behind steel bars || killah & maia
Before Killah could say or do much of anything, the prisoner had collapsed on the floor, and Killah was left on the other side of the door looking at her small form. The Magician from Atiqra. The one who’d brought the temple down on Hay. She dug in her pocket for the scrap she’d written on earlier. Maia Anthousa Fortuin, Star Magician. Wow. Things not to let Bane find out if we want to keep her alive.
If.
Killah slowly reached for the lock on the door, and began spooling out fine amber threads. They flowed in, solidifying where they could push, and tumblers were one by one pushed into position. The lock opened, and she entered the cell. Killah sat on the edge of the bed, and just looked at the unconscious Magician. She could easily kill her, right here. The simplest vengeance, and once they knew that Maia had personally caused the death of one of their own, there might not even be severe charges…
But killing a defenseless person? Who was already being kept in a cage? Killah swallowed. She stood and went over to a food tray that was there, and found a water glass. There wasn’t much in it, but she threw it on the girl’s face anyway, nudging her with a foot—not terribly gently. She wasn’t a cold blooded murderer, but she wasn’t a saint either.
Maia felt the cold splash of water followed by what felt like a soft kick to her leg. Still dazed for a moment from her faint, she had a few moments of blissful ignorance till reality came charging in like an angry bull. Reflexively, Maia’s hands and feet scrambled her back and up onto her bed where she curled her knees into her chest and raised her arm out defensively. When no immediate blows came upon her, Maia un-clenched somewhat and lowered her arm. Then, like a folded paper bird she started to unravel further, lowering her knees, then her arm, till she was just sitting cross legged on the bed with both her hands held in her lap – the figure of a mediating ancestor. Her shoulders were still tense and she was still trembling somewhat, but she felt a natural grace about the situation – after all it was only fitting that after meeting a spirit of hope, a spirit of judgment would follow so quickly. “You have come to kill me.” Her voice still held a slight tremble, but this was not a question, it was a statement of a highly probable fact. “It is your due.” Though in the most secret parts of Maia’s heart, it was not only a statement, but a wish as well – rather than to engage in the conversation she was sure was to follow.



















