Chapter 11
Clarke was ashamed to admit that she panicked upon waking up to a sterile white room. Had everything that happened in the last week been some awful isolation-born hallucination? Had she done something to harm herself and that’s why she’s in the Ark hospital wing? The hum of the generators was back, the beeping of machines, and the whirring of the fans in the air filtration system.
But when she squinted, there was a painting on the other wall, there were no paintings on the Ark. None colorful and bright and cheerful like this one. Clarke moved to her feet, disconnecting the needles in her arm, the fluid bags on the stand next to her were empty. They must not have checked on her recently and that’s why she was able to wake up. Clarke approached the painting, and the closer she got, the more detail she could see, and when she brought her hand up to run her fingertips along the careful brush strokes, she could feel the dried paint. This was a real painting, not a print she would see on the Ark if they felt an image worth the ink, but real paint. Her lips parted in wonder, and just as the pads of her fingers brushed along the river on the canvas, searing, roaring agony ripped through her every vein.
She collapsed immediately.
Lexa was panicking. The pain had finally worn off, but now she couldn’t feel anything, couldn’t think straight. Her lungs were ripping themselves apart just trying to get enough air to survive and her every sense was taken over by an awful, overwhelming static.
Lexa was panicking.
She was chained up, not in a cage like the rest of her people, but standing, strapped to the wall. She could make out one of her scouts, tied upside down, draining like a hog before a feast. He swayed just slightly, but other than that, he was motionless, entirely unconscious.
She thanked the gods for that small mercy. He would not have to witness his own humiliation.
She had been awake when they took her in, the gas had made her drowsy, but it had not knocked her out entirely, much to the shock of the Maunon Jokas. Lexa couldn’t even muster the energy to spit at them, but she was painfully awake for what they called “processing.” And after her processing, they had stuck a needle into her arm, shocked at the pitch black blood they removed from her veins. The doctors swarmed her, prodding and poking and taking “samples.” In the end, they decided they couldn’t risk mixing her with the others. She would be separated, forced to watch the massacre and humiliation of the people she swore to serve. Forced to watch as their hope drained from their eyes at seeing their all-powerful leader at full mercy of the evil Maunon dwellers.
But she couldn’t even fully process what had happened. The gas hadn’t fully affected her, but the liquids they injected into her body were painful and they certainly rendered her useless.
Her mind was starting to clear now, though. And her heart, still racing, could be felt again. Slowly, slowly, she lifted her chin from her chest to look up at the room she now presided. All of the warriors in the rows and stacks of cages around her were lethargic, some twitched and cried in their sleep, others stared around the room with distrust and fear evident on their faces, and others simply watched her, death weighed heavy on their minds. Lexa took in their appearances, everything that had made them strong was stripped from them. Their war paint scrubbed, clothes stripped and replaced with foreign, white undergarments that did little to preserve their humanity. These were hogs awaiting slaughter. Not prisoners of war.
Lexa, as her blood slowly sifted the poisons from her body, gnashed her teeth, struggling against her binds. Logically she knew there was no use, but she needed to make a show of it. Bring her warriors’ attention to her.
Dozens of sets of eyes rested on her now, they shone with hopelessness and grief and misery, but now she could instill some spirit into them. “You are Trikru.” She spat at them, allowing them to mistake her fear for fury. “Yu ste yuj. Oso na frag em op. The Trikru cannot be defeated.”
They blinked owlishly at her, shocked at their leader for suggesting, even as they stood behind cages that they had any chance.
“Jus drein jus daun.” Lexa snarled.
The chant began weakly. But that’s all they needed. Soon the cages were rattling with the combined, albeit weak, force of every captured gona inside. They were shouting now, screaming and howling like the animals the Maunon treated them as. Lexa couldn’t have been prouder.
But then the Maunon guards entered, they did not treat the warriors with attention, instead they marched forward, guns clinking to their armor, and removed Lexa from her position on the wall. She fought, kicked, bit, and scratched. She spat in their eyes and snarled, but they evidently had orders not to harm her, because she was dragged from the room and out of sight of her gona.
It took all of ten minutes for Clarke to escape her room, take a nurse hostage, and find herself face to face with Dante Wallace. He was charming, calming, and most of all, logical. He told her about how they were in Mount Weather, that they had survived all this time, all the while defending themselves from the savages trying to take their supplies and kill their families.
Clarke was suspicious. She released the nurse, she had no intention of hurting the girl to begin with, why would she? And Dante himself escorted her to the hospital wing. Maya, the nurse, separated to be given attention for her minor surface injuries and Clarke was sat down to be examined.
Dante offered her a home, fresh, outdated clothes, and a warm meal. Then, he left her to dress herself and find her way to the dining room, completely unguarded, as if he trusted her not to attack.
While the halls and hospital reminded her of the Ark, the dining room was lavish in all the ways she imagined life before the bombs was. There were chandeliers and music, the clinking of china and silverware, people murmuring and laughing, art surrounded them and comfortable, cushiony chairs engulfed every person in the room as they sat down to eat. A banquet laid out on a table with a fancy table cloth, and Clarke had to wonder how they managed to afford so much unrationed food in a closed system the way Lexa suggested they were in.
Lexa.
Clarke glanced about the dining room, and she found several of her friends milling about. Monty and Miller gave her tight-lipped smiles, they were uncomfortable, but happy. And there was Harper and Monroe and several others from her scouting group. But no Grounders. She supposed that made sense, since they considered the Grounders to be savages, but where did they take Lexa?
She needed to know. The fate of the Arkers depends on it. If they come down just after the death of the Grounder’s Commander, they would be slaughtered like pigs.
Lexa rubbed at her wrists and temples, thankful for the dark room, light would only make her migraine worse. But at the same time, the unknown struck fear through her.
Voices outside of her room straightened her spine as if Anya herself had struck the back of her head and hissed at her to pay attention.
The voices weren’t intelligible until they entered, flooding light through the doorway. There was a flick of a wrist and light filled the room, revealing Lexa huddled in the corner, small as possible and feral in the eyes. Three people entered and stood around her, somewhat defensively. Prepared for Lexa to strike out and attack, but more than capable of intimidating her.
“I’m Dante Wallace.” The eldest man introduced himself. He had white hair and crinkles around his eyes. His smile was too manufactured for Lexa’s taste. His smooth voice was meant to be soothing, but Lexa knew to be wary of these people. She knew what manipulation looked like. “This is my son, Cage.”
Cage’s smile was very, very real. His eyes beady and narrow, Lexa could see some of the resemblance between father and son, but this man hadn’t learned to hide his malice with kindness just yet. This man would be her torturer.
“And this is Doctor Tsing.” Dante Wallace gestured to the third person and only woman. She wore a white lab coat and a clinical, calculating glare as she eyed Lexa up and down, over and over again. “Don’t bother pretending you do not know English. We’ve talked to your more civilized friends. The ones we captured you with. Clearly you have been able to communicate with them, otherwise they’d be dead.”
Dante smiled, and it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re the, what do they call it? ‘Heda’ if I’m not mistaken. What does that mean? Queen, leader? Or do they call you God because of that strange blood of yours?”
Lexa slowly moved, so as not to startle Cage, one hand on his gun at his belt. She sat up, and then she stood, and then she squared her shoulders, lifted her chin and glared him down the way she did the last she saw of Nia. “I am the Commander of the Coalition. With the capture of generations of my people, you have invoked a declaration of war by all twelve allied clans. Your capture of me has only ensured the razing of your sanctuary. Bushhada! The Coalition cannot be defeated. Surrender and accept your slaughter or die humiliated and cornered.”
Cage snorted. “You’re threatening us? You’re the one backed into a corner hiding like a little girl.”
“Cage-“
“I die with honor!” Lexa snarled. “I speak for thousands of people, for generations past and generations to come. I accept my death. But you will burn.”
Cage rolled his eyes. Dante stepped forward. “You do not have to die. Call off your people, submit to us, and you may have your life.”
“Never.” Lexa snarled, deliberately pronouncing each syllable, her rage was tangible. And they would feel the force of every ounce of it.
Dante clicked his tongue and sighed. “That’s a shame. Well, Dr. Tsing. Find out what you can, she may be important.”
Anya followed the loud girl, the one Clarke had called Raven, through the brush away from the attack site. The moment the crack of bullets sounded through the forest, the girl had taken off, and it took very little effort for Anya to follow her. But when they saw the true fire fight, the ones between the Trikru and Skaikru against the Maunon, Anya’s blood ran cold. Raven stopped short, pulling her gun from her waistband and taking aim, only to halt the moment an ally stepped into her line of sight.
The Maunon, after securing two Skaikru scouts with two darts, whipped around. Anya lunged, tackling Raven to the ground and out of sight.
Raven struggled only for a moment, but once the Maunon had left, Anya was up off the girl and rushing back to the tent she had abandoned Lexa in.
She was silent, but the Skaion following her certainly was not, and when they came upon the shredded tent, empty, missing both of their leaders and the empty cartridges of gas grenades, bullet shells, and the Commander’s weapons, tossed unceremoniously to the ground, Anya could barely hold in her anguish.
Anya had been sixteen when an eight-year-old with a penchant for getting into trouble and being unbearably stubborn had been shoved into her hands. It was an honor to mentor a Natblida, and just as much a responsibility. But Anya had more than proven her ability in battle. She had single-handedly saved an entire troupe of Trikru warriors after the sudden death of her Fos. She took charge and changed the entire battlefield, won an unwinnable fight. And her reward was a snotty nosed brat.
But that brat was smart, and unfortunately for Anya, knew she was smart. And Anya always had a soft spot for smart kids that couldn’t back down from a fight even if they tried.
Lexa was a pain in the ass but she was hers.
Anya would be ashamed to admit that she forgot entirely about the presence of the girl behind her, she fell to her knees, lifting the sword from the ground and sobbing. She bowed her head, pressing the flat of the blade to her forehead, allowing the coolness of the blade to calm her, to slice through the fog of grief. Her Lexa would almost certainly be killed.
Her sobs quietened, leaving her shivering and shaking, clutching the sword to her forehead and bowing out of respect to not only her Commander, but to the seken she raised into a strong warrior.
“What do we do?” The voice was quiet, soft even. As if expecting anger or violence.
Anya clutched the sword tightly, lifting her head to look at the sky, bringing the flat of the blade to her chest. “There is no ‘we’.”
“The hell do you mean?” Raven snarled. “Clearly both of us were attacked. It certainly wasn’t us. Clarke and Lexa-“
“Are certainly dead. If not now, then they will be by tomorrow morning.” Anya murmured to the sky. “The Maunon has done this to us for generations. There is no hope for any of those captured. We’ve escaped with our lives out of luck. Whether good or bad luck is up to your interpretation.”
“You’re not going to kill yourself are you? That’d look really bad on us.”
Anya stood. “Why are you still here?”
“You saved my life, might as well return the favor. Besides, these Maunon assholes kinda kidnapped our princess.” Raven scoffed. “If I return and tell the hundred that we not only have no deal but our leaders were kidnapped by another breed of Grounders, it’s only going to go downhill from there.” Anya watched the smaller, cocky girl as she glared off to the side, eyebrows furrowing. “Plus, my asshole boyfriend broke up with me because of some fever dream and frankly I’m going to kill the bastard myself if I go back right now.”
“That would be foolish and a waste of time.” Anya brushed her off, marching toward the wreckage of the tent and scavenging for what she could. “Your people need labor, killing a set of hands for petty revenge will only waste blood.”
“Gee you make it sound like some sort of moral dilemma.” The girl drawled, moving to help her. “I’m touched.”
Anya shrugged. She did not care for this conversation. Not when her strisis was dead. “Your people have arrived at a turbulent time. We must move the Coalition to take commands from a new Commander, Azgeda will almost certainly invade now, and the Maunon have gained tremendous power now that they have her.”
“Why not save the Commander? Seems like that’d solve just about all of those problems there.”
Anya scoffed. “The Maunon is impenetrable.”
Raven rolled her eyes. “You should see what I can do with an ounce of gun powder and paperclip.”
Anya furrowed her brows. “I don’t know what that means.”
Raven grinned. “You’ll see. C’mon, Xena, let’s see what we have to work with.”