Back a few months ago I submitted several pieces to The Babies at the Border, one was the completed Future-Takes for The Emotional Roller Coaster of Life (these are now posted on FFN, Stars, and Ao3). The second was the first chapter of A Different Kind of Tomato which I'm still determining how the entire story will play out (I posted the first chapter a few minutes ago on here). And the third is the opening scene of an original fiction I'm working on called The Shade.
My intention is to complete The Shade before I start posting it regularly wherever I end up deciding to post it. I have about four chapters wrote at the moment, and it's my assumption that it'll be about thirty or so chapters in all. Once I'm ready to post the completed story, I'm not, as of yet, sure where I'll post it. For now, here's the opening.
Summary:
Three hundred years after the end of World War III and the remnants of humanity are run by The Shade, except for a select few who fight against such oppression. But when the rebellion is captured, is all lost? Or will there still be hope? Is there a chance at love in the midst of such darkness? Or just blind hatred and rage?
Beta'd by monica03
The Shade
Opening
It's been three hundred years since World War III. The remnants of that humanity; of vehicles, electricity, computers, and so much more can be found all around, but the world I know doesn't actually have use of any of that technology.
Three hundred years ago, when World War III ended; after the atomic bombs, mustard gas, and weaponized diseases, there was a matter of a few thousand people left alive.
Over the course of the last three hundred years, the numbers have slowly raised into the hundreds of thousands, mostly thanks to The Shade.
As a child, I grew up in fear of The Shade, the ruling faction that controls not only the government, but the military, education, and even religion. They are what allows the civilized world to exist in peace.
I grew up outside of the civilized world though, and I'm not the only one. My family is a part of a faction of people that don't believe in The Shade's rule. We're the rebellion.
Or at least we were.
I close my eyes and clench my hands into fists – so tight that I'm sure I'll draw blood – as the rough sponge rubs over my skin. It feels almost like small shards of steel against my flesh, though I know it isn't. It's all in my head.
“A lady doesn't clench her fists.”
Then again, the man washing my naked body might be part of why it feels like it's rough steel against my skin. Aside from my father, who'd brought me into this world – and by that I mean he pulled me from my mom's womb after she'd been slain by The Shade – this man is the first person to ever see me disrobed.
Aluxif.
Actually, his full name is Aluxif St. Claude Jon Bonaparte de Nevogne the Seventh of The Fifth Order.
Far too much of a mouthful. If anyone asks, I'll claim I can't remember it all, though that's a lie. It's impossible for me to forget the name of the man that grooms for a role that I do not want.
I release my breath as I allow my hands to go slack.
I wish I could go back in time. Just six months. Then I'd be able to warn my family, my friends, and everyone I've ever loved... I'd be able to prevent it from happening.
But there's no going back.
He runs the sponge down my back, and I force myself to repress a shudder. The warm blueish-white liquid is supposed to feel good, at least according to Aluxif, but it doesn't. The creamy substance feels unnatural and cold – even though the temperature is actually quite warm.
When I was a child, I remember my dad reading a story to me about some epic fantasy where the woman bathed in buttermilk. At the time I hadn't known what buttermilk was so I'd asked him, and he explained it was the leftover liquid when someone churned butter.
I still don't understand why anyone would bathe in it.
I also can't help but wonder if this is what I'm in now.
If it is, I certainly don't understand the appeal. Of course, I may like it more if I'd been allowed to bathe by myself.
I'm not.
In fact, I'm not even allowed to pick up the utensils to eat.
Aluxif prevents me from having any chance of any form of escape.
I suppose I can't honestly blame him. Though if he truly understood why I was here, what I'd been threatened with, he'd know I'd never take the risk.
Of course, I know if my father knew what I've agreed to, he would disagree with my decision. But my father is dead.
Besides, if by offering up all that I am, I can save my people – imprisoned though they may be – then it is worth it. They'll escape with enough time, I'm sure of it.
His hand reaches around the front of me with the sponge and brushes over the top of my breasts. The steel shards of the sponge run smoothly over my skin, not pressing as hard as he'd been on my back.
My body reacts, nipples pebbling slightly, but I shudder in disgust – though I'm not sure if it's because of him touching me there or if it has more to do with my hatred of my own reaction.
“You must be clean for tonight,” Aluxif says, his voice gentle.
“I can wash myself!” I snap, though, in truth, I'm not as sure of that as I'd like to admit – taking baths wasn't a high priority in the rebellion, not in comparison to fighting for our rights to live and be free.
“And risk you drowning yourself? No. You can have me bathe you, or The Sisters of Aura. It's up to you.”
I shudder in genuine horror. I don't like Aluxif as he makes me uncomfortable, but at least he seems human. The Sisters of Aura, on the other hand, are freaky. They all dress in solid black, are extremely pale, and seem almost inhuman. I'd been forced to learn all of their names, and they are; Maya, Mya, Miya, Meya, Mayah, Myah, Maiya, Miah, Mia, Maia, Mija, and Maeja. The fact that they all have the same name only makes them all the more disturbing – okay, so they don't really have the same name, it just all sounds the same.
“No, I'd rather it be you than any of them.”
“Which is why I'm here. It isn't typically a role of a member of The Fifth Order to take care of women.”
“I know,” I mutter, feeling a strong desire to sink beneath the surface of the bluish-white liquid.
“None of that. A lady must not talk back, and must speak clearly when spoken to.”
I sigh but don't say anything else.
The sponge rubs along the undersides of my breasts before running the sponge lower, using firmer pressure once again.
“And what is it that I normally do?” he asks as he moves slightly on his knees so that he's beside me instead of behind me.
“The Fifth Order is tasked with schooling kids, specifically young girls, in the way of The Shade, so they know their proper place,” I say the explanation from memory. It was something I'd learned even before my people were captured – my father had made sure we all knew the obscenities we were fighting against.
“And why are we allowed such a precious task?”
“Because all of you in The Fifth Order are castrated.” Unlike the rest, I'd only learned that tidbit after coming here.
He continues to scrub me clean, going further down my body. I force my legs tighter together. I'm not about to let him touch me down there, even if it is with a sponge.
“Just because you can't get someone pregnant doesn't mean you don't still get off on certain things.” I regret the words almost as soon as I say them, but there's only so much degradation I can take before I start to lose it.
The resounding smack of flesh hitting flesh reaches my ears before I feel the burning pain on my cheek. It isn't the first time he's smacked me, but I'm still surprised – because tonight I'm supposed to swear my allegiance to The Shade.
“Impertinence does not become a lady.” His voice is cold. “And I do not like what you are implying. Teaching children is an honor and a sacred duty, none of us in our order would take advantage of that honor.”
The sponge rubs over the top of my legs, trying to access the crevice between my legs, but I keep my legs tightly pressed together.
“You will either spread your legs of your own accord, so I can wash that part of you or I will be forced to call The Sisters of Aura. You will not like it if they hold your legs apart and forcefully wash you. I am being gentle as I understand that you are not used to our ways. They simply won't care.”
I swallow, the taste of vomit in the back of my throat at the visual his words force upon me but proceed to open my legs for him. It's not the idea of them being rough that scares me, as illicit touch is illicit touch, no matter who it's by, but the idea of them touching me, period, terrifies me.
He runs the sponge over the lines of my womanhood, and the feeling of the stiff sponge is both painful and pleasant at the same time. I spasm slightly.
“Be calm, you are not –”
I break the cardinal rule by speaking over him, “I know, it's not my place to take pleasure from a man's touch.”
His eyes narrow. “How do you know that rule? I have not taught you that. It will be your master's job to teach you some such things.”
“Do you honestly think the rebellion doesn't know why we fight?” I look him in the eyes, refusing to be servile the way I'm supposed to be. “We wish for freedom from The Shade's egregious laws. We want the right to choose our own paths. I am not a cow. I deserve better than to be nothing more than some breeder of cattle.” I spit the last word.
“If everyone believed as your rebellion does, then we would have died out almost three hundred years ago. The Shade protects our future. Surely you must understand that.”
“We are not only four thousand, anymore.” I half expect him to smack me again, but he doesn't.
“And the only reason we aren't is because all of them understand their place. If there was another war like the one that decimated humanity in the first place, then there won't be a second chance.”
“Your assumption is that a life of slavery is better than death. I disagree.”
“And yet you asked to join The Shade when your death was about to occur. I think you protest too much.”
“I didn't agree to be part of The Shade because I was afraid to die. I did it to protect my people. If they had seen me executed, they would have fought and died. The little prison my people have been forced into is not large enough, or open enough, for any of mine to have escaped at that time. My sacrifice of joining The Shade allows them to live to fight another day.”
“And how do you know we didn't destroy your people the instant we took you from that prison?” He moves on to washing my legs.
“Because if that had been done, The Sisters of Aura and you wouldn't be so careful with me. It wouldn't truly matter if I managed to kill myself. You need me.”
“What if I told you that you simply were a trophy and that's the only reason we've been ordered to keep you alive.”
“I'd call you a liar. If there is one thing that The First Order is good for, it is for their ruthless practicality. If only you were watching me, I might believe it, but The Sisters of Aura wouldn't be wasted here.”
“You are correct.” He stands up after finishing my feet and offers his hand. “Come on. We must finish getting you ready for Typhor.”
I take his hand, as I know it's expected of me, and proceed to stand with his help.
As soon as I'm out of the tub of liquid, he dries me off with a towel before wrapping it around me, then proceeds to brush my hair out into a smooth luster.
Once he's done, he leads me back to my bedroom... bedroom, in this case, being a polite word for prison, as the only thing in the room is a bed that is attached to a frame, which is permanently affixed to the floor. There is no pillow, no sheets, no window, and the only door into the room locks from the outside.
Today, my bedroom has a couple of new items; a dress is laid out on my bed, and a pair of lace-up sandals are on the floor – I think they were once called gladiator sandals.
“It goes against everything I should do, but as long as you don't try anything, I will allow you to dress yourself. You may as well enjoy this last bit of freedom.” His words are strangely dispassionate, but when I glance at his face, the same can't be said of his eyes.
I quickly take advantage of his offer, stepping over to the bed and pulling the towel off. Part of me wishes he would at least turn his back, but I know he won't.
It takes me a second, as I look at the dress, to figure out how it is worn, before opening it up as I pull it from the bed. I put it on in the same way my father used to put on shirts that tied shut; slipping my right arm through one strap, pulling the material around my back, and placing my left arm through the other strap. Finally, I pull the dress together, the wrap – I remember reading stories featuring dresses called that, but it's my first time ever seeing one – and tying it shut around the waist with the ribbon provided. I use the single pull through loop at the top to secure that area, so it doesn't fall open.
The material only just closes around my body with the smallest amount of overlay, and I know, when I walk it's going to expose far more of me than I've ever allowed to have exposed... I know it's been done this way on purpose.
It's a reminder of what I am.
Nothing more than a human broodmare.
The dress is also low enough cut that the tops of my breasts are exposed.
My tongue wets my lips before I move forward and sit on the bed, pulling over the sandals so I can put them on and lace them up – the leather binding going up to just below my knees.
Once I'm done, I look up at Aluxif.
Even though I despise him, despise everything he's a part of and stands for, I've come to rely on him in these last weeks. He is not... cruel. And I know he could be.
It's not the first time I've worried about who I'm going to be traded to.
But now, more than ever, that worry is present at the forefront of my mind.
“Do you know who I'm going to be given to, Aluxif? Who I'm the prize for?”
“It would spoil the surprise if I was to tell you that. Come along now, it's time to take you to meet Typhor.”
I swallow thickly but proceed to stand up, walking over to him and taking his hand.
The walk from my bedroom through the halls of the alcazar and out to the streets of The Shade's stronghold – the city of Lanassence – amps up my anxiety with every step.
I don't want to do this.
I can't do this.
I was raised with too much pride to be reduced to nothing more than some shadewhore.
I yank, trying to pull my hand from Aluxif's grip as soon as we're on the streets. If I can make a run for it, then maybe, just maybe, I can escape.
But his grip is too tight.
“Don't.” He turns his head just enough to look at me. “You must go through with this. If you successfully get away from me, you will be captured. I assure you, the guards of this city will take you alive. And you will not like what happens if that happens. Not even counting what will happen to your people – they have only been allowed to live based on your willingness to join us – you will be killed, but not before you are raped, tortured, mentally assaulted, and more. You will beg for death months before it will be allowed.”
With the reminder of why I agreed to this originally, my shoulders slump slightly. “Okay.”
The rest of the walk through the city is quiet, at least for Aluxif and me, though I can feel eyes on me.
However, my glances around find no one.
When we reach the plateau beneath the citadel, I swallow. The stage on the plateau is already set up with an altar. Hundreds, if not thousands, of people – mostly men, though there are some women – stand around the stage, all of their eyes are on the man on stage.
I've never seen him before, this man with smoky gray eyes, firm body, black hair, and a sculpted face. I don't need the laurel crown upon his head to tell me he is Typhor, ruler of The Shade.
No, it's the fact that all of the crowd is giving him their riveted and sole attention.
And if it weren't for the fact that I hate him instantly, I might actually think him to be handsome.
Aluxif lets go of my hand. “You must go up there of your own accord, I cannot take you farther.”
I can't help but wonder if he means it literally. There were myths of sorcery that trickled even down to the members of the rebellion, but I've never believed in such travesties.
It wasn't magic that destroyed the world. It was war. Brought on by greed, by hatred, by fear. And though, in our modern times, things like hydrogen and atomic bombs may seem magical, they really aren't.
Realizing I'm stalling by letting my mind wander, I climb the steps.
The instant I step onto the stage, the man, Typhor, looks toward me briefly before glancing back towards his captive audience.
“And here is the princess of the insurgents now. Ready to bow her head and willingly serve the greater good, advocating for peace.”
I can feel the eyes as the audience looks my way. Their looks all feel like little pinpricks on my skins, but especially the completely inappropriate looks which trace the line of skin – leg and crotch – that flashes as I walk.
I walk over to the altar, realizing only as I close on it that it is a permanent part of the stage, literally carved from the same piece of stone. The altar has a large bowl made of a shiny silver metal and a knife that has a kris blade on it.
Looking briefly into the bowl, I see the stains of dried blood from people before me who have made this same oath, and I swallow convulsively before I drop to my knees the way I'm supposed to.
Typhor steps up to the other side of the altar. “Speak your oath to me, speak it clearly for the people below, as your word, your blood, and your name are your bindings to our law.”
The words have more weight than they should, and I wonder yet again if sorcery is real, then I mentally shake off the idea. It's just nerves.
“I, Nevoux Gentrix, daughter of Sederico Gentrix and Qayla Leveneau Moonsea of The Second Order –” there are gasps from some of the audience, only a few knew my mother wasn't just another member of the rebellion, but was actually a betrayer of The Shade. Not even many of my family and friends had known “– and former member of the rebellion, solemnly swear to join The Shade and uphold all its laws under the light of the holy trinity of Drekavac, Culsu, and Barbatos – the supreme beings. And under the rule of The First Order, the force of The Second Order, the faith of The Third Order, the tutelage of The Fifth Order and The Sixth Order, the trust of The Seventh Order, the wisdom of The Eighth Order, the will of The Sisters of Aura, and the philosophy of The Brothers of Dharma. And I swear to obey Typhor as ruler, as well as any man who is above me.” I bow my head as I finish, only just realizing the literal double entendre of the final statement that I've been practicing for weeks.
“Rise, Nevoux, and swear in blood, as you have in word.” Typhor's words demand obedience as I stand up.
I pick up the knife and hold the blade over my forearm briefly as I stare into Typhor's eyes before cutting cleanly into the skin, and allowing the blood to flow into the bowl.
I know the final part of the ritual is to strip me of my own self-worth, to take the name of whoever my master will be, but I still haven't been told who it is.
“Who am I being given to?” I practically whisper the words as I don't want them to carry to the crowd. My pride has been run through enough of the mud without admitting ignorance to the obvious.
“Come again?” Typhor asks, somewhat startled, but his voice is soft too.
I look down mumbling, “You know, who is going to be my master?”
I glance up in time to see his eyes flicker to the side of the stage. Somehow I know, I just know, that he's looking at Aluxif. After a moment, he quietly replies, “There really aren't many who have the capability to handle someone as untrained and untouched as you. So I've decided to keep you close. Which is to say, you will be mine.”
My eyes widen briefly before I look down, finishing my oath, “I am Nevoux, slave of Typhor of The First Order, ruler of The Shade.”
To me, it's like a weight is pressing on my shoulders, and I know now – know for sure – my life is over.
There will be no chance of escape for me.
