The Blackest Blood

The price of betrayal is a heavy one,
But nothing else was to be done.
I did for myself what I knew was right,
Only in the end, I lost the fight.
I did what I knew I had to do
And promised to myself I’d always stay true.
I only live once, so I shan’t think twice,
But now I pay the ultimate price.

The light was growing in the distance. It was a dark sort of light—the kind often produced by light-producing black magic. Unlike those cast by suncasters, it was not brilliant, but instead brought about a sort of eerie glow. The light of light-producing spells of gold magic was so much more vibrant and beautiful than those of black magic. Where suncasters’ spells were full of purity and justice, nightcasters’ were tainted and gave off an evil feel. But these kinds of thoughts were the reason Scarlet was now being brought toward this terrible light.
She never cared for the section she was placed into, the Sect of the Last Breath. Even as a child she hated these people; hated them for what they had done to her; what they had done to her parents. She held herself back from showing any emotion at the memory. She did not want them to mistake her dread from the past for fear in the present. She would not give them the satisfaction of striking fear in her heart. Despite her uncaring, slightly bored expression, she still definitely did not wish to die—although she’d much rather that than continue the practice of black magic. She was not sure if they would actually want to kill her, considering she was one of their most promising younger casters. However, she could not underestimate the evil in their hearts, for she knew it was great, and she knew that, if provoked enough, they had no problem murdering one of their own. She thought of the few but brutal public executions of sect mates who she had been forced to watch. She remembered the dreadful words, “The strength of the sect lies in its members, and, if a link weakens, we must break it off in order to maintain the strength of this great chain.” Such uplifting words indeed, she thought scathingly. What gave them the right to declare a person’s public murder just? And now she would hear these same words, only this time referring to her as the weak link. It wasn’t true, Scarlet knew. She was not, in any way, weak, and they knew it. Weak-minded, she supposed they could call it. Resisting succumbing to the teachings of dark ways which had so brainwashed the others was not weak. The others were weak, cowardly fools. They relied on the multitudes to bring her down. Had she been presented with a fair fight with any of her sect mates, he/she would be on his/her knees. But this is why she loathed the ways of black magic. Its purpose was to destroy, not mend; to torture, not just to kill. Killing was necessary at war. Making the last few dying breaths impossibly torturous was vicious and unnecessary. But the ways of the nightcasters were sadistic. They fed off of the suffering; they enjoyed watching their enemies squirm and writhe about in pain, fear, distress, and the like. This was especially evident in the spells of the mind. They would cause their victims to hallucinate, probed with visions of fallen comrades and grisly scenes. In some cases, they could even cause extreme pain, without the body even being affected. It was disgusting, and it made Scarlet sick. She was ashamed to be a part of such a twisted people. This was the reason she had begun learning gold spellcasting on her own and in secret. Her section had been holding an enemy suncaster captive that day, and they had taken all he had on him. To Scarlet’s elation—although she had not enjoyed seeing the man held prisoner—he had had on him a backpack containing several items, including a spellbook. They had tossed it into the trash, seeing no value in its contents. Scarlet, however, had seen much value in it and, when she had been sure she was unwatched, had snatched the book and brought it to her dwelling in the stronghold. That had been weeks ago, and she had learned already many things from it. She had been studying and practicing each day for hours upon hours at a time. At first, the way the magical energy flowed within her body was difficult to control. The way one focused the energy in gold magic was surprisingly different from that of black magic, but in time she managed to channel it correctly. She had learned several spells, and, even though they were basic, she still treasured them as if they were the most powerful spells on Earth. Would she ever be able to put those spells to use? Of that she wasn’t sure. No, there had to be a way to get out of this. She scanned the area around her to see if she could find a way out of her current confines. She was in something like an undersized jail cell, or like an oversized cage. There were powerful symbols scrawled across it, and she recognized them as wards against magic. Only the most skilled spellcasters were able to produce such markings. Although the effects would wear off eventually, that amount of time was not necessary for her to be kept within the space anyway. The movement of the cage felt odd; as if she were on a ship in the water. What it was floating on, however, was not water, but rather air. The casters carrying the cage were not physically carrying it, but instead using a levitation spell to hold it up and guide it. They could have used a petrification spell rather than the cage, but there was something demeaning about being brought to your death in a cage, and this made it much more appealing to the nightcasters.
She remembered back to when she had been captured. It had been the one person she could ever hope to call a friend, Jason, who had discovered her practicing.
“That spell…” he had said. “You know it’s forbidden to practice gold magic.”
“It doesn’t matter to me,” she had replied.
“You do not value your own life?”
“What is a life if not something to be lived by choice? I did not choose to be trained as a nightcaster. I’d have more of a life dead than trapped in this hell.”
“Scarlet,” he had said, putting a hand on her arm, “what do you have to gain from getting yourself executed?”
“Perhaps I will not be executed,” she had said. “Maybe I’ll go unseen. Or I could escape if they managed to find me out.”
“You always have been a dreamer.” He had moved his arm to put it around her waist, but she had lightly disengaged it from her.
“Jay,” she had begun, not without affection.
“I know. I know.” He had pulled his arm back to his side. “I just thought maybe you would change your mind.”
“I’m sorry,” she had said. “You are my best and only friend. You know I care for you, but not in that way.” He had nodded systematically. She had told him several times before that she was not interested in being with him, but he insisted he loved her and that he could not help but to keep trying. She did love him, but it was not the same sort. She loved him like a brother, and, to her, any physical relationship would be not much short of incest. She remembered how hurt he appeared each time she declined his offer and almost wished she could have those feelings for him. But she could not force a relationship, and if she didn’t feel anything for him, she didn’t; Nothing more, nothing less. She supposed Jason was hansom, with short, dark brown, almost black hair, equally dark eyes, and angular features. He was only a couple inches taller than she, but then she was around 5 foot 5, so he wasn’t exactly short, but definitely not tall. He was very slim and had a decent amount of muscle as a result of his combat training. Many girls would likely jump at the chance to get with him, but Scarlet had grown up with him. They were practically related, and whenever Scarlet tried to picture them together in a romantic way, the image wouldn’t come.
After this exchange, Jason’s father, Caden, the leader of the section, had entered the room. He had seemed not to notice the open spellbook on the desk and simply extended a greeting to Scarlet and took Jason out of the room. He had apologized for making their visit so short, but they had apparently had something important to attend. Of course Scarlet, being only 16 years old, was not permitted to hear of official business pertaining to the sect. Jason was 18, but he had still been able to attend meetings when he was younger than she was now. Caden, being the leader, had made the decision that Jason was allowed into the meetings because he would someday be the successor to his father and would lead the section. Of course, no one would argue with this. They worshiped him far too much to question his declarations. Sometimes, Jason would give Scarlet little bits of what was discussed: plans of attack, who was being promoted or demoted to what position and why, who was showing progress and who was not, and other things of that nature. This had been how she had found out of their talk of her being one of the brightest and most promising young casters. But it seemed she wasn’t promising enough for it to matter whether she was dead or alive.
Even though it had seemed like Caden had not seen the book, there were soon five of her sect mates in her room, throwing her into a small jail cell, telling her she was being charged for betrayal of the highest degree, the punishment: public execution. Now, she wondered if Caden had seen the book or if Jason had told him. No, Jason she was sure she could trust. But then again this was his father. Who would his loyalties lie with more so than the other? Of this Scarlet was unsure. She cursed herself inwardly for not being more careful. But that didn’t matter anymore. What mattered now was figuring a way out of this mess.
The light was much closer now. She could see the flames rippling in the wind, and she thought she saw people starting to gather at the site. Then they really were going to kill her. She was starting to get more worried. No, she couldn’t lose her head. She needed to have her wits about her so that, when the time presented itself, she would be able to spring into action at a moment’s notice. She suddenly felt like they were moving with greater speed and, before she knew it, she was looking into the flames that licked at the night sky and then into the faces of her sect mates. There was a circle of eerily glowing flames, the only break from it being a space set aside for Caden to step through. In the center of the circle was a single metal pole. There were magically binding shackles attached to it, which would be used to restrain her while she was whipped and beaten bloody. They liked to draw out the killings. It was almost like a twisted sport; a source of entertainment for the rest of the section. It also served as a nice little warning against disobedience, one that Scarlet obviously did not heed. But the people would not see it as a warning anyway. Unless they grew weak for some reason, they wouldn’t have to worry about execution. They would never abandon their evil tendencies and therefore would not be punished for not complying.
She saw Lord Caden step into the circle of fire, and the crowd, which had previously been teeming with excited chatter, now grew completely silent.
“As you all know,” he began, “the Sect of the Last Breath is devoted to the protection of all nightcasters against our enemies: the suncasters.” A look of disgust passed across many faces in the crowd at the mention of the casters of gold magic. “Of course, the practice of gold magic is one of the many revolting qualities of our enemy, and anyone who casts it is therefore an enemy.” A sad expression crossed his face, as if he were actually upset about this; as if he didn’t enjoy this speech and would not enjoy torturing her, though Scarlet knew it wasn’t true. Caden cleared his throat and continued. “It is a sad day when one of your own betrays her own people.” A gasp ran through the crowd. Scarlet had never witnessed an execution do to betrayal, and she wondered if any of the others had, either. Scarlet felt her cage move forward, then jerk sharply downward and hit the ground hard. Of course they wouldn’t care to let it down gently. After all, any sort of pain felt on impact was nothing compared to what waited for her.
“I would like to present to you,” said one of the five sect mates who had brought her in the cage, “our turncoat.” The cage door swung open, and several pairs of hands gripped Scarlet and yanked her out. She struggled desperately to get out of their grip, but they were too strong. She managed to connect several times with her feet and fists, but there were five of them, and it was fruitless. She felt shackles tightly clamp around her wrists and ankles as she was pushed up against the pole which stood in the center of the circle of flames. Her arms were restrained painfully behind her, and she stood facing the crowd. At first, a look of shock shown on the faces of her section, but it soon turned into a look of hatred and bloodlust. They wanted to see her die. No, they wanted to watch her be tortured and humiliated. After all, this was the section she had grown up with. She knew they didn’t just want her dead, but they wanted to see her blood spill and hear her screams of agony. She glared at her sect mates with a matching look of ferociousness.
“Miss Scarlet Rosa is charged with betrayal to the highest degree and will now receive her death penalty. She was found practicing gold magic in her dwelling place by Sir Jason Rector this very morning. Of course, such an act must be punished immediately.” The crowd nodded as if in solemn agreement, though Scarlet knew there was nothing solemn about the gesture. They were eager, she knew. They would’ve gladly tortured her themselves if given the chance. She searched through the avid crowd, and her eyes finally came to rest on Jason. He stood still among the crowd, His hands covering his face. When he removed them, their eyes locked, and the sorrowful expression in his dark eyes turned to one of absolute horror. His body began to shake violently, and Scarlet could tell he was holding tears back. He put his hands over his eyes once more, as if shielding himself from the scene before him would make it untrue, though Scarlet knew he knew better. She wasn’t sure what to feel: betrayal or sympathy. She was shocked that her only friend would turn her in, despite the fact that his father was the leader of the section. However, she was also his only friend. He had said as much several times. She tried to imagine what it would be like if she were left living while Jason was killed. What a dark, lonely, miserable life that would have been.
A stalky man with greying hair pushed through the crowd and presented a tray which held an assortment of torture devices: several knives, whips, and other weapons. Caden selected a wicked-looking dagger and began cutting at Scarlet’s clothing. Each second felt excruciatingly painful, though the purpose of the knife was merely to strip her down, and she was not physically hurt by it. She felt as if he were cutting away her pride. No, she would not let them take her pride. No matter how much they embarrassed and tortured her; no matter how broken her body would be, her dignity would stay intact. Finally, she was left completely exposed, and she glanced around at the prying eyes which surrounded her. Some of the men in the crowd now held a look of burning lust in their eyes. Scarlet hated the way the cold air stung her bare skin; the way the men let their eyes linger on certain parts of her; the way Jason stole glances at her naked body. It was all so terrible. But she would not allow her face to betray her. No matter how humiliated and disgusted she felt, she could not let it show. She would keep her icy-calm expression, no matter the circumstances. She would not allow them the satisfaction of seeing the pain they were causing her.
Caden placed the dagger back on the tray and now balanced a whip comfortably in his hand. He looked at her, his eyes blazing with hatred, lust, and anticipation. He drew the whip back and, sharpening that disturbing look, jerked it forward. A sharp pain cracked through Scarlet as the whip struck against her bare chest, just above her breasts. She gritted her teeth to keep herself from crying out. The crowd was feral. They were no longer people, but were replaced by bloodthirsty beasts. They were absolutely crazed with bloodlust. The women were screaming that she should have all parts that made her a woman severed and mangled. The men, however, seemed to have different ideas in mind. Some screamed violent acts which they themselves wished to do to her themselves, while some did not scream words, but visibly allowed their hands to fall to their crotches and moaned in animalistic ecstasy. It made Scarlet want to retch, and she nearly did, but she inwardly scolded her body for even considering showing her disgust. Instead, she stood with a face of stone, knowing that if she showed any sign of pain or submission, the violent chanting and erotic screeches would only increase.
Caden now dropped the whip at his feet and took a gleaming knife from the tray of weapons. He placed it so that the tip just kissed her skin where the whip had connected. He dragged it slowly across the beginning of the lash mark, and drops of blood began spilling out. Caden then knelt and took the wound in his mouth. The feeling made Scarlet even more sick. She had never felt so violated in her life. Even her exposure in front of all these people did not compare to the feeling of this man with his mouth on her. She felt his tongue slither across her skin, tasting the blood. He then put his tongue directly on the cut and began to suck on it feverishly. What a leach; what a parasite he was, kneeling before her like this. His appearance of being a leader was now completely replaced by a simple, desperate, slimy man. There was nothing respectable or authoritative about him now that he was in the presence of an exposed, defenseless woman. To Scarlet’s surprise, he stopped and spoke.
“You know you brought this upon yourself,” he said loudly so the crowd could hear as well. “If you were not such a filthy traitor, this wouldn’t have had to happen.” The feverish look returned to his eyes. “But you’ve forced my hand. Now, you will be obedient.” He raised his hand. Scarlet never found out what he was planning to do with that hand, because, doing all she could to show her defiance, she gathered as much saliva in her mouth as she could and spat in his face.
“I will never,” she said with acerbity, “obey you.” The crowd grew silent, some with mouths gaping wide. Caden seemed more shocked than anyone. Scarlet assumed no one had ever spoken to him in such a manor.
“Is that so?” he asked, anger tinting his voice. “Well, you will wish you had obeyed me, Miss Scarlet Rosa.” And with that, he raised the knife and dug it the rest of the way through the lash mark on her chest.