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The Dropship fell down toward earth like a falling star. It became weightless as soon as it tore away from the castle in the constellations, but as it entered the troposphere, the near-century-old tin can shook violently. Hot sparks shot off among the fumes of smoke, and the emergency lights blinked on and off as gravity pulled the rocket down to the ground.
The dark void of space disappeared from the view of the windows, replaced with thick violet to the eventual bright blue of the sky. The explorers hoped the air was breathable—survivable for their people.
A stowaway clutched onto his harness and gritted his teeth for impact. His vision swam as he hung on for dear life. And then as the fallen star hit the cold, hard ground, the stowaway blacked out.
The Dropship had crash-landed in the middle of a forest, scorching all the trunks in a two-mile radius. Once the passengers all agreed to lower the door, the girl that grew up under the floor, was the first to step down on the ground and the stowaway watched her with pride.
The earth was more than survivable for the explorers, though desolate. The people of the world before appeared to not have survived and so they were all alone. They began to set up camp around their Dropship and some went out in search of food and supplies.
Those explorers stumbled upon the ruins of a city. The shadows of the past loomed darkly against the light of the fading sun. They passed under rusted frames of skyscrapers and the tarnished brass of electrical wires, long since dead. The whispers of ghosts were all around them, but the explorers went deeper into the heart of the city.
At last, they came upon a brass throne. Bodies were littering the steps around it with their faces frozen in horror. The explorers looked up upon the throne to find a woman sitting there. Her sparkling eyes glowed like sapphires against her porcelain skin, making her seem so lifelike, but as they drew closer, something was terribly off about the ruler.
—
“Octavia!” Bellamy Blake hollered across the camp causing a few delinquents to look up from their morning meals. The dew still hung to the grass under a thin layer of fog. It was too early for the Blake siblings to be at it again, but Bellamy had began to question everyone as he passed, “Has anyone seen my sister?”
“Nah, man. Sorry.”
“I saw her with Atom by the fire last night.”
“She was going out the gate with someone last time I saw her.”
Bellamy’s frustration grew with each step through the camp and his panic rose as he took note of the empty spots among the delinquents. He passed where they kept their weapons, Harper’s absence marked by no one now cleaning the guns that they had found in the depot. Monroe and Fox were no longer at their spots along the wall. He passed the main fire, and Wells’ absence was loudest of all.
Too many of the hundred had disappeared since they landed on the ground. The first few days went by quickly as Wells and Bellamy established a home for the young criminals. Bellamy had convinced them to take off their monitoring bracelets, but Wells had convinced them to work together.
But then Wells vanished and the chaos was too much for Bellamy to bear alone. When they discovered the Grounders, he had upped the security, but still, more kids were slipping through the cracks.
With not much luck in the camp, he circled back to the Dropship, and headed inside, up to where the Grounder they had captured was being held.
“Where is she?” Bellamy demanded before his body was fully through the hatch of the upper floor, where the Grounder was tied up by the seatbelts they had fashioned as restraints. Bellamy climbed up and ignored Miller’s protests, going straight for the man in the middle of the room.
His face was bloody and his wrists were raw. But the Grounder stared back at him with a cold, stony expression. “Answer me! Where is my sister?” Bellamy’s voice was as threatening as the knife he picked up and waved in the air.
It was the same knife that had been dipped in poison, the only way to get him to talk when Finn was dying. The same knife that Octavia had slashed her own hand with. The Grounder cared for her, Bellamy couldn’t deny it.
“Our people have been disappearing since we landed here. Girls, one after the other. Please,” Bellamy pleaded, the desperation slipping through his facade. The prisoner’s eyes shot up at his words.
“Girls? Just girls?” His voice was deep and raspy in clear English. It was something all too sinister and suspicious in his tone that made the hairs on Bellamy’s neck stand up.
“Our leader, Wells, disappeared, too.”
“The twelve clans have a leader...a Commander. We call her Wanheda. She took down the Mountain Men and stopped the slaughter of my people. Her victory gifted her the power to command death.”
“But Wanheda abused that gift when Lexa kom Trikru betrayed her. They were lovers but Lexa took another, Costia. Wanheda had them both beheaded. She took a vow to slay each and every one of her future brides, but only after they had spent their first night together.”
“She’s just murdering people every day? And no one stops her?” Bellamy interrupted.
“To defeat her is to become the Commander of Death. Not many want to wield that type of power. And any that do have failed to take it from her.”
“I have to save Octavia.”
“Then you have to go to Polis.”
—
The young man’s curls dropped down into his eyes, he gathered it up and slicked it back with his wet hands. He looked up and stared back at his reflection in the small mirror. The blue uniform was so different from his black guard garb. Way more comfortable, though still different.
His life had changed so drastically in the last twenty-four hours. His sister was caught. His mother was floated. His title was stripped away leaving him with nothing. A space rat in a failing metal castle, forced to pick up the scraps.
Shumway was waiting for him outside his quarters when he left for work. The senior guard had demoted him and the young man wanted nothing more than to tell him to go float himself right out the door. But he had an offer. It was an offer the young man couldn’t refuse.
A simple task to shoot the Chancellor would lead to his spot on a ship going to earth. It was his greatest wish to be reunited with his sister. He would be granted three wishes total for his troubles, but Shumway would receive none of his own.
—
Bellamy Blake reached Polis by midday. The sun was set high above the tallest tower in the center of the city. The rays shone straight through the broken windows lighting up the tower like a cathedral’s stained glass panes.
Polis was thriving. Bellamy has never seen so many people on earth in one place as he went deeper into the heart of the city. Markets were set up in the streets that were once even more crowded by their ancestors. It was all sitting upon a hill and surrounded by a wall of dense forest. Impenetrable and hidden unless you knew how to get in. Bellamy wouldn’t have made it without the help of the Grounder, he had decided to release, in exchange for an escort into the city.
“How did we get here, O?” He asked aloud after the Grounder had led him to the temple where Wanheda prayed before she slaughtered her lovers. Bellamy couldn’t stop thinking back to his last days in space on his journey to Polis. He wished more than anything he could save Octavia from the fate of death.
He waited to be introduced to Wanheda once he was ushered inside the temple. Its entrance was on the ground floor of a dilapidated building near the tower. Candles lit up the dirty room but reflected enough light to see the strange symbols on the walls.
A blonde woman sat in the middle of the room in front of a hunk of metal coated in a thick layer of dust. Her eyes were shut and her head bowed, so Bellamy took a chance to take in the Commander’s appearance greedily, sizing her up. Her long, fair hair was matted and twisted up in sloppy braids. Her face was tanned, yet coated in metallic paint over her eyes and cheekbones. She was dressed in all leather and a red cape flowed over her left shoulder.
Bellamy stepped closer to her, glass crunching under his boot, and her eyes shot wide open. Bright blue irises stared straight up at him.
“I’m Bellamy Blake,” Bellamy spoke after a few tense moments. The woman threw her hand up to silence him.
“I know who you are, Bellamy of the Sky People. What do you want?”
“I want to speak with my sister and then I want to volunteer to spend the night with you.”
Wanheda quirked her head to the side at his request. He straightened his back and resisted the urge to run his hands through his curls. He continued to meet her gaze, hoping to mask his fear. She looked him up and down, then licked her lips, before rising to her feet.
She only came up to his shoulder, but there was something intimidating about her despite her size. She commanded not only the room but all of the Grounder clans. That was easy to see in the few minutes since Bellamy had met her.
“Very well. I’ll see you in my chambers at sunset,” Wanheda whispered and pushed past him, a small smile gracing her lips for a moment, and then she was gone. He let out a breath as deep as the oceans and was escorted to Octavia’s room.
As soon as he had embraced her, Octavia rushed to explain how she was tricked and captured by the Trikru clan. She glanced over his shoulder at the guard by the door and leaned in toward Bellamy’s ear. “You must tell her a story, Bell.”
“What?” Bellamy questioned loudly, thrown by his sister’s words. Octavia shushed him and repeated herself.
“What story can I tell her that will stop her from killing us? What will make the Commander of Death listen? The world down here on the ground is different. She won’t understand...she won’t—“
“Then make her listen.”
—
The hideout of the thieves was hidden in the mountains. The tallest peak, still capped in white powder as the season was drawing to a close, marked the entrance.
A warrior climbed to the top all on her own. She circled up the base three times searching out the entrances. The front door was shut tight, the caves were occupied with monsters, and the dam stood strong.
The only way in was with the secret password, but the warrior didn’t have that, and she had to get inside. A loose vent under the snow led her down a maze until she found the treasure. Rows and rows of it were locked up in cages.
But before the warrior could escape, she was locked up herself. The thieves of the mountain had awoken to the intruder.
—
Bellamy Blake stood outside the Commander of Death’s chambers as the sun was setting behind the hill. A soft glow of light leaked out under her door. Bellamy’s heart was hammering in his chest, his palms sweating against his pants that he wiped down, and he nodded to a guard as they let him inside.
The room was warm from a fire on the hearth, and a dozen candles set in tall candelabras lit up a path to a large, low bed made up of soft furs. Wanheda was waiting for him there, perched in the middle and wrapped in a black pelt. The war paint on her face had faded but her yellow mane was still wild.
Bellamy removed his jacket and toed off his boots leaving them at the end of the bed. The Commander began threading her fingers through a knot at the base of her head.
“Let me help you with that,” Bellamy supplied and looked around for a comb. He spotted a mangled set of metal teeth by her hand and reached for it. At the same time, her hand touched his and Bellamy recoiled instantly.
She laughed haughtily and asked him, “How do you expect to sleep with me if you can’t even touch me now?”
Bellamy gingerly took the comb from her open hand and Wanheda turned away from him facing the open window that looked over Polis. She was quiet as he parted her hair separating the mess from the mop. A soft wind blew in and ruffled the curtains bringing in the calm sounds of the people living their lives down below.
He racked his mind trying to find the words to say. As a child, Bellamy’s mother had told him stories, of the mythology of worlds long lost, of Augustus and his sister, and Bellamy had, in turn, told those tales to Octavia.
But Wanheda was a living legend—she didn’t need myths of old or fairy tale stories to lull her into arrest. Her world was so different from any Bellamy had ever come across. He had memorized all the books he could find on the Ark, he had written sonnets across his heart, and tucked lore into the seams of his very being.
Wanheda, the Commander of Death, had nothing in common with Bellamy Blake of the Sky People. Only that their names carried a weight wherever they went. Their names carried a story wherever they were told.
“What’s your name, Wanheda?” he asked softly. His voice was barely above a whisper and he rubbed the ends of her hair between his fingers smoothing out the ends to make room for the rest of it to fall freely.
“Clarke. My name was Clarke,” she whispered back. Her shoulders shook and Bellamy would have missed it if he wasn’t holding on to her hair. He ran the comb down quickly. Her head snapped back but she didn’t make a noise. Where he stood over her, he could see her eyes were half-closed. For someone who spent every night with a different person, the Commander sure was starved for intimacy.
Part of him wanted to pull her head back further, expose her neck, and end it all right there, but he didn’t want to kill her.
He wanted to tell her a story and so he did.
—
Four ships left the planet before everything went up in flames. They sailed the galaxies looking for thrills and the captains were lured deeper and deeper with every league they passed.
Treasures were found hidden in the rocks, powering the ships so they could sail faster and farther. It cost some of the crew their lives. Thick, black spots coated their lungs. It caused them to do hideous things to survive.
New worlds were discovered, full of strange life and phenomenons. Some settled on them, learned to survive against the elements. They built walls and created new religions. They forgot where they came from. They lost sight of meaning.
But the captains were always called back to the endless sea of space.
—
Bellamy Blake’s voice was like the gentle knocking of waves against a boat. It lulled Clarke to almost sleep until the morning light began to creep in through her window. Bellamy’s hands were numb and his voice hoarse.
“And the space rat grasped the cold, metal handgun rubbing the safety back and forth with his thumb.” He lay down the comb and leaned back against the wall.
“You leave me hanging, Storyteller?” Clarke said angrily.
“I will continue tonight...if you allow me?” Bellamy tilted his head down looking at the Commander through his fallen curls. His eyes closed slowly, exhausted from the long night, and he waited for her to respond.
“I will allow it. Come to my chambers again at sunset. I want to hear the end of your story,” the Commander said, clearly pleased with her decision, yet Bellamy was even more relieved.
—
The camp was in chaos. The prince had been missing for hours. The night before there had been a celebration for the group’s unity and ability to come together and survive.
The prince was last seen with a young girl. She had fallen asleep and woken from her nightmares. He led her to the edge of the camp. She was scared out of her mind and wanted to slay her demons, so she slashed at the prince in confusion.
The girl ran away dropping her weapon that belonged to the cockroach. When the knife was discovered in the brush, the cockroach was strung up by the mob and blamed for the death.
The girl confessed to the murder and jumped off the cliff. The cockroach became bitter by the accusations against him wearing his malice around his neck. But the camp never learned who really killed the prince.
—
“Is that it?” Clarke asked with disbelief. “The night isn’t even late and morning is for many more hours.”
Bellamy looked over at her. Her hair was braided down her back, the large loops softly bound over and under each other causing the blonde strands to shine brightly. And her face was bare. She looked years younger, even though years had passed. She was younger than Bellamy, he now took notice. He reached out to cup her cheek. No tears swam in her eyes but they clouded Bellamy’s.
“I have told one thousand stories these last one thousand and one nights, and now I have nothing more to tell.”
Bright blue eyes sparkled in the candlelight. “Then, my dear, I am afraid this is...how do you say? The end.”