The Secrets Untold

Prologue

Jenya suppressed a scream as the Parasensor soldiers - cregians, they called them - thrust her back into the filthy, claustrophobic cell she had yet to get used to. Over the past month, she had been threatened and exploited into insanity: forced to see things she didn't want to see, hear things she didn't want to hear, taste things she didn't want to taste. They used her own power against her. But she would not give them what they wanted. Even if it meant living in the same cramped cell for the rest of her life, she would not tell them. If they knew the information Jenya was keeping from them, it would surely mean destruction for, at the very least, Jenya's home country -- and everyone living in it.

The cregians laughed and spat on her as they passed, and Jenya attempted to avoid it by inching to the farthest corner. It was difficult, as her hands were locked in metal spheres, preventing her from doing anything with them at all. By now they'd be pale, frail, skeletal claws, lost of all strength and mobility. It devastated her to think the source of all her power could be so debilitated in such a way.

Jenya had been locked up for less than a month, but it had felt like an eternity. She was miserable. She focused only on surviving the day, knowing that when the day was over, she'd focus on surviving the next. It was a tactic she'd begun to use, a way to keep her mind from running too far ahead.

After hours of painful attempts at sleep, she was yet again yanked from her cell. The cregian hauled her down a stone hallway like she was a useless sack doll; they would do everything but kill her. Which is worse than death, Jenya thought. The soldier shoved her into a pitch black, piercing cold room and didn't bother to chain her to the wall. She no longer writhed and restrained and screeched in the chains like she had the first few weeks she was imprisoned.

A man strode in, obviously of more importance than the cregions and typical soldiers that passed her cell everyday. His uniform was clean-cut and noticeably cared for, the medals pinned to it shining with pride against the blue fabric. Jenya had learned of these soldiers during her time at the prison -- they were called wravens, and though they weren't Parasensors, they were known to be merciless and unforgiving, and somehow more frightening. The thought sent a chill down Jenya's spine.

The wraven set the lantern he was holding down on a stone ledge on the wall. The candle flame lit up the room, the light bouncing off the cracked, stone enclosure. The blaze warmed Jenya slightly, giving her the tiniest big of hope, reminding her of home, of sitting around the fire with people she loved while they laughed and talked of stories they'd heard a thousand times.

Then her eyes shifted to the wraven's face, an evil smile sculpted onto his iron-like skin, and the memory melted from her body like the rain washing away a child's pictures drawn on stone. Despite the warm, yellow glow emitting from the lantern, it seemed his skin was permanently gray and frigid, a living, emotionless statue.

The wraven focused his attention on Jenya, staring at her with his dark, devilish half-smile. A feeling of dread churned in Jenya's gut. The expression mocked her like a predator teasing with its prey.

"You're a compelling woman, you know," the wraven rasped, his voice cutting the air like a knife slitting a throat. "Most men, let alone women, give in at this point." The wraven examined Jenya's face, scrutinizing for a flinch, a cower, anything. Jenya, with no intention to satisfy him, kept her expression deadpan. Though she knew exactly what he was referring to, with the blurred vision and the dubious taste buds to prove it.

The wraven's eyes narrowed. "What do you intend to do, endure it all until we suddenly decide release you?" He bent down to Jenya's level, maliciously leering into her eyes. "Then I've got news for you. It. Won't Stop," he taunted, spit flying from his mouth with each syllable, pausing slightly in between words for effect.

The wraven stood back up, raising his hand, and abruptly struck her face. Jenya let out a cry and collapsed, hugging her cheek with the soothing, cool sphere confining her hand. She remained on the ground, unable to support her delicate body.

The wraven crouched down again and wrenched her up by her upper arm. His face so close to Jenya's that she could smell his filthy breath. "Are you foolish? Things will only get worse for you. Who do you think we are?" He thrust her to the stone floor without warning, forcing her to tumble hard on her side. This time she tried to sit up, but her head spun and her arms trembled so bad they couldn't bear any weight.

The wraven rotated so that he was facing the wall with his back to Jenya. "I will ask you once more, before I sentence you to a conviction that will make the rest of your life extremely difficult." He paused for a moment, letting the phrase sink in, then asked, "What information will shatter Amitya's royal family and your homeland?"

Jenya glared at the wraven with determined eyes, a new fire of rage engulfing her from head to toe. "Lifelong punishments don't scare me," she spat with surprising vibrancy. She knew that they wouldn't dare kill her -- not without taking advantage of her first.

The wraven, void of any reaction to the words Jenya responded with, slowly circled back around to face her. "Then you will be forced to serve us for the rest of you life, no matter how weak or sick you are, no matter how close to death you feel. With your powers, the country of Amitya will not survive anyway." He marched straight out the door, leaving her with a sickening feeling about what, exactly, it meant to serve the people she'd been frightened of her entire life.