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She couldn’t remember how she got here.	At least that’s what she kept telling them. Maeve sat in the interrogation chair, trying not to wiggle against its hard surface.	Her interrogator was ruthless, but she was prepared for this. The gash across her forehead explained everything he threw at her.	“I don’t know, I swear,” Maeve cried, forcing actual tears to her eyes.	Thunder crashed outside, following the constant flickering of the electrically charged storm.&nbsp;	Though the room was lit by a chandelier, the dark expression of her potential captor sharpened vastly each time the slivers of flickering light pushed through the dirty windowpanes.	“She had no weapons, sir.” The speaker was the one who had found her, a dark eyed, dark-haired beauty. Too bad he had to die.	The other man in the room was broad, imposing, and black-haired. His entirely black pupils were striking, pulling at the raw edges of his sockets. Death.	He approached slowly and Maeve whimpered back, trapped in the chair that held her. A small, disgusted part of her protested the show of weakness, but she buried it deep.	When he extended his hands towards her face, she flinched and looked away.&nbsp;	If he decided to use his powers on her, the entire mission would end. She would be dead in an instant.	Instead, his hand brushed against her hairline, where he pulled out small rocks and gravel from the jagged wound that had just barely dried.	“These are bits of rock from our surrounding barriers,” he said to his companion.	Of course they were.	“Where do you hail from?” Despite her performance of a lifetime, there was no need for her to fake a flinch when he turned those black eyes to hers.	“B…B…Baloyth, sir.” Her voice was fearful and respectful, just as it should have been.	“And you just happened to float into our waters and hit your head so hard you can’t remember anything?”	Maeve gave a slight shiver, as though the reminder of the frigid sea set a chill back into her. “I don’t…” she whispered, looking away. “My last memory is a sunny day. In the market by the Land Grove. Have you been there, Sir? Have you seen it?” Just the right amount of desperation and pleading in her tone should do the trick.	The black eyes turned to her once more, compelling her to look. His fingers rubbed together, divesting the last of the deteriorating rock from his hand.	“Take her to the Wiper.”	Maeve gasped and wriggled in the chair, letting false fear creep into her eyes. Even in distant lands they had heard of Wipers — a poor name for those who wiped the memory from any living thing. The trouble was, they could not limit the memory pull. It was an all-or-nothing sort of treatment.	“You will be returned to your little town,” the man, the King, promised, “but you will not remember us when you are.”	He swept from the room, cloak trailing behind him.	The other man grabbed her by the shoulder and hauled her to her feet.&nbsp;	“No, please,” she pleaded, desperation laced into every word. “Please, please please. I don’t want to forget my parents, my friends. I’ll have nothing.”	“Including us,” the man said harshly as he pulled her from the room. There was no need to restrain her. There was nowhere for her to go.	He led her down dark, neglected hallways as she whimpered and pleaded. It was almost time to make her move, but she had to let him believe in her defenselessness until the last moment.	“I’ll do anything,” she begged. By the set of his shoulders, they had almost reached the Wiper, and he would be glad to be rid of her. She slowed down, finally dragging him back.	“There is no choice for you.” His voice was harsh and unforgiving. He would be the first to die. “The King has granted you a mercy not given to most. Very few pass through these halls and live. Be glad you are escaping without losing something worse.”	What could be worse than losing her memory? Maeve wasn’t sure. She hung her head as he dragged her along again, slowly setting her heels in. They continued on, but much slower.	There was a giant, arching doorway at the next turn, her instincts telling her that would be their destination. She shifted immediately. “I’m sorry,” she said, louder than her previous pleas. He turned to her in confusion. As shock and realization dawned in his eyes, it was already too late. A small pin, fed into the side of her pants, shifted and grew as she drew it out. Before the sword had fully formed, his throat was slit.	She caught his hulking body and fed it to the ground, eliminating the thunk his bulk would have made. Maeve lowered him safely and then sprinted away from the area. Of all the powers on this forsaken island, Wipers were the only one that did not need to be touching you to enact their power.&nbsp;	Her footsteps, fleet and light, carried her back down the dark corridors. Despite spending years studying the layout of the fortress, she struggled to map it out from within.	With a bit of memory and a lot of luck, she stumbled upon the royal quarters. The King would certainly be here, seeking his consorts after a dealing with the annoyance of a confused girl.	Maeve killed his first two guards before they had a chance to react.	She crept down the hall, wondering, not for the first time, what he was guarding against. Muted laughter echoed from the end of the hall—high pitched and feminine. Without hesitation, she pulled in the doors. Ignoring the scantily clad women, she lunged right toward the king. The sword had to pierce him before he could lay a hand on her.	Ignoring the women had been a mistake, her first. One of them touched her on her way to the king, throwing her back several feet. She skidded on her feet, glaring at the woman. A light brown scar raised down the side of the consort’s face, but despite whatever cruel treatment she received here, she was defending her King. He lay back on the bed, letting his barely clothed protectors advance. A small smile played at his lips. She had showed her hand and now he knew what she was.	“I have been raised for this from birth,” she announced, hoping to slow the two women, “once they realized what I was.”	The two advanced anyway. Maeve allowed her training to kick in. Since birth, she had been raised in a world of violence, honing her skills in the art of murder and 	swordplay. Above all, she learned the importance of not being touched.	The King laughed when she fell his two protectors.	“Are there more guards coming?” she asked, as she advanced on him.&nbsp;	Despite his demeanor, he shrank away slightly.	“Do you think you can touch me, King?” she taunted. “Before this blade slides through your heart.”	“They will never have the crown,” he said, gaze darting to where it rested on a pedestal by the window. Maeve refused to turn her gaze that way.	“It surprises me that they let you touch them.” Now her gaze flickered, but back to the two bodies. “What a risk. Tell me, King, have you ever lost control? Have you ever accidentally killed one of them? Is that why you steal young women? To replace those you’ve lost?”	He did not answer. It was too late to call for more guards. His only hope was to touch her with his killing hands before she could get her sword in him.	“So you’re a Slicer,” he confirmed as she approached the side of the bed.&nbsp;	“The first to be born in a thousand years,” she confirmed with a sigh. How many times had she heard that?	“You don’t know the risk you stand by killing me.”	“I’ll have no pleading from you,” she snarled, sword held out in front as she waited for his defenses to drop. If he got just one finger on her first…she would have to be the fastest she had ever been.	“Think, foolish girl. Why are there guards all over this place? What do I need protection from?”	For the first time, Maeve hesitated, but only for a moment. “From me.”	He laughed again. “No, silly girl. Not from you.”	Then he sank back onto the bed and gave her an opening she didn’t take. “Go ahead,” he said, arms crossing behind his head. “Take the crown back to your leaders and let the horrors this world has wrought break beyond the barrier.”	“What horrors?” she asked, sword still level. “Tell me.”	“Stories became myths became legends became lies. This fortress was built for a reason, though naught but us remember what lays beyond. Only those with the darkest of powers could keep it at bay, and so we were sent to this forsaken place. Over millennia and more, the stories warped and twisted and we became our own monsters. Kill me, little girl. Take the crown back, and when you see the downfall of the world, think of me.”	“There’s just one problem with that,” Maeve said. The King had shut his eyes in preparation, but one popped open. “I plan on taking the crown for myself.” Her lips twisted into a gruesome smile as his bedposts twisted around his arms.	“You can’t,” he pleaded, fear filling the black eyes for the first time.	“I was six months old when they discovered what I was.” She climbed on the bed and hovered over him, keeping enough of a distance to avoid accidentally brushing his skin. The mattress shifted softly beneath her feet, its feathers rustling with each movement she made. “From then on, my life was no longer my own. I trained day in and day out before I could walk. All so I could kill you.” The clouds continued to flicker outside, highlighting her dark features each time they flashed by. “So they could have the crown,” she continued. “So they could rule.”	Realization dawned on the King. She was serious. “The power of the crown is not worth the cost,” he said. “Save yourself the trouble and bring it to your superiors. Let the fate of the world trouble their consciences, not yours.”	Maeve plunged the sword deep into his chest.&nbsp;	As the life bled from him, her eyes darkened. She leapt off the bed and grabbed greedily for the crown.&nbsp;	“I will rule,” she claimed, placing the bit of metal on her brow. Her eyes closed in contentment. “They were fools.” She turned back to face him. “They should have never told me the truth. Whoever wears the crown rules. And now it is mine.”&nbsp;	“You are the fool,” he rasped with his remaining breaths. “Beware the beyond.”&nbsp;	His eyes shut, gone as blood pooled from the wound. Maeve knew her own eyes were now pitch as the dark night. She strode toward the doors, ready to reveal to the subjects their new ruler.&nbsp;	Power flitted beneath the surface of her skin. She had new abilities now, ones she had never imagined. The crown bit into her scalp, taking its blood price as the transformation completed. The gold almost hummed, greeting its new owner.&nbsp;	Maeve smiled wickedly once more. They had assumed her to be malleable, under their control, but they should have tried harder to keep secrets from her. Her desire for power should have been extinguished the moment she exposed it to them. Instead, they sent her anyway, to the one place where she could claim the most power.	Flinging open the bedroom doors, Maeve fell back with a screech. A creature of nightmare hung before her. The Beyond. No, she thought. No. She pulled at her swirling powers, but they were too new. She had no control, no idea what they could do.&nbsp;	“It’s mine,” she said, scrambling away. In the distance, the faint sound of screams echoed off the stonework. “What have I done?” She whispered, still trying to funnel her powers properly to destroy this creature. Her hand grasped the sword, but it swung right through the wraith.	The voice that came from the creature was awful, filling her ears with scratching words. “The one that kept us at bay is gone. I feel his power in you, one who is untrained.” It seemed impossible, but the creature smiled at her. “Fool,” it croaked. “The world is ours.” Maeve clutched the crown to the very end. The shortest queen who had ever lived.

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The Slicer

ABreen

Alex Breen

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The Slicer

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