Innocence Bound: A Tale in Tribute

Three years before, four years since Her condemnment to Ballacreous and near Her Eighteenth birthday, there was a cave-in at the end of a new Mineshaft, trapping August and the other seasoned slaves in one of the deepest pits of the Mine. She was lucky in the fact that she had been forced to take a cart to the pile when the cave in happened. As soon as She heard the rumble of stone and the murmuring of the Earth, she dashed back as fast as her bound flesh would allow. A solid wall of rock and dust meet her as she entered the passage in which they had been working. There was a deathly silence in the blocked tunnel, not a sound could be heard besides Her sharp and laboured breathing. As Her Heart and breath stilled, another sound, as soft as the quietest sigh, filtered through the stone.
A song.
August’s song!
With a fury and fever She believed not her own, She flew at the rock and began to tear at the loose wall with her bare hands, throwing earth and stone behind her as she dug forward, towards the flickering sound of song. She tried Her hardest to reach him but, by the time She had dug through the rock and stone with Her hands, August’s life had all but withered away. Her fingers were torn and the skin shredded well-nigh to the bone, though She had no care or concern for such things, as Her broken appendages traced Her Master’s shattered features. Loosing a wrenching cry from Her young, torn breast.
“Remember. . .” he wheezed, the blood spilling down his chin. “Remember all that I taught you. Be strong and be True. Will you do that?”
“Yes,” She sobbed. “I will do that.”
“Now, do me one last thing, Child,” he said, as he brushed his giant hand against her cheeks, stained with blood, dirt and tears.
“Anything, Master,” She sobbed.
“Sing for me,” he said. “Sing me my song. The Song Of The Dead.”
At his words, She let loose unearthly sob, but held Herself and began to utter the Song that enveloped and given strength to Her life for the past four years. She sang it as he would have, as he did teach Her. Every note and every pitch. In the unyielding dark of that Deep Earth, Her song resounded and he felt his very last.
And with that promise kept, he smiled his last and let his hand slip from off Her face.
There was no burial or memorial for him or the other’s who lost their lives. The Overseers merely sealed the tunnel and marked the lost of production as the only price to pay with their passing.
And thus, She was alone in the World again.
The other workers all saw Her as the Heir to August and treated Her with the same cautious respected that they had given him but She would not be consoled by such things and threw Herself into the brutality of Her existence. She began to fight more often and more violently. Not even Aegine’s broken words could reach Her, but the Iron Woman’s body was now ravaged by ages and the burdens of Ballacreous, losing Aegine the prestige and glory that she once possessed. She fought so often that She gained the attention of some Overseers who saw profit in Her violence and placed Her to battle other workers and slaves in their own private Arena. Of course, She won ever match She was in and gained much notoriety about the Senatorial Lands, as the Arena’s reputation grew amongst those amongst the Elite who sought thrills of life. Nobles from over all the Senatory Realms would come to see the battle and She was a major attraction and cash crop. She had also come under the attentions of the Matriss Acheron, who desired Her for her own combative stable and the distinction of owning such a fighter.
And so She was freed from the prison of Ballacreous without any sense of release or redemption but with the subtle exchange of coins and hushed contracts. She rode for days, locked within a small steel cage, under the constant watch of a man wearing what She knew to be a Slavers’ Mask -fashioned in the shape of a bird to mark which guild he did belong to. She had seen many of them whenever She did venture out of the Mines. The Livies had expanded so much in their scopes and ambitions that they know required fresh works and this meant a consistent flow of Slavers’ into Ballacreous peddling their wares. Though She did note that this Slaver was very much unlike the others She had seen, in the fact that the eyes of the mask were sealed with the same fixings as formed The Miners’ Eyes, hiding away his orbs from Her. He was also small and wiry, very much befitting the bird-like qualities of his mask. He spoke little to Her or the Warders -the Matriss’ own Soldiers- who crowded the edge of the wagon, or even to the Driver, who also wore the Bird Mask of The Slavers’ Guild, though he did tend fairly to Her. Ensuring that She was always with water or nourishment and could relieve Herself of their burden freely. He was always at Her side and this made Her feel most uncomfortable indeed.
The days under his ceaseless and hidden gaze seemed unending, until they reached the City of Acheron, which would become her new Prison, and into the House of the Matriss. She was commanded into the Matriss’ chamber, a luxurious apartment filled with all forms of extravagance and lined with a flowing watercourse. She had never seen such excess in all her life.
The Matriss herself lounge on a long single person couch in the centre of the room. She was casually inspecting a bunch of grapes as She was brought before her. She noted that the Matriss always seemed to have an expression of child like wonderment whenever she inspected anything. Only the objects she examined existed in her World, until something of more interest filtered through her senses.
And, right now, She was of far more interest.
The Matriss cast the grapes over her shoulder as soon as she saw Her and flipped her legs over the edge of her couch, righting her body. She drew her Green Shawl, the outward symbol of her religion, tighter over her pale, supple shoulders and flicked a side of her ravened hair back with her thin fingers.
She then noticed that two striplings that were at her feet, who sat up when The Matriss moved to stand. A boy and girl of close appearance -definitely brother and sister and most likely twins as well. She had seen a few twin-born during Her captivity and easily recognised the similarities in their Frontier Sand coloured hair and eyes. They were dressed in identical green toga and had thick collars encasing their delicate, avian necks. Theses two were fashioned to be the same and interchangeable. Forever made to be androgynous children. Upon their thin faces they had the expression of lazy, insolent pets as they gazed upon Her, fawning over their Matriss’ dainty ankles. She despised them both immediately and hoped that their’s was not to be Her Fate.
She cared not for the appearance of the others in the room, for She knew none had Her Father’s eyes or Her Mother’s grace.
Again, she was alone.
“So, this is the Fighting Girl from Ballacreous?” The Matriss asked, as she stood with a swaying of thin her hips, brushing aside her Little Pets.
“Indeed, my Matriss,” the Slaver answered, in obsequious tones. “Just as you requested.”
“Thank you, Slaver,” The Matriss said, noticing the little man for the first time, she had the expression that she had found him attached to the bottom of her slippers. “You have done well in serving my will. Your reward awaits you by the gates. You may take your leave of me now.”
“Thank you, my Matriss,” he said, with a low bow, scraping his wide brim hat on the marble floor. “May the Gods of Trade keep fair watch over you.”
He made a little sign with his hand and The Matriss dismissed him with a sharp hiss and flick of her hand.
Then she turned her attentions back on Her and said: “Bring the girl hither!”
She was pushed closer towards The Matriss and then knocked to Her knees, so that She was kowtowed before her. She was forced to look up and acknowledge Her new position, though it felt very similar to the one she had left behind in Ballacreous. She noticed that The Matriss was surprisingly tall, for a woman. Her limbs were long and lithesome but She could feel, within Her Warrior’s Heart, that they were edged with might. Her skin was also white; a clean white that She had never seen before in her entire life. A pristine pale that could not exist in the Deserts of the Frontier Lands or the filthy mines of her former prison home. She also noted that The Matriss’ eyes were uncommonly large and a sparkling green -as if they were polished gems.
“What is your name, Child?” The Matriss asked, in a softly commanding voice.
She did not answer. She merely stared down at The Matriss’ Pets, as they crawled towards her, rattling their chains to hide their sniggering.
She was then struck on the back by the blunt end of a rod, contorting her thick flesh with it’s sudden brutality. This only made The Pets snigger even more, as they hide their jackal faces behind their Matriss’ thin legs.
“Answer your Matriss when She speaks to you, Purshuela!” growled a harsh and violent voice from Her side. He spat the ancient word for slave, ‘Purshuela’, from his lipless mouth as if it were the bitterest poison.
She stared up into to the cruel and carved face of a Matrissial Soldier, lined by many years and many battles. He was missing right eye, its absence was marked by a small square of cloth.  On his golden wristbands were the markings of a Duxia -the chief of guards. He wore a pristine white toga and around his stout neck was an token that She despised above all others. It was a pair of golden hands, cupped together, clutching a golden sphere within their hollowed palms. It was the symbol of the Children of the Living God and it represented everything that she loathed and resented in all Existence. He was a Livie and forever Her enemy, no matter what transpired here and now, She vowed that She would always hate him and She would vex his very existence until the very End of Days.
“Speak, Dog!” he screamed , striking Her again.
She took his blow as August had taught Her to and then She gave this Cultist a look of all the purest malice that She could muster, but She did not give him the pleasure of a reply.
“Halt, Cerryis!” The Matriss ordered, in that soft, supply voice of her. “Has it occurred to your idle mind that maybe she does not have a name or even possess the powers of speech as we do? Hhmmm?”
The Livie, Cerryis, straightened himself in regimental fashion and made his flesh a statue.
“I thought not,” The Matriss said, with an impatient sigh.
Cerryis held his Soldiery stance and tried to give as little as himself away, but She could see that he, deep down, despised taking orders from The Matriss but was unwilling to incur what may be her considerable wrath.
“As for you,” The Matriss said, turning her attentions back to Her. “We shall find a name for you in due time, though for now: unbind her!”
Cerryis and another Matrissial Soldier moved to remove Her yoke and manacles, but She fought as best She could against such actions. Lashing out with Her bound wrists at anyone who would dare approach Her. Cerryis attempted to strike Her again with the butt of his rod, but She entangled its shaft within Her chains and wrested it from his thick hands. He raised his arm into the air, as if to knock Her about Her head, when The Matriss stepped in and struck him first. Slapping him hard across his carven features, raising little giggles from the mouths of her Little Pets.
“How dare you bring violence within these walls!” she shrieked, all harmony lost from her voice. “Her life is worth more than your’s at this moment of Existence and shall be worth far more hence. If you ever lay but a hand upon her, Cerryis, your mortality is forfeit and your ragged remains shall be cast before The Dogs and Beggars ere it become but Dust!”
Cerryis had a look of murder in his small, crystalline eye though he did check his temper and yield to The Matriss’ impressive will. He stepped back and took what appeared to be his ritual position by the wall, between The Matriss and the entrance.
“Cala! Craemyn!” she ordered, causing her Pets to cast aside their chains and stand.
They were both tiny, barely raising up to the height of The Matriss’ shoulders, and their limbs were so scrawny that She was sure that She could easily crush them, if She had to, with but two fingers. Though Her inner sense, honed by so many years of being binded by Darkness and Danger, warned Her against such action and to be wary of these two creatures -Cala and Craemyn- even though She did not know which was which or if it even matter so.
“Take her to the Balneumys,” The Matriss ordered, casually stroking the hair of the girl and caressing the shoulder of the boy. “I shall be along presently.”
And so, She was led through corridor after corridor by the Twins, Cala and Craemyn. Her blue eyes filled with a restrained awe as they looked upon sights that She never would dare dream into existence.
It was clean.
Everything was clean!
Cleanliness unlike any She had ever witnessed in her relatively short life.
And the colours!
Colours that She could not give name to -so many shades and patterns- flittered past Her vision and filled Her with a new and strange sensation. Some would call it a ‘Sense of Wonder’, though She would not, for She did not have such words or luxuries within Her direct and pragmatical mind. Though still, She looked and bore witness to sights and extravagance the likes of which boggled Her much restrained Soul, until She was brought into a room which did loose a gasp from Her tight and stubborn throat.
A pool of water, so vast that it seemed to engulf the entirety of the room’s sunken floor and lapped wantonly at it’s pristine edges. She never knew so much water existed in the entire World, let alone in a single place. Not even when Aegine’s Sky Goddess did weep could it even match the sheer volume of this Pool. To Her, it was the purest forms of extravagance and excess combined within a single form. It was all symbolised by a vast column of water was cast into the air from out the upturned mouth of a creature that She could neither name nor fathom; it’s long scaled wrapped tightly around the white stone pillar raising from out the very centre of the Pool. It was scaled not unlike a snake but it’s shape was far from reptilian. It had a small fan attached underneath what She guessed was it’s head and She hazard to hypotheses that it would have another matching fan on it’s far side. It’s eyes were round and bulging and gazed toward the distant domed ceiling but it appeared as though were focused on a thing tangible yet Divine and distant.
Such a foreign and fantastic sight stirred something long dormant within Her and ushered the sound, the breath of word, “Amazing!” from the depth of Her very being. The first noise She had utter since the death of her Master, August, some months previous.
“So,” came the soft voice of The Matriss from behind her. “You do have a tongue within that pretty head of your’s. It shall be interesting to hear it speak your life and existence to me later.”
She did not reply. She merely hung Her head, as She was taught to avoid an Overseers gaze. The Matriss observed this, though she made no comment upon it. She merely took Her avoidance as submission and smiled upon Her. Wicked thoughts and schemes playing their way behind her eyes.
“Strip,” The Matriss ordered.
She gave The Matriss a questioning look and expected to be beaten for it, for She testing Her limits with this strange and seemingly powerful, woman. Though She was not struck for such insolence. The Matriss merely smiled at Her and, with a raised eyebrow, said: “You are to be cleansed of the filth of your former home, Ballacreous, and made fit for living within my Palace. To do so, you must first shed your habiliment and wash your flesh within these waters.”
In commandment, She dropped Her head and unbound the thick robes in which She was encased since She was dragged out of the Mines and thrown upon the prison-cart which brought Her to The City of Acheron and this wondrous water-filled room. The dust of long miles fell from Her flesh as she untethered the robe’s thick cords, forming repugnant clouds within the air before dissipating as if they were banished ghosts. The Twins both made the same disgusted expression but The Matriss merely stared at Her as if She was the most fascinating creature in all of existence. Her giant green eyes seemed to lull over the solid curve and cut of Her neck and shoulders as She peeled the stick cloth from Her muscled flesh. The Matriss’ assembled guards, and even the Twin, Cala and Craemyn, gave a communal gasp as She fully disrobed and revealed Her toned and taut body. She stood there in the Balneumys as if She were one of the statues on the walls had come to life. She appeared to those who stared up Her naked and filthy flesh as she had been carved from stone and not born of skin. She was still relatively slender though every curve and corner of Her body was clustered with corded muscle, forged and formed from so many years of slavish labours in conditions designed to break you -mind, body, Soul.
She had never been conscious or even self-conscious of Her body. To Her, such muscles were and had always been normal and nakedness was nothing to be ashamed of, having been forced to bath communally for so many years. She knew that She was more muscular than many of the other Miners at Ballacreous and no woman She had ever known could match Her size or definition, but She had no clue as to how different She truly was when compared with the pampered and lazy people of the Inner Territories and especially within the Senatorial Houses. She was even larger, in terms of pure muscle and strength, than Cerryis, whom appeared to be the largest of The Matrissial Guards. She could feel all of their gazes, stained with awe and wonderment if not some lust and desire, and, despite Her own pride and conviction, raised Her manacled arms to cover Her shame. She was simply glad that Her back and it’s scornful markings were shown only to the Column Statue behind and that no others, especially the Livie Guard, Cerryis, could see them.
At this odd and marked behaviour, The Matriss gave a opprobrious laugh and scoffed the words: “Still so innocent?! What amusement you do bring.”
The Matriss’ giant eyes slowly dallied over ever ridge and rise of Her flesh, until they fall upon Her yoke collar and the binds upon her wrists.
“Remove them,” she ordered, as she raised her head with a flickering of her ravened hair.
She did not compile, She merely drew her chains closer to her bare flesh. Wrapping them around her thick forearms and drawing it hard against her taut and ridged belly. She knew this was the purest act of defiance She could make in such a situation, but there was no way She would allow Herself to become part of this decadent world and be stripped of the last things She knew here truly Her’s.
Her bonds -physical and metephysical- to Her anechoic Master, August, and the lessons that She had been taught deep under Earth.
The Matriss stared down into Her azure eyes and it was at this moment She realised how tall and powerful The Matriss truly was. She could feel the will of this woman blasting through Her Soul as if it were Fires of the Earth itself welling up within the Mines of Ballacreous. She forced Herself to resist this power with all Her essence, even though it did feel as if Her very spirit was in torment. She held Herself fast against The Matriss and, in the end, it was The Matriss who did first look away and say: “Have it your way, Child. Forever remained bound if you so privatied.”
The Twins laugh at this and the girl-twin said: “Forever bound!”, with her brother mocking the words: “Forever innocent!”, both they both echoed: “Forever Innocent! Forever Bound!”.
At the baying of her Pets, The Matriss smiled and muttered: “And that is what she shall be”.
She wondered what The Matriss had meant by this enigmatic quip, but before She could ponder it further, The Matriss clapped her hands together and called: “Handmaidens! Attend me!”.
She was shocked to see a dozen young girls step from out hidden cloisters, behind the many columns and pillars that this room did have. They looked nearly identical, but out of fashioning rather than out of birth or blood. They were all of the same smallish stature, hair ravened and cut in form of The Matriss’ own and all adorned in white muslin dresses, fastened to their tiny waists by golden cords. They all curtsied to their Matriss and asked, as if with one voice: “What be thy command, dear Matriss?”
“Fetch me bathing salts and aromatic oils,” she enjoined, her voice raised with authority. “As well as the Auransha silk. We must make our latest acquisition look beautiful, do we not?”
The identical Handmaidens all curtsied again and took their leave, flittering as if they were tiny white butterflies rather than girls. She was surprised at how fast they had returned, all carrying what they were charged to fetch: baskets of course grainy crystals and bottled of oils -both pale and dark.
“Into the water,” The Matriss ordered Her, as she unfastened a purple cord around her long and slender throat.
She knew it would be fundamental suicide if She disobeyed The Matriss’ commands any further, so She stepped backwards, placing Her small foot onto the raised edge of the Pool. Holding a mental picture of what the room looked like as She had seen it when She had first entered, She trod reverse-wise into the water. It felt tepid around Her dainty ankles but it still felt better than the Bathing Chamber back at Ballacreous – already was She grateful for Her removal from that Nightmarish place. When She felt the water about her slender waist, She pushed back off Her feet until She felt solid flesh crash against the Column in the centre of the Pool. She was very much thankful that August had the good mind to teach her the most basics of the art of swimming in the small but deep pools at the depths of the Mines, for had he not, She felt that She would be at the utter mercies of her new captors.
She hide within the spray that the Fountain Creature spewed forth and stared at the water that gulfed Her and the others in the Balneumys -The Matriss, her Twin Pets, Guards and Handmaidens.
The crystalline water had become polluted in Her wake. Transforming from the clearest clean to a mottled grey and brown as all the filthy that was Ballacreous peeled from off Her flesh by the freshness of the Pool. She marvelled as Her skin went from dark brown to a soft pinkish-white as entire clods of dirt and grime peeled off Her body. She thanked the all Goddess that Her chains and binds were fashioned to be proofed against rust and water, as She held Her small hands under the water and rubbed her coarse palms together. Amazed at the texture of Her own skin.
In Her wonderment, She did not hear another body enter the Pool and was shocked when a soft pair of hands reached through the water and stroked Her thick shoulders. She spun around to see The Matriss before Her, naked except for her Green Shawl, that was drawn tightly across her back. In this moment, She realised how truly tall The Matriss was, as the top of Her head barely reached the nape of her slender, avian neck, as she was forced to stared into her small yet proud breasts. She also realised how long The Matriss’ reach was, as She felt her outstretched arm brush back her bemired hair. She was no stranger to the desire of others or the consequences of when such desires are enacted -no matter the gender or natural orientation of the enacter. She fought the instinct to draw Herself back into the stream of the Fountain and fight back against The Matriss in this aqua-environment, but She could not sense any sense of lust or desire with her actions and thus acquiesced to The Matriss will.
“Turn around, Child,” The Matriss commanded softly.
Afeared, She did comply, even though She knew would expose Her long guarded secret. She knew that She was now within The Matriss’ power and must give into Her commands whenever it meant travelling the easier path of least noticeable resistance, as was the way Aegine and August had taught her. In this moment, Her life was forfeit to Fate, as it had been so many years before, in that horrid Frontier Town.
Though the screams of horror and hysteria did not come as She had anticipated. The Matriss, for her part, merely looked at Her winged markings as if they were curious pieces of art and brushed her slender fingers down her back without so much as a murmur.
It was the Livie Soldier, Cerryis, that was brought to motion.
As he screamed out a phrase that She knew to be sacred Livie cursed and She knew why it was uttered. It was the very same one that had been laden upon Her five years previous -the word: ‘Evasor’. He screamed this as well as a torrent of other obscenities that were cast upon Her brutalised flesh when She was still trapped within the confines of Ballacreous, though none there ever discovered Her identity of this so-called Evasor. But She could see that Cerryis was both infuriated and terrified by this revelation, as he reached for his short sickle-shaped blade and prepared to dive into the Pool in order to finish the deed begun five years previous by the Zelta,  Hectorus.
’Twas the Matriss whom saved Her though, as she placed her slender body before Her’s and gave a wrathful cry: “Cerryis Albieta Seuvestris! Have you taken leave of your faulted senses?! Have you forgotten the Cardinal Commandment of The House Of Acheron?! Thou must not harm the property of The House less your own existence be forfeit and life be given to The House as payment for the damage and insult done?!”
This seemed to stay Cerryis’ gnarled hand, as he stepped back and sheathed his blade once again.
“She is my property, dear Cerryis, do not forget that fact.” The Matriss continued, as she waded over to the Pool’s pristine edge. “And if any -and I do mean any- harm befalls her whilst she is without the Arena, it shall be visited upon your head, Duxia. No matter the cause or effect, you shall be made to pay for it as the Law of The Acheron and The Senate sets forth.”
She held out her long, lithesome arms, prompting her Twin Pets to hoist her from out the water and drape a robe across her supple frame. She gave Cerryis a look as murderous as his own and continued: “I have tolerated your pathetic religious practises within my House only because your Patron, Senator Incgarisaye, himself gave you to me as a reward for your service in so many battles for your Order. And even though your little Cult may have found acceptance within the Pantheon, it shall have none within this House. So make your little ceremonies and follow your wretched superstitions whilst you can, for your Cult shall go the Way of all others and fall out of favour with the Senatory wives and minor Houses vying for power. So remember, whilst you serve me -for whatever reasons- The House Of Acheron and Its Matriss come first and your religion comes former. Is that understood, Duxia?”
Grudgingly, Cerryis bowed to her and her iron will, though She could see the sanguinary gaze that he held in his small surviving eye. She had seen that expression far too many times not to know its meaning. He wished The Matriss’ demise more than even he desired Her own, though he was held in check by Law and Protocol, he still gave his wants free reign upon his twisted face.
Either The Matriss did not notice them or merely ignored them, for she gave him her sweet smile and said: “As long as that is understood.”
Then she yawned and said: “All this now bores me. I shall retire to my Chambers for the evening. Please ensure that my latest acquisition is clean, fed and housed properly for the night. For she has a big debut to attend tomorrow.”
And with that, The Matriss smiled at Her and took her leave. Two handmaidens climbed into the Pool and continued to clean Her. She was a little wary of such an activity and attention but was thankful that they still remained clothed as they attended Her. They were so thorough in their cleaning that She thought that they were going to scrub Her skin clean from off her bones. They also worked their tiny fingers so deeply into Her sordid hair that She was afeared they were attempting to tear it all out by its roots and She wished to brake their thin, fragile necks as She watched the blackened water drip from Her fringe -thinking it was Her own blood. They massage oils and potions into Her skin and scalp, to help cleanse them further, dissolving all the dirt, filth and grime of Ballacreous from Her body so it was as though She had never been there and the past four years had been but a horrible nightmare.

All she remembered after the endless black was running.
Running down a long, dark tunnel.
Following the lead of Ulva and another, who constantly yelled commands back at her.
She knew that voice, even through the haze of her fragile mind she could recognise those dulcet tones.
Blessed Draco!
Thought why, she did wonder, would he risk his rank and position to aid her? Surely such an act meant Death for him and his entire family, not to mention his beloved Handmaiden and all who had and do surround him, such being the harsh nature of the Omperium Law.
Then she felt the chill maw of Panic grip her Heart.
What if Draco was leading them into a trap or, worst yet, they had already been captured.
A tight squeezing upon her hand was enough to allay her Heart.
For she knew by the length of the finger and the strength of the grasp that it was Ulva whom held her and did lead her to safety.
It had taken time but Catena’s Mine Eyes did return to her and all the World did fall back into its rightful place. Order was restored and her Mind stilled amidst the flight.
She guessed that they were deep within the ancient catacombs which ran beneath the Palace and indeed the entire City of Acheron, as they were described to her by The Matriss during their sessions of study. Though how far through them she did not know, for she knew them to vast -vaster than the City itself, as it was part of it’s ancient foundations as well as its sewer and drainage system. She knew from memory that the majority of the tunnels did lead to the great River Jl’Summa, upon which the Palace of the Acheron was built which was connected to the Arena on it’s bank by series of stone bridges and skyways. She knew that their flight did lead them away from The Jl’Summa but in which direction they did flee she knew not. Though she trusted Ulva and Draco with all her being, for they must have a plan. If they did not, it would be the Goddess of Fate whom would decide the outcome of this faulted gambit.
After what seem an ageless time within the labyrinth, Catena did spy an end to the tunnels and the distant dimness of a night filled world. They made a final sprint towards this exit but, alas, there was a trap set. As it was found to late as a gauntleted hand did crash upon Draco’s fair face and send him reeling into stone.
From out the shadows did step the Soldier Cerryis, no longer clad in the robes of a Matrissial Guard but in the full regalia of a Warrior of the Army of the Living God. A long pristine dress-shirt over thick iron armour -created and fashioned in Ballacreous no doubt with the rest of its kind- and legging of metal wrapped tight with bands of leather. A belt of leather and gold was strapped to his waist and from it hung many trophies of battle -the lesser of which were the hand bones and skulls of young children.  In his ironclad hands he did hold a Savient Blade, the weapon of choice for Cultist Soldiery, with it’s blade almost as long as child was tall and balanced well enough to cleave a man in twain with a single stroke. He had never appeared more animated to Catena as he did now -as if he was Wrath incarnate. A pure personification of all the Fury the Living God could loose upon the world. And now he stood ready to strike.
“I knew that you maggots would escape here,” he spat, as he swung his sword loosely around himself. “You would not dare head near the River and would instead try to escape towards the Forest Villages, where the Living God has little hold and thus escape into the crowd. Well, you were wrong in your choice and left far to many clues, dear Draco, of you plan. It shall cost you not only your life but the life of all, even of that of your beloved slut of a matriss! Such are the laws of our Land and Order!”
From his sprawled position, Draco managed to launch himself at Cerryis, screening the ancient battle cry: “Acheron!”. Again, Cerryis swung his gauntleted fist and struck Draco down a second time, flinging him into a clump of dead bushes, unconscious but alive.
Cerryis moved back to his fighting stance and pointed his metal finger straight at Catena.
“Now you shall dies, Beast!” he screamed, with the lunacy of a zealot. “And forever lift the curse of The Evasor from out this World!”
Ulva placed himself between him and Catena but this only caused the old Soldier to laugh and say: “Step aside, Slave, and I may return you to your most valued Master. Though first my blood has lust for the Evasor Flesh and it must be quenched.”
He brought the Savient Blade up above his head, Ulva stepped forward but Catena pushed him out of the way of the arcing weapon and readied herself to destroy this most loathed of enemies. Not merely for what he was but all he had done and all the lives he had taken in service of his so-called Living God. A deep rage burned within at this thought. For all Catena knew or reckoned, it could have been Cerryis whom did slew her beloved Ebon Knight at the Battle of Ethonore and threw his bones upon their fires.
She moved into the classic stance of the  Pa’wrathe’sa and waited his attack. Savient and steel or not. His Soul would be her’s to claim.
Though such was not to be.
As Catena watched in disbelief as a figure, clad a cloak of gossamer grey, lifted Cerryis by his belt up over their head and drove him into the ground with such force that his armour did bent and his sword did break upon the ruinous stone that lay scattered about. With a wrathful scream, Cerryis tore his battered chestplate from off his form and flung himself at his gossamer grey enemy.
He swung the remains of the shattered blade at their head, but they aptly dodged and drove their knee deep into his stomach. Hitting him with such force that he flipped over his opponents leg and crash once more to the unforgiving Earth. His broken sword was sent sailing from his hand and Catena swore that she heard the breaking of his arms as it hit a jaggered stone Again, he did raise himself and tried to best his enemy with his good arm, but it was swiftly seized and snapped in a most brutal fashion. Despite the pain which he felt, he struggled on and swung a broken at the gossamer figure’s throat. They merely caught his arm again and hoisted him up, once again, into the air and drove his back fiercely into the ground. He impacted with a sickening crunch and was swiftly and unceremoniously kicked away. He landed with a nauseating thud, thick blood pouring with his torn face and skull.
Catena stood stock still, her body poised for attack but unable to move because of the confusion. Carefully she did watch the situation, though one thing did draw her eye more than others. This Gossamer Figure fought in the most brutal form of Pa’wrathe’sa, using the maiming and killing aspects of the style to complete destroy and to dominate the once might Cerryis.
The Gossamer Figure moved towards him as he lay deathly still but Cerryis was a zealous and determined warrior and had managed to grasp a shard of his sword between his broken and bloody teeth. He twisted his body and launched himself at his enemy, wrapping his fractured arms around the Gossamer form as tightly as his waning strength would allow. He pressed himself hard against them, trying desperately to drive the broken blade into their covered throat. In the fray, he succeeded in knocking their hood off and dropped his fragmented weapon as his mouth was forced into a sharp gasp.
Within his grasp was The Matriss, her beautiful face bathed in serene rage. Her giant green eyes were dead and cold as she drew a dagger from a hidden place and drove it hard into Cerryis’ thick neck.
“This is for what you did to my father and my Tribe,” she growled, as she did grasp her free hand upon his head and drive hard her silver dagger into his leathery flesh.
With a final twist came a sharp spurt of blood and what remained of Cerryis’ ample body collapsed onto the Earth, spasmming and squirming as the final throes of his wretched life ended. In one last fit of rage, The Matriss brought up her foot and crush the icon Cerryis wore around his neck until it was nothing but dust.
“I did tell you, Cerryis,” she muttered, as the last of her wrath did ebb away. “Long ago that if you ever lay but a hand upon her that your mortality would forfeit and your ragged remains shall be cast before The Dogs and Beggars ere it become but Dust!” she stooped and wiped the blood from her dagger on his pristine cloth, before uttering: “I always keep my word and all has come to Truth.”
She stood and turned to a stunned and near terrified Catena with the same vacant expression that bore her through her charmed life. The same soft smile upon her soft lips and the same glitter in her great green eyes. If it were not for the blood that speckled her face, Catena would have sworn she had merely strolled out of her Palace, as was her want, to venture upon the street of her City.
Without a word, she walked over to where Draco did lay and lifted him as if he were nothing. Groggily, he managed to stand on his own feet, despite the blood with wept profusely from the gash in his feminine check. She gave him a silvery cloth with which to hold the blood and stop the wound. His battered lips moved to speak but The Matriss hushed him and said: “You look better this way. You were far too pretty before. Now you can claim the qualities of a man that none of you kin can. Such a scar will also help impress that young lover of your and aid n bedding her more swiftly.”
To this, Draco blushed and bowed his head, before hobbling off into the distance, as if to fulfil a silent command.
The Matriss than strolled over to Ulva, as if this was the most normal thing in the World and hoisted him up upon his feet, her thin arm bracing his.
“Brother!” she said, as she embraced him roughly.
“Sweet sister,” he replied, as he gently kissed and nuzzled her cheek. “I dreamt that I would never see you again. Oh, glory be unto all The Goddess that your plan could come to such fruition.”
“Matriss!” Catena cried, as she was finally brought to motion. “He is your brother?! He has my Father’s Eyes! He cannot be of your blood.”
“Indeed he most definitely is, my beautiful Catena,” The Matriss said, as commandingly as ever. “We are all of the same blood.”
Without ado, The Matriss unfastened her gossamer cloak and unbound that Shawl which eternally clasp her slender shoulders.
What she saw upon that naked flesh sent a chill throughout her entire being.
It was the marks.
They were her Marks.
Two stains of black and red, fashioned in the shape of folded wings, did score The Matriss’ flawless flesh. They were near identical, as far a Catena could tell, to her own.
“They are called The Wings of The Goddess Avas,” The Matriss said, as she drew her cloak back up upon her Flesh. “And they do mark the females of our Tribe, as the Eyes of Yulse’Shiva do make out all the males.”
Catena quickly looked at Ulva’s eyes and than back at The Matriss.
“‘Our Tribe’?” she repeated, in a stunned voice.
“Yes, dear child, ‘Our’ Tribe,” The Matriss said, with much authority. “We are all of the same Tribe.”
“How?” Catena demanded, the confusion overwhelming her.
“The usual way,” The Matriss laughed. “I was not born into House Acheron or even the Branch Acheron. I was adopted into its fold as Heiress to the House, since the former Matriss had not child of her own. My dear brother here was adopted and encamped within another Noble House. It was afeared that both our presence within the one House would raise the anger and suspicion of the Rival Houses against them. ’Tis easy enough for a female of our Race to hide her birthright, though it is difficult for a man, much less a boy, to do the same. So it was arranged by our Father, who did serve the House Acheron and the Holy House of Ethonore, that upon his death, we would enter the service of the two.”
“How was he killed?” Catena asked, her voice wavering.
“Our Tribe was the first to stand against the then meagre forces of The Living God,” The Matriss said, matter of factly. “It was our Tribe, if Truth be told by the old stories, who did create this Living God. For he was just a man, mortal as the rest, with grand ambitions to rule The Omperium Realms with such force. He began in the Arid Lands -the native home of our Tribes- and was so crushed by our people, who rose up against his Army and smote them harshly. As punishment for his ambition, he was tied to a Great Wither Tree and torn apart by great hook of iron and left to die in the Desert Sun. Though Death would not claim him and he survived his punishment, for forty days bound to that Tree. After such a time he began to claim Divinity and thought of himself as a god living amongst men. So, he did gather followers unto him and claimed powers of the Gods did reside within his ruptured flesh -which was said to never have truly healed. His own mother did the Touch Divine and thus was set as an Icon for the Faith. Once the word of his Faith had spread, he sought to bring vengeance against those whom did vanquish before and set his Army to slaughter our people, no matter where they did hide or venture to. Our father was soldier in the Army who stood against the Living God and he was made to pay for it.”
“They killed him?” Catena did asked, as all the pieces of her tragic history did fall into place with The Matriss’ harrowing tale.
“No,” Ulva said, as he moved and embraced his sister. “He survived the fray but was wounded and captured. They sent him to Ballacreous -newly created- in hopes of dying after the punishment of Servitude.”
“Ballacreous?” Catena whispered, as the picture within her Mind began to take its final shape.
“Yes,” Ulva uttered. “You may know him, for he had a very ‘August’ name.”
Catena felt as though she was going to faint, as the completed image crashed deep within her mind.
“My Master,” she murmured, near tears. “Was your father?”
“Indeed,” The Matriss replied. “As far as the information we could gather, that is correct.”
“That is how you fathom both the style of Pa’wrathe’sa?” Catena cried. “You were taught by your father as he taught it to me?!”
“Yes,” The Matriss replied. “We were instructed in Pa’wrathe’sa since kinder’s year claimed our bodies. Such is the tradition of our Warrior Tribe.”
“What has this to do with I?” Catena demanded. “Why was punishment dealt to I singly sort?!”
“It was not,” The Matriss muttered, solemnly. “It was dealt to all our ilk. Though you were Fateful that they did not merely kill you upon discovery as they did so many others.”
“Am I not their ‘Evasor’?! She wailed, as the picture began to slip away from her.
“No,” The Matriss replied. “Our Tribes name is Avasaria -meaning Born of Avas, the Winged Goddess. In their tongue, we began ‘Evasora’ and singly we are ‘Evasor’. The Living God feared our retributions so fiercely that he told his followers that we were all Demons and Destroyers who must be extinguished from existence. For he was told a prophesy that one of our kine would be his true end and so he sought to remove us from this Mortal World before such a thing could come to fruition.”
Catena felt overwhelmed and she loosed a scream so guttural and bestial that it did rouse the birds from slumber.
Had all her suffering been for naught?
“All words to tear apart my Mind,” she wailed, as she clutched at her blonde hair. “My Soul is shattered and all the World doth spiral away from me!”
Again she screamed, fell to her knee and beat her hands upon the stone.
“You are right, sister sweet,” Ulva whispered into The Matriss’ delicate ear. “She has changed since I did last gaze upon her.”
Catena did raise her tear stained eyes and wanted to loose herself upon these two, to destroy them for all their confusing words.
“What mean you?” she said, angrily. “Never met have we been!”
“Oh, sweet child,” he muttered, as he squatted down before her and brush back her fringe. “How wrong you are.”
Catena was about to make a leap for him when she was stilled by a familiar cry.
“Matriss!” came the dual shout. “Matriss! Here we be! We be here!”
From out the gloom of the approaching dawn Catena could distinguish the familiar forms of The Matriss’ Pets, Cala and Craemyn, dashing towards them, whilst, a little way behind, stumbled Draco, leading a War Horse of purist white.
“We have them!” the Girl Pet cried, as they ran to their Matriss’ side.
“Them we have!” the Boy chimed, as he took his customary place, opposite his Twin.
“Most fine,” The Matriss congradulated. “Now hurry, before my brother catches his death.”
“Yes, Matriss,” they both replied, before she dashed off to the horse that Draco did lead.
They pulled a large box from off its sturdy back and both did carry it together and laid it at their Matriss’ feat.
“Thank you, Cala,” she said, as she kissed the Boy’s head. “Thank you, Craemyn,” as she kissed the Girl’s.
Catena watched as Ulva did stoop and open the box, drawing out of it a helm of ebon metal. Again, the picture returned to her mind and began to take itself shape once more.
“How?” she demanded, near tears. “Death claimed you at Ethonore?”
“Such was not to be,” Ulva said, as he knelt before her. “When the Cultist did first lay siege to the Holy Mountain of Ethonore, I was away, attempting in your salvation from The Zelta’s hands. By the time I had received news of the Battle, it was by far too late. The Cultist had set all of Ethonore to Flame -Flesh and Field- and there was nothing that could be done. I made haste to ensure your safety, fearing that you were slain in my absence or with they of Ethonore, if my orders had been fulfilled. Though on my way to your side, I was waylaid by brigands and sold into the Slave Pits of Hurshul’ka. I was forced to prove myself through combat and was sold to one Stable after the other, being quite prized for my skill in the Arena. Eventually, after many years, I found myself in the Stable of Prince Calablame of House Hyperion, where I chanced to meet my sister again and we were able to gather information and form our plans.”
“Hyperion was involved throughout?” Catena asked.
“Not as first,” Ulva replied.
“Than how?”
“Let us simple say,” The Matriss answered. “That Calablame is like so many others of his sex and easily given to promises and temptations.”
She then gave a knowing laugh but quickly continued: “That was two years ago. Before then, after my’s ascendancy to Matrisship over House Acheron, I heard rumours of our father’s survival and sought to discover the truth of it. It took many years but I managed to discover that he was kept within Ballacreous and, in order to obscure the fact of his blood, hide himself deep within the Earth and became the August of The Miner’s Eyes, in order to conceal what would so give him away.”
Catena’s eyes flickered over to Ulva’s and all began to make sense. If the Cultist saw his eyes, the more zealous members who have most certainly have slain him. So what greater disguise than to seal them and yourself away and live our your remaining days secluded from those who did wish you the most harm. Catena than did wonder if Aegine did know of this and that was why she was sent to August after her marks were discovered.
“Why not save him?” she asked.
“Because money and influence only work on men with scruples, dear Child,” The Matriss replied. “Not men of faith. And whilst he was within the Mines, he was untouchable by all. Though it was all too late by the time all this was known. For he was killed, as well you now.”
“Why give I salvation?”
“Because you are of our Tribe,” Ulva replied, as he began to assemble his armour upon himself. “And you could not be left in the clutches of our Blood Enemies.”
“Then why all which was?” Catena demanded.
“Because we had to keep the ruse in effect,” The Matriss said, quite plainly. “And an adopted, let alone a Avasaria, cannot inherit the Rule of a House without Senatorial approvement. ’Tis not only the Cultist whom do loath our kind. Many Tribe still fear and loath us for what occurred in early days of the Omperium and what our Tribe did do to others.”
“So all?” Catena muttered.
“Was mere coincidence,” The Matriss replied. “All plans made were made too late and thus no plans were made.”
“Than why escape?”
“Because it was getting to dangerous,” Ulva replied, as he began to dress himself within his old metal, with the aid of the Twins.
“Cerryis was indeed a spy for the Cultist,” The Matriss continued. “And he had informed the Inner Council of your existence and my sheltering of you. They did seek my overthrowment and in my stead, they were to tear down The House of Acheron and place a House of their own devising, ensuring the flow of power to their own Bastions and Strongholds and a greater stranglehold upon the Omperium.”
“Though such things are neither here nor there,” Ulva muttered, as he stood.
Catena gasped as she saw that he had once become the Ebon Knight whom had saved her so many years before. Gone was the gaunt and grungy fighter of fore, in his stead was the glorious hero Catena knew him to be. The man whom had put in motion all the things that make the now thus and the thus now.
“You should return to the Palace, sweet sister,” he said, as he fastened his gauntlets tight. “Before they grow suspicious of your long absence as well as the Fate of your Duxia.”
“You are most correct, dear brother,” The Matriss replied, as she drew up her hood. “Come, Draco. Come, Cala and Craemyn. Our time for parting is now, say your farewells, for ’tis not known whether we shall gaze upon them again or whether we shall be forever within their exalted company.”
The Twins both came up to Catena and gave her a joint, if gingery, embrace, both they together said: “Be well, Innocence, we shall miss you.”
And with those words, they disappeared into the Dawn gloom from whence they had come.
Draco limped over to Catena and wrapped her within a strong and brotherly embrace.
“Gratitude unto you,” was all Catena could utter, as he tearfully held her and then walked away.
Catena then turned to see The Matriss before her, in al her radiant glory.
“Be well, my dearest child,” she said, as she leant down and kissed her tender checks. “I do wish that all could have been under fairer stars, though do not grudge I for doing what had to be done. Know that you will always be loved by I, come what may.”
And thus, Ennocens Catena left the service of The Matriss Acheron without ceremony nor send off. Merely a kiss and a motherly touch.
For a moment, Catena and Ulva watched them all depart. Not knowing whether they shall be seen again or what the Fates may hold. All that was known was that there was now a void within them both and it would take a long time to fill.
Without warning, Ulva did seize Catena and uttered: “Sorry, but these must come off.”
Before she could gather her wits, Ulva had wrest the manacles from off her wrists and had unbound the yoke upon her neck.
They all fell to the ground with a hollow ‘clink’ and she stood there. Feeling strangely naked and unsure of what had transpired.
Then she felt relief, as her final bonds, within and without, had been released.
She could feel the tingle of her flesh in the Night’s air and new that it was her Flesh that she felt. That it was her Heart within her Chest and her Soul within her Being which both now stirred.
“They were a useless burden now,” Ulva said, as he strode towards the waiting horse and pulled off another pack. “And would have given us away if anyone had but seen them.”
“Yes,” Catena said, feeling as though she was waking from a long dream. “You speak all Truth.”
Ulva regarded her strangely for a moment, before he tossed the pack at her feet and said: “There are clothes and counterments within that should cover you,” he pointed to the pack he had thrown to her. “Best to hurry. We have much ground to cover before the Sun is to rise and even more to cover before Night is to cover the Realm. So, be swift, Catena, and let the Wind carry us safe.”
“Yuvasye,” She muttered, as if her voice were the breeze.
“Pardon?” Ulva said.
“‘Yuvasye’,” She repeated. “’Tis remembered. ’Twas what my Mother and Father called me. ‘Yuvasye’.”
“’Tis a beautiful name,” Ulva did tell her. “Though the same swiftness must be made no matter your marker.”
“Acceptance,” She said, with gracious eyes.
And then she smiled.
It was the first smile she had ever consciously known. It was as if she was feeling for the first time I her existence.
For she now had a true name and Those who were her own.
She was no longer alone and she was joyous.
Come what may, for, in this moment, she could truly feel.

END.

Many thank yous, dear Diablo-san. I's am pleased that you do enjoy this work so and that you have received an unfractured edition.
As for inspiration, that 'twas hard to come by because of interference of real life and other responsiblities. This work took over 3 months to complete and that was the preverbial throne in my's side.
'Twas the promise to Higalack, as well as his phenominal art, that kept my's inspiartion fresh. As well as the encouragement from my's daughter and partner. The pleasure of those whodo read it shall be further inspiration and encouragement for I to start new works, as well as finish old one.
So, to all whom have read and enjoyed, many thanks.
Peace
The Pimp NeonBlack