The Unfettered Child

by Michael C Sahd

  She felt like someone else, someone powerful. Then, energy twirled around her, making her giddy. She knew it was hers for the taking. The wind picked up as the force whirled around her. Focus the power, the voice said. Imagine letting little bits out at a time through a tiny hole. Too much will consume you.

  The elf stepped out of the yurt and chimed at her again. This time, a golden net appeared above her head. The funnel of power kept the net from falling, and she smiled at the elf, a childish smile that meant she knew something he did not.

  The elf’s brow furrowed inquisitively, but that’s as close to understanding as he came before she lashed out at him with a tendril of power. Both the elf and the yurt blasted away in a jumble of flesh, sticks, and hides. His body caved in the roof of the next yurt, then disappeared behind the walls as they collapsed under his weight.

  The power continued to swell around her as she pulled more from the auras, ballooning out. She could see her faint, red glow growing larger. It’s too much, said the voice. You’ve got to focus. She imagined the hole shrinking.

  Through the scattering of huts, a couple of elves ran around a corner. Slowing their pace, they saw Samara standing near the remains of her hut, but their attention only briefly landed on her. They glanced around, swords drawn, looking for a threat. A real threat. She leaped with excitement as she realized they had no idea she was the source.

  Her tiny hop did get their attention. She imagined a pebble-sized ball of fire, and it appeared in front of her. The elves pointed at her and sang something to each other, chuckling. Then the flame grew larger until it was roughly the size of Samara, and the elves’ large eyes widened in surprise. To Samara, they seemed exaggerated and humorous.

  She laughed maniacally, and the ball of fire raced forward. One of the elves dived out of the way, but the other flared into flames as the ball smashed into his stomach and engulfed him. He fell to the ground, screaming.

  Samara felt giddy as she directed the power, funneling this geyser of energy through a tight hole. She had control, and she would use it to save everyone. The other elf stared wide-eyed at his friend thrashing on the ground. He sang something, and water appeared over his unfortunate companion, but Samara stopped the liquid from falling; instead, it floated above the flaming elf in a sphere.

  The other elf stared at her, fear written all over his features. Then he lunged forward, coming out of his prone position with a graceful roll, raising his sword high to bring it crashing down onto her head.

  The blade never made it. Instead, it struck a clear ice arch that grew from the ball of water and curved over the girl’s head into the ground. When the sword hit the ice, the elf dropped it, shaking his arm from the vibrating sting. Samara bounced on her toes, amazed at her level of control.

  She had kept the power funneled through a tiny hole, but now she decided to widen it slightly, and the ice turned into a translucent wasp. It flew toward the elf, who scrambled backward, but the ice wasp landed on his foot.

  Struggling to pull free, the elf fell to the ground. The wasp crawled up his leg and stung him in the thigh. A sound that reminded Samara of a frozen puddle cracking under a heavy load marked the passage of the icy sting as it spread throughout his body, freezing him an inch at a time. She could see terror distorting his face as he screamed.

  Walking over to him, she crouched, inches from the elf’s face. He was singing something to her and reaching for her, as if asking her to stop. The ice reached his collar, and he extended his neck, trying to keep his head above the frozen water.

  You must stop, she heard the voice in her head say. Magic is not a toy, and you’re losing control. She ignored the voice. She was going to save her family. The elf’s breath came in short gasps until the ice filled his mouth.

  She continued to hear him breathing through his nose, but soon, that also froze over. After the elf was completely encased, the only sounds came from the battle on the other side of the camp.

  The flow of the power expanded as she gathered more, and her little focus point eroded further. Her elation overpowered her concentration. If you lose control, I won’t be able to help you anymore.

  Continuing to ignore the voice, she stood up and walked toward the sounds. When she stepped into the meeting area, she saw some elves herding frightened children away from camp.

  On the other side of the fire, Karena’s grandfather, Petrako, and a couple of other tribesmen exchanged blows with the elves, stepping over the body of Pyotr. Samara saw Nikolai deftly dodging an elf’s sword in the distance, near the tree he had stood at earlier.

  No one seemed to notice her as she walked around the fire pit. She watched as another elf deflected Petrako’s spear and lunged in for a killing blow. He never made it; a spiraling chimney of flame reached out of the fire and pushed him into the ground, pinning him under the whirling inferno.

  Petrako fell to a sitting position, his mouth wide open, as he watched the elf cook under the arm of flames. Samara felt pleased with herself—she had saved someone!

  All the fighting in the immediate area stopped. Elves and humans alike stared at the blackened skeletal remains of the elf. They seemed confused and frightened. Samara stepped into their line of sight. The fire behind her grew progressively hotter. She glared at the closest elf.

  “Samara? What are you doing? Run away,” Petrako said. Another pillar of fire, this one bigger than the last, shot out over her shoulder and smashed into the elf she was glaring at. Her level of control continued to deteriorate, and the conjurations grew bigger each time.

  She moved her glance to a different elf, and another tentacle reached out, chasing him as he ran. When it caught him, he blazed up as well. He dropped to the ground, screaming. Petrako said, “By the spirits.”

  Samara glanced at him, and to her horror, another pillar came out of the flames and dropped onto him. Her stomach turned, and she tried to release the power. It didn’t abate, however; in fact, her filter began eroding even faster. The pillars of flames retreated into the fire, which snuffed out. She dropped to her knees, crying.

  The energy eddied around her in a torrent, and the auras became clearer. An elf rushed forward, intending to impale her on his sword, but when he stepped into the border of the swirling energy, his skin began to blister. She watched as his blue aura was pulled from him and sucked into the whirlwind of energy. He dropped dead.

  The cyclone turned into white-hot and blue flames that hissed in her ears. Expanding, it engulfed the closest elves and tribesmen, and they flared up, leaving only blackened corpses, but not before their auras were pulled into the vortex.

  Elves and humans alike turned to run from her onslaught. Standing, horrified, she pulled at the power, trying to bring it back to her, but the energy only grew.

  Suddenly, the swirling force levitated her into the air. From her new elevation, she could see elves and men falling dead as their blue or white halos were caught up in her whirlwind. All this energy went into her, feeding her, making her feel more powerful, despite her revulsion and terror.

  No matter how hard she fought to control the energy, it continued to envelop people as they fled. Through the red aura, as through a waterfall of blood, she watched an elf in the distance take aim at her with a bow. The arrow sped in, and she flinched, lifting her hands to shield her face. She waited for the projectile to plunge into her, but it never did.

  Opening her eyes, she saw shards of the shaft caught in the swirling mass. The elf seemed to be sighting his bow at her again and failed to see the energy envelope him. Decay consumed him, and within seconds, his body appeared long dead and long-since mummified.

  Samara screamed as the escaping children joined the whirling power. She watched helplessly as Alfan stared at her as though she were a monster, terror in his eyes, just before she consumed him as well. Her only friend her own age dropped in front of her, his lifeless eyes staring up at her accusingly.

  From her vantage point, she could see that none had escaped. Nikolai a
nd the elf he had fought were the last two remaining, but they stood staring at her, horrified, oblivious to the whirlwind spreading slowly toward them.

  She tried to cut herself off from the energy, and the pain became unbearable. The regular world completely faded from her vision, replaced with auras. She saw Nikolai’s neutral white aura and the blue aura of the elf next to him. The energy swirling around her looked like red lights spinning within the blackness.

  Without warning, all the red energy entered her body. The pain was excruciating, and she opened her mouth to the sky. The energy spewed forth through her lips and eyes like an erupting volcano. All she could see was red, but she could hear the splintering of wood and the flapping of hides, accompanied by a shrill whistling sound, like the wind blowing through pipes. The smell of burning flesh filled the air.

  For a second, it felt as if she had separated from her body, but her consciousness soon faded into nothingness.

  Chapter 5: Departure

  Orin had just carried Karena’s body to the bottom of the slope when he noticed a flash through the trees. He wasn’t sure what to make of it, but a feeling of unease came over him. Placing the girl’s body on the ground, he stood up, dropping his pack alongside her, then searched for a spot from which he could see the encampment clearly through the trees.

  While he had been walking, he had entertained the thought of returning to the Havallans once this messy business was over. Natalia had enjoyed living among them, and Priestess Samara had loved his little girl. He felt she would be pleased to see Natalia and Samara again, and he would be pleased to stop moving. He wondered if the priestess had ever returned to the north.

  Then mysterious arches of fire flamed to life in the distance, and his unease turned to fear, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to rise. Abandoning his burdens where they lay, he started to run.

  He had barely gone twenty paces when his foot tangled in something soft and he tripped, scraping his cheek on the ground and knocking his breath out. Kicking at the thing that had tripped him, he glanced at his feet to see an elf impaled by a spear he had made for Pyotr.

  He kicked free of the body and leaped up into a run again, gasping to catch his breath. “No, no, no,” he said, as he sprinted through the last of the trees toward the camp. As he exited the woods, he noticed that he could no longer see the arches, and instead saw what looked like a glowing dust devil of the hottest flames. He increased his speed to a reckless sprint.

  Then he saw a small beam of light appear above the camp, shooting straight into the sky. It expanded into an enormous ball of flames until everything lit up like the noonday sun. He had to shield his eyes from the bright blast. When it disappeared, dazzling spots followed his vision. By the time they cleared, all lights from the camp were gone.

  Not my little girl, he lamented. He darted forward as fast as he could, leaping over brush and obstacles like he was still only sixteen winters old. Then the loudest thunder he had ever heard reached his ears, and the earth shook, almost knocking him off his feet. Tears stung his eyes, blurring his vision as he ran. It was like a nightmare. Why did I not listen to Sigmia? he scolded himself. Damned old fool!

  His lungs protested the miles he had run. Despite the endurance of his people, a sharp pain assaulted his side. Fear weighed heavy on his stomach, and he almost vomited; instead, he swallowed the bile back down.

  After what seemed forever, a mound of dirt silhouetted by the moon came into sight. He stopped running, his chest heaving, and stared at the dune, confused. He walked toward it, catching his breath, then swept his eyes across the plains, thinking he must be lost.

  Glancing back toward the mountains to get his bearings, he spotted the tree he had spoken with Sigmia at in the distance. He turned around, realizing the mound marked the edges of where his camp should have been.

  Stumbling forward onto his hands and knees, he vomited. He shook his head in disbelief, punching the ground and crying in frustration. Despite his despair, he leaped to his feet and ran the rest of the way to the mound.

  He vaulted up the side, nearly clearing the slope in one jump. However, when his feet touched down, they slid in the loose scree, and he skidded back to the bottom. The ground was abnormally hot. Had he not been accustomed to working at the forge, it might have been hot enough to hurt him. As it was, he scrambled to the top unscathed. Once there, he dropped to his knees, the displaced earth tumbling down either side of the slope.

  Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw below. Before him lay an enormous crater, and what was left of the camp lay strewn about its bottom. The only signs of his people, his daughter, were the sickening, scattered bodies, burnt beyond recognition. Nothing moved in the pit. Everything was gone. His wife, his child, his family, his tribe. He leaned back in an agonizing scream.

  For some time, he stared at the crater, afraid to go in. He felt helpless, uncertain what to do next. He had thought she would have been safe with the tribe. This couldn’t be happening. “Samara!” he yelled. The only response was a single echo. “Samara? Baby girl? Please answer me!” Then, through tears, “Please, oh please.” Over and over again.

  He tore into the crater, turning bodies over, their blackened skins sliding away from their cooked meat, and he thought he might vomit again. He found children, but they were far too burnt to recognize, and when they fell apart in his hands, he stumbled over to the side of the crater, dry heaving.

  He was still lying there, feeling sick, when he thought he heard a groan outside of the crater. Holding his breath, he listened, hope peeking out of his dismal thoughts. Something rustled a little, and he heard another groan. He leaped up the side of the crater and rolled down the mound on the other side.

  A pile of sticks, branches, and leaves shifted, and he noticed a hand sticking out of the earth, grasping for purchase. Pushing the debris aside excitedly, his hope faded when he uncovered a creature with pointed ears and huge, closed eyes. The elf was bloody and barely able to move, his arm twisted at an unnatural angle.

  Clenching his jaw, Orin seized the creature by the throat and pulled it from the ruins. Bones snapped as he yanked the body from underneath a log. The elf groaned some musical words through a mouthful of blood.

  “What have you done to my daughter? Where’s my wife?” he yelled at the pale creature. He thought of his family and squeezed its throat. The elf’s eyes bulged, and he gurgled something incomprehensible. Loosening his grip, Orin asked again in Havallan, “What have you done to my daughter? Where have you taken my wife?”

  “Gem,” the elf responded in a strangled voice.

  “What?” Orin asked. He had heard the elf, but he hoped he had misunderstood.

  “Where’s the gem?” the elf said, somewhat more clearly.

  “The blue gem?” Orin asked incredulously.

  The elf nodded as best he could. “Return it to us!”

  Orin tightened his fingers on the elf’s throat again. “You did this for that blue gem?” The elf struggled against his grip. “You did this to my daughter for a rock?” he shouted, pointing at the crater. To his consternation, the elf began to laugh. “How can you laugh!” Orin shouted, shaking the creature.

  “We didn’t do this,” the elf spat.

  “Explain,” Orin roared, loosening his grasp.

  “It was one of your own. A child! She wielded magic as easily as you or I can walk, but I watched it consume her. No one should have that kind of control over it.”

  Orin had to wonder. Could it have been Samara? She had been in the mountains during the first incident, and here during this last one. He shook his head. It wasn’t possible. He pulled the elf right up to his face and squeezed. “You’re lying,” he said. “Tell me the truth.”

  “I am telling you the truth,” the elf said, his voice raspy as he tried to breathe through Orin’s tightening grip.

  Orin sneered and squeezed harder. Soon, the elf ceased to struggle. Nonetheless, he continued to squeeze, the elf’s death an insuffici
ent salve for his wounds. He wanted to kill this elf once for every member of his tribe, and a thousand times over for his wife and daughter.

  His hands tightened until the creature’s throat snapped and crackled beneath them. Then he tossed the body aside, where it landed like a broken doll a distance away.

  He searched outside the crater for survivors. If the elf had survived, maybe others had as well. Flinging around more debris, he found Nikolai, half buried in the sand. The young man still lived, with only minor cuts and bruises to show for his ordeal. Orin hefted him up and carried him over to some grass.

  After making the boy as comfortable as he could, he continued his search outside the crater. It was still dark, and after circling the earthen bowl several times, he had been unable to locate any more living people.

  He climbed back up to the rim of the crater and considered climbing back into it to continue his search. But the destruction inside was complete. No one could have lived in that. He considered staying until daylight, but now his only hope was Natalia—Natalia and vengeance.

  After paying his tributes to the deceased, he glanced over to the broken body of the elf he had killed. The corner of his eye twitched, and he said aloud, “Samara, I will kill every last one of these monsters.”

  Returning to Nikolai, he flung the young hunter over his shoulder and carried him as quickly as he could to the mountains.

  “Yes, we’ll save Mommy, too,” he said, as though responding to a question from his little girl. “Why do we have to kill all of them? Because they killed you, dear.” He stopped walking suddenly and stared at the mountains. Tears dripped off his chin, and he looked to the earth.

  Taking a deep breath, he resumed walking. By the time he stepped onto the steep slope, the morning light peeked over the eastern horizon. Orin swore. “I’m going to find Mommy and every one of these cursed creatures is going to pay. Then I’ll join you.”

  *****

  Samara felt the sun on her face, and the sharp scent of bile filled her nose. Her eyes snapped open, and she swiveled around wildly. Directly in front of her lay a burnt corpse. She sat up abruptly, screaming, with sticks, dirt, and vomit flinging off of her. She scurried backward, trying to escape the reality of the carcass. Her back bumped into something crunchy and slimy, so she jumped to her feet.