Follow: Book 1 The Rose Tree Chronicles

Chapter Five: A House of Horrors

The officer who had threatened Gerardo carried Rein Bow back to the apothecary that proved dreams really do come true … even the bad ones. The interior was completely decorated with conserved pixie corpses, and though there was much more to the shop, this was the only aspect which snagged Rein’s focus like the grip the officer had on her. The sadistic owner had her kind suspended from the ceiling, framed and hung on walls, cased like bugs, tied and strung together to make wreaths and garlands, set on shelves like porcelain dolls, and the entire scene instilled a sense of dread in her that was hopelessly final.

Rein wondered if she had known any of the pixies hanging around the shop, and her anxiety flared to levels she didn’t know was possible. Yet she couldn’t help but timidly examine some of the bodies for familiar faces while also fighting the bile that rose into her throat. To her relief, she didn’t recognize anyone. Though, her search was less than thorough as her captor was in a hurry to hand her over, and the possibility of having known someone here still lingered in the back of her muddled mind.

The officer progressed behind the front counter and through a door which led to an office. Here, the owner of this horror show sat behind his white desk, worn from age and wear. He shuffled through the mound of parchment which covered the surface, mumbling to himself and swearing under his breath. His human body engrossed the color of a blue ogre, his burning yellow eyes emitting the appetite of one.

The officer cleared his throat to get the man’s attention. The ogre-human hybrid looked up from his work, immediately fixing his eyes on Rein. He bared his rotting teeth at her with a bloodthirsty grin. It seemed all anyone had to do to make this man happy was bring him a live pixie.

“Ha ha!” the hybrid exclaimed, leaning back in his chair. “Jed, you found another one!”

The officer chuckled along with him. “Of course I did, and this one was harder to get too.”

“Was it now?”

Without paying much attention to Jed, the ogre-human lifted himself out of his chair and slowly maneuvered around his desk. Not once did he take his eyes off of Rein, who cowered in the officer’s hand. He studied her intently, his smile never leaving his grotesque face. Now directly in front of her, the hybrid finally spared a glance at Jed, who stood a least a foot taller than him.

“It’s a feisty one, eh?” He diverted his hungry gaze back at Rein. “How much trouble did it cause you?”

“Most of the trouble came from its owner,” answered Jed. “I almost had to kill him to get it.”

Rein shivered, irritation finding its way through the haze of fear and sickness at the way they referred to her as an “it.”

“Did you now?” said the hybrid. “What’s your name, Butterfly?”

“Well it’s not Butterfly,” Rein answered, desperately trying to hide the tremor in her voice.

“Of course not. So what is it?”

“… S–Sun.”

“That name sounds familiar.” The ogre glanced to Jed for confirmation. “What’s your last name?”

“Beam,” Rein lied.

“You deceitful little imp,” he growled. “I killed Sun Beam yesterday. Tell me your real name.”

Rein’s little heart fluttered inside her chest, and a wave of despair built with pressure behind her eyes.

“That’s my name!” she hollered, then wept uncontrollably.

“Keep quiet!” Jed ordered. He squeezed Rein in his bulky hand, choking off her sobs. “There’s no need to yell.” He looked back at the hybrid. “It’s not a real issue, Mazyr. And we both have other things we need to do.”

“If you insist. Toss it in there.” Mazyr gestured at the cream-colored door opposite his desk.

With a sharp click, Jed fastened something cold and heavy around Rein’s ankles. The sudden drag yanked her downward so violently, he had to tighten his grip just to keep her from slipping through his fingers. He turned to the door Mazyr had indicated and threw it open. A blast of frigid air rushed out, curling around them like the breath of something long dead. The room beyond was dark and silent, its chill thick and unnatural. Before Rein could glimpse what waited inside, Jed hurled her through the doorway. The weight on her ankles dragged her down like an anchor. She hit the stone floor hard, and bounced a couple of times before she lay crumpled on the icy ground, the cold seeping into her bones. Pain bloomed through her limbs as the door shut to enclose her in the room like a tomb.

Rein slowly pushed herself upright, every movement stiff with dread. She pressed a hand to the side of her head where it throbbed with a dull pain. Her breath trembled. The pieces were beginning to fall into place, quick and cruel. Sun Beam. A familiar name. A familiar face. She forced the thought away before it could root itself too deeply. Her gaze dropped to her feet. A steel cuff clasped around both ankles, a thick chain snaking from it to a heavy, rusted weight. A sob slipped out, sharp and helpless, but she caught herself. She clenched her jaw and inhaled deeply. With her eyes closed, she grounded herself in the cold stone beneath her. Panic wouldn’t help her now. If she had any chance of getting out alive, she needed her mind clear, focused, and unbroken.

Rein and the keyhole were the only light in the room, her faint flow barely illuminating the rows of shelves lining the small space … and what they stored. Rein concluded she sat in a giant storage room used to house a personal collection of dead pixies. It was sick, evil, and cruel. Dozens of glass cases entrapped her kin; many contained more than one body. Rein could read the horror each one felt at their moment of death. Some appeared shocked, others seemed locked in eternal pain, and some wore sad or pleading expressions. Some expressions were unreadable as their faces had been squashed or burned off. Each body was encased in their final state: mangled, tortured, crushed, or beaten. They hadn’t even been cleaned before they were preserved, simply left with revealing gashes and pieces missing.

Rein clamped a hand over her mouth, willing the scream to stay buried, but the pressure swelled like a rising tide. Her stomach lurched. She doubled over and spilled the contents of her last meal onto the cold stone floor. Acid burned her throat as the convulsions wracked her small frame, leaving her gasping in the wake of it, eyes wide and wet with horror.

⚜

Rein wanted nothing more than to escape this prison as soon as possible. When her stomach had settled from its protest, she tried to get airborne, but the weight shackled to her ankles kept her firmly grounded. She could hardly make the metal ball roll, much less lift it into the air. She attempted to slip her feet out of the shackle, but it held her too tight. She managed to slide her boots out of the cuff with the hope that it would leave room for her feet to follow, but she had no such luck. She searched the storage room for something that could be used to pick the lock open, but she couldn’t even find a keyhole to it. Rein shoved the lock harder and harder, scraping it against her flesh, insisting that it release her immediately. Soon her ankles and heels bled, and she was forced to stop before she skinned herself. She assumed her captors shackled all of their pixies with something similar, so how do they get them off?

Rein scanned the bodies of her kin, focusing on their feet to see if the cuff had been left on their ankles. There were no cuffs shackled to their ankles for one reason and one reason only: they had no ankles. It seemed that the only way Rein could remove the shackle was to sever her feet, and there was no way she would do that to herself … yet. There had to be another solution.

Rein lifted her eyes to the keyhole above the door, her only exit. It hovered far out of reach, a distant glimmer of freedom in a room built for despair. The distance seemed cruel. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying. The shackle wasn’t coming off. She knew that now. But if a human, ogre, unicorn, naiad, siren, or anybody else could carry her with the weight on her ankles, then why couldn’t she? She dragged herself closer to the door, metal grinding against stone as she hauled the weight behind her. Then she stretched out her wings, and beat them as hard as she could. The muscles trembled under the strain. She knew she wouldn’t lift the weight on the first try—or the second, or even the third. But each flutter would make her stronger. She would rise. That was the plan.

Time blurred into exhaustion. Her breath came ragged, and her glow had dimmed to a soft flicker when she finally paused to rest. Rein stared up at the keyhole again, panting. It still seemed impossibly out of reach, but for the first time since being thrown into this tomb, she felt hope. Fragile and small, but real. It settled in her chest like a flickering candle, enough to push back the dark. Behind the door, the light vanished, swallowed by a void. Now the only light in the room came from her. She shivered. Sleep tugged at her limbs, heavy and cold. But the thought of closing her eyes in this place made her skin crawl. She knew another nightmare was inevitable in this space.

Rein had never had a dream before. Only nightmares. But this was the first time she actually felt afraid to fall asleep.

⚜

Morning light pierced through the canopy, sharp and insistent, searing against Gerardo’s eyelids until he groaned and stirred. Beside him, Calder shifted with a grunt of discomfort. Gerardo sat up slowly, brushing leaves from his clothes. The forest was alive with the whisper of branches swaying overhead, and the soft chirps of birds waking in the underbrush. Not too far to his left, he could hear the rushing Sirene Lake, and he sluggishly followed the sound. He knelt at the edge and drank, cupping handfuls to his mouth until the chill numbed his lips. Then he stayed there, elbows on his knees, watching the ripples. This was the moment he had been dreading, and he almost opted out again. His stomach tightened as he ran through the possibilities of what could go wrong and how quickly things might unravel: a dozen new ways to die before nightfall. But then he remembered what Mira had said about how he would somehow end up doing it anyway.

“Willingly is easiest.”

Gerardo’s pulse thundered beneath his skin, heat rising in waves through his body as though his blood itself were boiling. In contrast, the morning air clung to him like frost. He cupped a handful of icy water and slapped it against his face. The cold hit hard, sharp enough to snatch the breath from his lungs and bring him back to himself. He knelt there, dripping, chest heaving, trying to calm the war inside his head. If he let panic take the reins, it would all fall apart before it began. He had to move without overthinking.

When Gerardo had reclaimed his mental strength, he returned to where he had slept and found Calder grazing in the icy grass.

“I already ate,” Gerardo said. He snatched up his sword. “I’m heading to the palace to try and get in.”

“Are you sure?” Calder asked after swallowing a mouthful of grass. “You have a plan and everything?”

“Something like that.” Gerardo trudged away.

Calder trotted closely behind. “What are you going to say?”

Gerardo shrugged. “I’m going to ask to speak to the emperor.”

“You think it’ll work?”

“I suppose we’ll find out. Goodbye.”

Gerardo veered toward the dirt road, angling his steps to make it seem like he’d arrived from a distant town rather than stumbling out of the forest. Dust kicked up beneath his boots, loud against the quiet morning, each step thudding like the drumbeat in his ears. The thudding deepened, growing louder until it became a ringing that hollowed out the edges of his thoughts. His vision narrowed, and the world tilted slightly. He gritted his teeth against the rising vertigo, forcing it away. The palace loomed ahead, its walls pale and gleaming in the light. He kept walking, shoulders squared, forcing his breath to steady as the silver gate came into view.

Four elven guards stood sentinel, tall, broad-shouldered, and unnervingly still. Their garments shimmered faintly beneath polished armor: white, ice-blue, and a cold blush of rose gold. Each held a weapon with casual menace—a heavy axe or spear carved with swirling runes. Their gazes locked on Gerardo as he approached, eyes narrowing with suspicion. No one said a word, but their silence was louder than a challenge. Gerardo didn’t flinch.

“What are you doing here?” one of them asked.

Gerardo abruptly remembered he was dressed as an Xer soldier. “I was separated from my battalion in a battle. I was knocked unconscious and left behind.”

“Then you go to the nearest base.”

“Our commander informed us that if the palace was closer, we were to come here to be relocated. Upon finding Vann and its base destroyed, I followed his orders and came here.”

“I’ve never heard of such a policy,” another guard stated.

“Are you a soldier?” Gerardo asked him. “Have you been fighting in this war?”

“Well no, but—”

“Then of course you haven’t heard of such a policy. I stay in the palace for one night, then tomorrow I’m to be relocated.”

The guards glanced at each other.

“We can handle one soldier,” a third said quietly. “It might be best to let the emperor take care of this matter.”

“Then you escort him to His Majesty,” the first guard replied.

The third one sighed, and turned to Gerardo. “Follow me.”