Once upon a deception

Clarisse

“Where is she?” Grand Duke Malachi asked as he walked into the church with an aide of powerful church elders. Sister Mathilde went ahead of them to open the vault hidden behind the altar; a secret known only to the order of Corbeau.

“She is in here,” Mathilde informed, giving a proper bow as Malachi and the elders walked into the hollow space.

The walls illuminated bright yellow and one could hear the trickle of water as they descended further down the church. The air there was moist and had a sulfuric tang to it. In the middle of the rocky hole, the order of Corbeau had made their abode, Clarisse was seated on a circular table that served as their business table and their infamous initiation platform. Clarisse was so engrossed by something she was running her fingers through on the table that she barely noticed the cult of six men walk in.

“Are you fascinated by just a dent?” The Grand duke questioned. Only then did Clarisse look behind her to see the face of the speaker.

“No,” Clarisse replied, “I am just quite curious. The dent did not look like a defect that came with the wood itself. It looked like it was inflicted after. Judging by how deep it gashed into the table, I am almost certain it was caused by an…”

“Ax.” Malachi finished, a small laugh escaping his lips. He liked this girl. She was observant. A natural. “Sometimes the people who come here try to trick us and there is nothing this place hates than liars and deceivers.”

“So it is off with their heads?” Clarisse probed, standing on the platform as she dared to look him in the eye.

“Not all the time. We wait for the trails of the initiation to take them. But some of them have some divine protection. The trails don’t take them.”

Clarisse went silent. “Then what?”

“The ax finishes the job,” Malachi said, closing in on Clarisse. He watched the glimmer in her eyes dim when he approached her. She was part Bridgeiron. Perfect for the ruse he was going to play. He only hoped Vincent had not gone in cohorts with Gareth. He would hate to waste the fragile specimen in front of him. “So,” Malachi began as he had always done with the new recruits. Many of them would never make it out alive. “Do you want this miss…”

“Clarisse.”

Malachi smiled. “Miss. Clarisse.”

“Yes,” Clarisse answered. She wanted this. She had wanted this her entire life. The thought of destroying the people who brought this heavy fate upon her. It had been the one thing that dominated her daydreams. Seeing the king of this foul country beg for his life. To see her father choke on his blood while his entire existence faded off. What else was there to live for? She looked into the eyes of the man in front of her. She saw good. She saw compassion and the aura of power. She wanted it. She wanted it all.

“Mathilde,” Malachi called and the self-righteous crony came running. Clarisse wanted that. Without as much of a word, the sister handed the grand duke a cup filled to the brim with a liquid that looked more like a child had been messing around with watercolors. It was a blend of many colors yet they never seemed to mix. The Grand Duke took a look at the liquid before stretching it forward to Clarisse.

Clarisse took the hint and stepped down from the table to collect the liquid. It stank. It might have bright colors but the stench was more like unicorn poop. Everything in Clarisse’s being told her not to take a sip from that cup, not to talk of gulping the whole thing. Clarisse wondered if it was a trial but before she could violate the laws of common sense, the man who handed the cup to her spoke.

“Have you heard of the osumare?” Malachi asked.

“No,” Clarisse confessed. She did not get the deal with these people and their stories. Not that she had the guts to blurt that out.

“Well, it is a serpent with scales that glow like rainbows. It is native to a tribe in Africa and they say its venom has no cure.”

Every story had a moral. Clarisse was expecting it or at least a continuation of this tale so she could get a lesson but his aggravated silence and the glare from all corners of the room insinuated he was done with his story. Was this how I was done here? Incomplete tales and the expectation of one getting the message? Clarisse peeked back into the cup. His words lingered at the back of her mind. The foul liquid…was it venom?

“Drink.” Malachi urged and stupid Clarisse complied. She chugged the whole damn thing until every single bitter drop was down her throat. Immediately she did so, she felt her vision blur. Her throat burned and her air passage seemed to be restricted. The whole scenery turned black and white and spun like a record she could not keep up with and since she could not dance, she stumbled.

Strong hands took hold of her dropped her onto the table. Only then did Clarisse realize what the trail was. They poisoned her.

“Clarisse,” A voice called out to her. Even in this state, Clarisse could recognize the voice anywhere. It was that man. Although she could barely keep an eye on his figure, she was sure he was the one speaking. “I want you to listen to me. You might feel like dogshit at the moment, but if you pass, I promise this will be all there is.”

“Okay,” Clarisse whispered.

“If you tell a lie, the poison will seep faster into you and most possibly kill you. You have to be honest to me when I ask you this question, it is the only way you can live.”

There were no other options now. Clarisse could do nothing but nod. She had nothing to hide. If anything, this was only going to open up the wounds Lord Vincent had done his possible best to cover up. She appreciated it. She needed all that pent-up rage if she was going to survive this.

“Were you born a slave?” He asked.

“I was sold to the farm for gold before I was even born. A lord caught his fun with my mother and threw her to slavers the moment she fell pregnant.” Clarisse answered with gritted teeth. The image of her mother was vivid in her mind. The tears that cascaded down the woman’s face as she pushed her to the safety of the river were clear as day. Real. Too real.

“Why are you here?” The man pressed.

“Revenge!” Clarisse shrieked, getting the attention of everyone.

“On who?”

“My father! The king! And anyone who dares to prevent me from making it happen.”

A smile crawled up to Malachi’s lips as he asked the last question. “And what is your name?”

Clarisse’s eyes knitted shut as hot tears momentarily blinded her. Memories of the good Reuben Williamson and his cherry wife came to mind. Clarisse remembered watching them get gutted for not returning a child to a life of suffering while she rode to safety. Clarisse never knew what became of their young child who grew up with his aunt. He would probably want the same thing she wanted if he was not already branded a traitor of his kingdom and murdered. She still lived though. So she had to carry that legacy. Her body seared hot from the venom that coursed through her veins and threatened to burn her alive if she dared uttered a lie. The fabric of her being and soul knew this was everything but a lie. She was a Williamson. She would always be a Williamson. Clutching unto the dagger that remained hidden in her undergarment, Clarisse proceeded to speak.

“My name is Clarisse. Clarisse Williamson!” The poisoned girl exploded right before the taint of life that remained was snatched from her and a world of darkness engulfed her whole.