The cuffs are attached to a longer chain, which the man then starts to pull, like I'm a dog on a leash or something. I have no choice but to follow him, and the guards that surround me tail after me.

I'm led through the doors, and a pair of guards work to close the doors once we're safely inside. Other than the doors, the whole of Laconia must've been built from stone, because as I'm pulled along, I see nothing but stone buildings and stone roads. Every time I get too caught up in studying my surroundings, I trip on an uneven stone, but I can't help it.

It almost reminds me of places I'd love to visit back at home. Italy, Greece, the kind of city that's ancient, every building, every brick, original but still in perfect condition.

People huddle on the side of the streets, watching with wide eyes as we walk by. They whisper amongst themselves, clearly distrustful of me. Some point at me, and the children I see cower behind their parents. They're all filthy, their skin caked in dirt and grime, wrinkled from sun exposure. Even the children, as young as they may be, seem older than what they are. Ten years and under, I bet they've seen too much.

It doesn't even occur to me that I don't see anyone my own age, or what that could possibly mean that I don't.

"Where are you taking me?" I ask, but none of the guards answer. I try to ask a few more times as we venture deeper into the city, but I'm met with stony silence.

The deeper into the city you go, the higher up you are. The outer ring, where most of the people are, must be where those people live. The houses and such. Then, after a few flights of stairs, you reach the second part of Laconia: the market and shops and the like. The level is much more wide-open than where we first walked in, and kids are running and giggling, playing some kind of game with each other—though that game halts the moment they see me.

No adults around them, they look… well, they look like orphans. Their clothes are mismatched, patches sewn on here and there, frayed and raggedy. And they're skinny. Too skinny. Like they have no one to take care of them.

My heart aches for them. I might not know their specific circumstance, but I know how they feel.

I'm brought to a grand set of stone stairs and pulled along even more. Up we go, higher and higher until we reach the pinnacle of the city, a well-kept district that puts the other two to shame. This is clearly where the rich live.

Good to see shit never changes, no matter where you are or what world you're in, the rich always take care of themselves first. Fuck the little people, even though it's only because of the little people that the rich are where they are. Without little people starving and killing themselves, without the little people slaving away, the rich would never get richer.

Do I sound bitter? I'm not. Not really. That's just how the world works. And apparently that's how this world works, too.

As I'm dragged along, I'm proven right. The few people I spot now are well-dressed, well-fed, and so snobby they turn up their noses to me. More than a few of them wear stupid hats with dramatic feathers and silly frills around their necks. Zero fashion sense.

These people judge me as I walk by with my guards, and I'm sure they whisper about me. I'll be the hottest gossip for a while, I bet. My clothes, my hair—which I'm sure is a mess after that weird storm and the dragon fight—nothing is off-limits to these people. They'll judge me for it all.

In the center of the upper district sits a cathedral-like building made of blindingly white stone. It reaches high above the rest, pointing toward the sun. Beautiful, in a whitewashed, gothic sort of way.

Up even more steps we go and I'm pulled right into the cathedral building. It doesn't have doors; it just has arches, wide open to the inside. We go deep into the cathedral, into a room lit by stained glass windows.

You know how churches are sometimes? With pews and then an altar that's a few steps higher than the rest? It's like that, only switched. The pews are higher than the altar, arranged in a circle around the lower portion. The lower part has a circle etched in the stone floor, and just beyond the circle sits four chairs chiseled from the same stone. They look more like thrones, and each chair has tiny spires pointing to the ceiling, creating a shadowed effect since they sit between the windows and the rest of the circular room.

Me? I'm attached to the floor, right in the center of the circular stonework.

Well, this can't be good.

I can stand, sit, or… no, that's about it. I'm essentially chained to the floor, and though I know I can probably use magic to get out of this, I shouldn't. As far as I know, these are the only people in all of Laconia. What happened in that one village obviously happened right outside the city's stone walls, since no one was living there. I can't fight my way out of here, because I wouldn't know where to go next or what to do.

These people, as much as they don't trust me, might just be my only hope.

So I wait. A few guards leave, but most of them stay to watch me. They hang around, weapons sheathed but still near, their eyes on me beneath their helmets. I feel like I stand there forever, waiting for something to happen, not quite knowing what to expect.

I have to prove that I'm no danger to these people, but how? Bullshitting is obviously not something I'm great at, otherwise I wouldn't have gotten fired from my job or told that I'm going to be evicted if I can't find rent money for Frank.

It's been, what, two days? I wonder if Frank thinks I up and left. And if that's the case, then he'll throw out all of my stuff, even… even the picture of my dad that I left on the bed.

No. He'll see my wallet and my phone and think something happened. He'll call the police, right?

I hate that I don't know. I hate that I can't get back, that I'm stuck here at the mercy of this world, its weird magic, and its distrustful people.

It's a while before people funnel into the room. First the seats are filled in the audience—filled by people who all wear their finest clothes, no doubt. The rich assholes of the city. The fuller the room gets, the louder the whispers become. I'd say about fifty people can fit all around the room, and though I'm not counting, I don't think there's a single empty seat, save for the four in front of me.

Those seats must be special.

It's as I think that thought that I wonder if, perhaps, I'm going to meet the empresses. I try to think back, to remember whether Rune ever told me how many empresses there are, but I don't think he ever explicitly gave me a number. If those chairs are for the empresses, they probably won't be too happy that Rune is on my arm, that I unknowingly let him out.

Shit.

As I wait, I go over possible things to say. How to plead my case to them, make me sound more believable, more likable, more trustworthy. I know I'm not exactly the nicest or the funniest or even the most social person. I've always stuck in my own bubble, tried to make the best out of my situation, and it might be my undoing.

Goddamn it. I don't know what to do. Nothing in life prepared me for this.

Suddenly everyone's attention snap to people entering behind me. I turn to watch a group of four people marching in.

Man, if I thought the people in the audience wear their finest, what these four are wearing puts everyone else to shame. Gold. Jewels. The kind of fabric that has patterns inlaid on it. Oversized shoulder pads to make them look more intimidating, robes that flow and aren't stained in the least. Two men and two women, alternating so that no man or no woman sat side by side.

The moment they sit down, the audience grows less tense. I don't, though. These people, these four… they can't be the empresses, so who the hell are they and why are they so important?

The woman all the way on the left judges me heavily with her astute, brown-eyed stare. Her black hair is long, kept in tight braids that start on her scalp, the length of which is adorned with precious jewels and golden strands intertwined with her natural hair. Her skin is a few shades lighter than her hair. The main color she wears is gray, although it is broken up by gold. The way she watches me, warily, tells me all I need to know. I put her around sixty or so.

"You there," she speaks. "Are you a demon from another land, come to finish us off after the woes?" The way she says it, like she's so certain of the answer even though she doesn't know me at all, puts me on edge. In her mind, I've already been tried and found guilty of whatever crime they think I committed.

"I'm not a demon," I say, about to ask what the woes are, but the man beside her shakes his head and stands.

The man, maybe a decade or so younger than the first woman, points at me. He is adorned in reds of all shades, his expression hard and unyielding. His amber eyes dart around the room before landing on me as he dealers, "Look at her. Dressed as she is, speaking as she is—she must be a demon. Pray tell, what accent is that, demon?"

His accusation gets the crowd murmuring, and I roll my eyes.

"Ravenno," the second woman says, much more laid back than him. "Sit. We are here to see what the newcomer says, not to jump to conclusions with no evidence." Her tone is even and laid-back, and though her features are sharp, she is at one in her gilded, gaudy ensemble of blues and greens. Her curly hair is a light yellow, its natural waves framing her face and her bright blue eyes. In her mid-forties, she is the age I imagine my mom is, somewhere.

Ravenno, the man in red, clearly does not want to sit, but he huffs and does so anyway. He glares at me while he does it, proving to me just how acidic he can be without saying a single word more.

"Speak," the blond woman says. "Tell us where you hail, stranger."

"Uh." Never was good at public speaking. Would be a good skill to have right about now, with all these eyes on me, judging me, already assuming me guilty. "I'm from a place called Valley Creek—"

"Valley Creek?" The second man breaks his silence with a chuckle. He is the youngest out of the four before me, near forty. He wears all white, save for a lion on his chest, mirroring the guards that escorted me here. His black hair is cut short to his head, and his green gaze is filled with hatred. "What an absurd name. If you are trying to trick us, perhaps think of better answers, demon."

I can't hold it in. I say, "What the hell is with this demon shit? I'm not a demon! I came here looking for help. One minute I was in my world, minding my fucking business, and the next thing I know I break this crystal and I'm here. Stuck here. Trapped in this weird place full of empty villages and—"

The woman on the left leans forward. "You have traversed beyond the outskirts of the farmlands surrounding the city?"

"Yeah," I quip. "How do you think I got here? By the way, what's up with your storms? They come out of nowhere and man, is it hard to breathe in there."

I must've said something wrong, because all four people—my judges, I guess—exchange looks. Hmm. Maybe I shouldn't have brought that storm up after all. I just thought, maybe, they'd have an explanation for it or something.

I'll take anything at this point.

They whisper amongst themselves, and I can't hear their conversation. I have to stand there and wait for them to finish. I see the man with the lion on his chest shake his head, a stern look on his face. The blond woman appears unperturbed, as if this hardly affects her at all. The man in red, Ravenno, is by far the most upset. The woman on the left is mainly listening to him and whatever he is saying.

Suddenly the blond one stands. She addresses me: "You claim you are no demon, and yet you have walked through a shadowstorm. The only creatures that can survive such a thing are either blighted or demons, therefore you must be one or the other. Which is it? Do you have the blight, or are you a demon?" Though she's asking me the most insane question with the most insane logic behind it, she sounds so calm.

What she says, though, is news to me. I don't know what a blight is, but it sounds like some kind of sickness. Maybe that's what that dog had? Either way, only sick things and demons can survive the shadowstorms—cool name, not going to lie—so why the hell could I walk through it with only a dry mouth?

"Neither," I say. "I'm not from here. I'm not sick or anything. I have no answers for you except I'm not a demon." I shrug, exasperated, ready to fall to my knees and beg if necessary. "I just want to go home."

"To Valley Creek," the man on the right hisses out.

"Yes. It's a real place!"

The man harrumphs, clearly not believing me.

"You must understand," the woman in blue and green speaks, her dress long enough to cover the floor around her in a swirl. She must walk on air, because not an inch of the fabric is dirty. "You are the first we have seen in years. Many have tried to walk through the shadows, and they have all failed. What makes you so special?"

I can't help it; my gaze drops to my wrist, to the black tattoo that swirls around it and up the backside of my hand. Even though it's not quite true, I still find myself saying, "Nothing. Nothing makes me special. I don't know why I can walk through it, but I can, and it doesn't make me a demon."

The woman listens to me, and then she turns to meet the eyes of the other three. "I sense no lies from her," she says.

"Aolia," the man with the lion symbol says, "you are not Empress Morimento. You cannot sense lies with your power."

"Perhaps not," Aolia admits. "But I did study with her for years before the woes spread across Laconia. She taught me well, Hazor."

Hazor, the man with the lion, groans. "Yes, that's all well and fine, however your empress has not been seen in Laconia for over a decade. For all we know she is dead. What good do her teachings do us now? We are locked in this city, withering away year after year. There is no trade. What little population is left dwindles. You worship your empress while she abandons us all." He leans forward and glares at Ravenno and the other woman. "All of the empresses have abandoned us, left us to our fate."

Aolia retakes her seat, a resigned look on her face. Ravenno taps his armrest in an annoyed manner. The other woman, however, addresses Hazor: "Be that as it may, Hazor, even if we are all that is left of Laconia, we must do our best to carry on, to make sure our empresses' legacies survive."

"Okay," I say, causing all four pairs of eyes to look at me. "It feels like you guys need to do a bit of soul-searching. Why don't you let me go and then do that? I won't cause any trouble, I promise."

Ravenno hisses as he points at me, "Words of a demon. Do you think we will fall for your lies and trust you implicitly? You walk through the outer doors and speak of the scourge as if it is nothing to you. You cannot be allowed to wander our streets."

Hazor nods with him. "You will be locked up while we discuss amongst ourselves what to do with you. Kretia, do you agree?" The first woman gives her agreement.

My heart skips a beat. "What? No. No, you can't lock me up. I'm not a demon—" My words fall on deaf ears, and I stop arguing when I see the two women agree with Havor and Ravenno. The entire panel finds me guilty.

Great.

The guards that stuck around swarm me, and their matching uniforms are all I can see as I'm freed from the floor and pulled along. I'm practically dragged from the room, every single eye in the place on me, be it from the four who judged me or the audience that had gathered to watch. No one lifts a finger to help me.

And why would they? I'm a stranger to them. I'm sure I look just as ridiculous to them as their fancy costumes look to me.

As it turns out, Laconia has a prison. Tiny cells made of thick stone blocks. The only bit of light that shines through comes from a teeny, tiny window about twelve feet above the ground. Bars of iron line the window—but even if there were no bars, it's unreachable and way too tiny to squeeze through. The door to each cell is a thick chunk of wood. The only furniture to keep my company is a bedframe with some hay on it along with a bucket for… you know.

The guards unlock me from the chains before shoving me in, so at least there's that. Still, I don't have anything to go on. I'm pretty much fucked, unless those four people decide to change their minds about me.

And if they don't? What will happen? Will they execute me? Shit.Then I'll have no choice but to use magic to get my ass out of here.

I may not be a know it all, but there is one thing I know with all of my heart.

I don't want to die here.