The Unfettered Child

by Michael C Sahd

  His remaining tribesmen lowered their heads forlornly, digesting his words. Other than the sounds of people crying, there was a moment of silence. Nikolai broke it. “I have negotiated with the mountain people to let us stay, at least until we’re fit to travel.”

  Still carrying Natalia, he trailed after Clan An’Blathain, who had slowed to allow the stragglers to catch up. Accalia stood up behind him, and she and the rest of the tribe followed. Nikolai watched Orin being dragged between two stout men, the blacksmith’s arms draped over their shoulders. When Accalia caught up to him, he said. “I couldn’t have done it without him, Mother.” He shook his head. “But he is a very selfish man.”

  Accalia inspected her son, her brows furrowed in concern, then said, “No, Nikolai, he isn’t.” She sighed. “Your aunt stole his heart. He would have done anything for her, and for Samara. He’s a broken man.”

  Nikolai winced at the mention of Samara and changed the subject. “Mother, what did those creatures do to you?”

  She regarded him with a deep frown. He had been afraid she might break out in tears again, but instead, she sounded angry. “The creatures? They treated us like livestock. It was the men, Nikolai. The men raped us and beat us.”

  *****

  The clan’s village sat on a western slope farther south than where the elves had set up camp. The mountain people managed small plots where the villagers grew their own food, tending to the plants like his people tended to their horses. Despite this being the second time that Nikolai had seen the village, he still marveled at the stationary structures built under pitched roofs. Though he knew that the mountain people constructed coverings for their homes, the forest turf grew over the tops of the houses, giving them the appearance of small hills.

  It was into one of these structures that they took Orin. The building appeared smaller than the rest. Its front face stood perpendicular to the ground, composed of stacked logs packed with dried mud between the cracks. Above the wooden door, a square hole let light into the building, another marvel.

  He walked up the path, past many of these houses, and around a building that shared several of the features of the other houses, except that it rose out of the earth, longer and larger than the rest. He followed the path into the woods, where it went up, then looped around an incline, ending in a small clearing full of stone markers.

  His mother sat next to the body of her sister, not far from some of the mountain people who were building a funeral pyre for Natalia, according to the tribe’s custom. Next to them stood Priestess Samara.

  Nikolai wanted Orin to be there, but the man was delirious and fighting infection. They couldn’t wait for him to recover. Sitting down next to Accalia, he said, “I was thinking about what you said.”

  “What I said?” Accalia asked, without looking up. She gazed down at her sister, frowning, and held her hand.

  “About the men abusing you,” he said.

  Her frown deepening, Accalia pushed some hair off Natalia’s face. “She was so beautiful. Those horrible men favored her, though we all shared in this misery.”

  Nikolai sighed. “It wasn’t elves that destroyed our camp.”

  Gaping at her son, Accalia said, “Then who?”

  He cast his gaze to his feet and said, “It’s hard to believe, Mother, but it was Samara.”

  She gave him an incredulous scowl. “Nikolai, what is this ridiculous nonsense you speak?”

  “I watched it happen,” he said, pleading his case. “She commanded fire, and people dropped dead at her feet.”

  “Nikolai!” Accalia scolded.

  “Do not dismiss the boy,” said the Havallan across the hole.

  Accalia shot her gaze at the priestess. “Excuse me?”

  “Nine winters ago, when Orin brought me to your camp, the child was born not breathing.” The priestess walked around the hole and sat on the other side of Natalia’s corpse. “I tried to save the child, but I was unsuccessful.”

  “But she lived,” Accalia said.

  “Yes,” Priestess Samara replied. “But it wasn’t me.” She gazed down on Natalia. “I was in the process of . . .” The Vohen language lacked words for magic and related verbs. “Using a technique we Havallans call magic, to return the child to life. I never finished, because I was accosted by a familiar presence during my attempt.”

  She cast her glance up to Nikolai and his mother. “I am Emperor Khalil Havelle’s daughter, the long descendant of Emperor Abdhul Me’alee Havelle, founder of Havalla. For generations, each heir of Havalla would inherit a blue gem that contained a powerful spirit we call a djinni.” She spoke slowly as she told her story. “This spirit would advise the emperor and grant him unmatched power.”

  Nikolai interrupted. “What does this have to do with our Samara?”

  The priestess smiled at him gently. “This djinni is the presence that I felt that night. At first, I wasn’t sure, but when I left the outpost and returned home, I learned that the djinni in the gem had been freed.”

  “So you’re saying that my niece is this spirit of yours? Why? It doesn’t make any sense,” Accalia said.

  “I thought much the same thing, but my mentor was responsible for freeing the spirit and was afraid that I had been possessed by it. Apparently, the spirit had told him that she would take my body from me after being freed. The direct quote was, ‘I think Khalil’s daughter, Samara, will do nicely.’ She must have caught up to me the night I helped your sister. I felt the djinni trying to take my magic, but I fought against it, and when it failed, I saw it sink into the lifeless body of Natalia’s daughter. At the time, I didn’t know what it meant. I never told Orin or Natalia, because miraculously, their baby lived after this, and they looked so happy.”

  Nikolai asked, “You think this spirit is capable of killing hundreds of people with a giant ball of fire?” His hands clenching into fists, he bawled, “Because that’s what I saw!”

  “Djinni are creatures of magic and are very powerful. Yes, this spirit is capable of such a feat. Did you see what happened to her after this incident?”

  “Nothing survived that.”

  “It seems I came too late. My mentor learned that the elves were in the mountains looking for Abizou, erm, the spirit. That’s her name. My mentor then tasked me with learning the elves’ intentions. I told him the story of little Samara’s birth. He wanted me to warn you of the elves, but I didn’t know where to find your tribe. Instead, I came here to enlist the aid of Clan An’Blathain to help find the elves. I have been friends with Brahun An’Blathain for a long time.” The priestess stood.

  “I’m truly sorry for your loss. You’re good people,” she said as she stepped past Nikolai and Accalia, glancing back at Natalia sadly. “I’m going to tend to Orin. He’s ill, but I can heal him.” She turned away, saying, “I wish I could have met little Samara as an older child. Such a terrible loss.”

  Nikolai watched the priestess leave, his face set into an angry frown. He didn’t think it was a terrible loss at all.

  Chapter 14: Friends

  The sun hung in the eastern sky, sending warm rays over the land. Samara wanted them to go away. Shivering despite the sun, she sat on the bank of a river with her arms wrapped around her legs and cried.

  After leaving the ravaged settlement, she had run for most of that day and walked through the night, stopping only to hide from people on the road.

  The path she had followed twisted into the mountains. She hadn’t stopped running, and her eyes felt as if she had a particle of sand stuck under one of her lids. Rubbing them only made them worse. Opting to keep her eyes shut, she continued to cry.

  She felt a mental nudge, not for the first time, and ignored it. Illtud was not who she wanted to talk to. Rubbing her closed eyes again, she mulled over her conflicted thoughts.

  She abhorred what she had done, yet she felt guilty for that feeling, because of Illtud’s story. After what the Havallans had done to him and his people, they deserved punishment, did they no
t? However, she couldn’t imagine the little girl she had seen in the village having anything to do with the death of his tribe. None of those people could have been involved.

  Crying out in anguish, she pulled her face into her knees to hide the world. The little girl had treated her as if she were a monster. Could Illtud have lied to her? No, he wouldn’t do that. Would he?

  Opening her mind, she allowed him back inside. “Were those the people that destroyed your home?” she asked him.

  They were Havallans, he said.

  “But were they the ones?” she persisted, this time glaring at the dagger.

  Not specifically, no, he replied. But they’re the same people.

  “Those people didn’t do anything,” she said through dry sobs.

  If they’d been there, they would have. All Havallan people are bad.

  Standing up and yanking the knife from her side, she screamed, “Not that little girl!” Blocking Illtud from her head once more, she threw the dagger onto the ground. Sitting down again, she cried anew.

  A whining sound floated across the river, and she looked toward it. Across the way lay a massive wolf with a blue aura, staring at her sadly. They gazed at each other for a long time, and she felt comforted knowing Sigmia rested so near.

  Seeing the old shaman reminded her of the memory that had surfaced right before the Havallan guards had come after her. “I killed them, Grandmother. I killed them all,” she wailed across to the shaman. Desperation shot through her as the wolf stood and turned away. She stood as well, her hand stretched toward the beast as if to grab her and pull her back.

  To her relief, the wolf turned back to her and ran toward the water. It leaped across the river, easily clearing the width, although it was as long as three men lying down. Up close, she saw that the animal was almost as big as a horse.

  Sigmia sat in the grass next to Samara and leaned her head against the child. Samara wrapped her hands around the shaman and buried her face in the thick fur of the wolf’s neck. She cried into the fur for a long time, until she felt better.

  Stepping away from the wolf, she said, “I-I didn’t mean to do it. I didn’t know what I was doing.”

  The wolf seemed to nod, then changed before Samara’s eyes. Fur morphed slowly into flesh, and before long, the shaman crouched before her. She smiled her toothless smile at the young girl. Samara darted into her waiting arms.

  “It’s okay, my baby,” she said. Samara stayed in the warm circle of her embrace for a while, but then Sigmia chuckled. “The elf is furious with you. He says that you have blocked him from communicating with you. You must teach me this trick.”

  Stepping back and sitting down, Samara said seriously, “I don’t know how to show you. I can just do it.”

  “Worry not, Samara, I was joking. The spirit seems to be helping you, and you should talk to him.”

  “He wants me to kill people,” Samara said, sadly.

  Sigmia frowned deeply and gazed off into the distance. After a while, she said, “Samara, I share no love for Havallans. They’re intrusive, but not all are bad. If our people were to be judged based on the Bear tribe, then all would think of us as violent, for they are known for atrocities like what the elf just described to me.”

  Sigmia sat and pulled Samara into her lap, where the girl rested her head. “You’re growing, granddaughter, and are now on your own. You must trust your own judgment. Don’t let anyone push you around, not even me.”

  She stroked Samara’s hair. “I’ve been watching you, and this spirit has taught you to control your power. This is good, but what you do with it is up to you.”

  “He’s taking me to my parents,” Samara said, sleepily.

  “I know he is, Samara, but you need to listen to me. I’m not—” But Samara slept.

  Sigmia sighed.

  That little girl is precious to me. I may have made a mistake sending her into that settlement at all. I assure you it will not happen again, Illtud told Sigmia.

  Perhaps, spirit, but you will listen to me now, Sigmia said, and when Illtud tried to interrupt, she spoke out loud. “I can go no further. I’m old, and I fear that I won’t live much longer. This ordeal has been difficult on my old bones. The spirits have told me that Samara will be happy very soon. I hope this is true.”

  Are you leaving us? Illtud asked.

  Sigmia gently lifted Samara’s head from her lap. The girl stirred restlessly for a bit but did not wake. Laying Samara on the grass, Sigmia stood up. I think I am. The spirits told me that Samara will soon find a new life that I am not a part of.

  Walking through the tall grass by the river, Sigmia left the little girl where she lay. The old shaman didn’t feel at all well. Fatigue ate at her, and she no longer felt comfortable in her human form. The next time she transformed, she would no longer have the strength to turn back, and if she didn’t transform, she probably wouldn’t make it through the night.

  After walking some distance down the bank of the river, she stopped. Her chest hurt, and she felt dizzy. With a phlegmy cough, she sat down and began the transformation process. When she finished, she felt much better, but she still feared that she had little time left, and she didn’t want to die in these foreign lands.

  Turning north, Sigmia loped toward her home, but then she stopped. She couldn’t leave yet. The spirits still had one more task for her.

  *****

  When Samara woke, the morning had already withered away, and the midafternoon sun glared directly above her. She felt much better, and she bathed herself in the river, using magic as she had before. When she finished, she nibbled on some of her food, mostly nuts and berries these days, having finished her mammoth a while back.

  She felt a mental nudge and allowed Illtud into her head, instantly regretting it. You do not yell at me! I’ve taught you everything. His voice reflected his anger. Ungrateful, useless little girl.

  Samara stared at the dagger, jaw agape. “I-I . . . I’m sorry.” Her lower lip quivered.

  Why should I help you anymore?

  “No, please.” She fell to her knees, sobbing. “I need your help.”

  Why should I? Illtud asked.

  “Please, I love you.” The gem was to her mouth while she clasped the handle of her knife tightly in both hands.

  What if I ask for your help again? the spirit asked, his anger receding from his voice. If you can’t help me, why should I help you?

  She almost blurted out, “I’ll do anything,” but hesitated. She had decided that she wouldn’t kill any more people. The heaviness of fear pushed down on her stomach again.

  If she told him no, he would be mad at her. Worse, she could forget about him helping her. She raised her head maturely and said, “I will not kill unless I have to. If you choose not to help me, that is your choice. I’ve made mine.”

  Illtud didn’t respond. She wondered if he had decided to stop talking to her. She was about to say more, but froze when she heard voices approaching from the road. Someone’s coming, Illtud said.

  Almost as if Illtud had announced him, a little boy close to Samara’s age stepped out of the tall grass a little upstream from her. He noticed her almost immediately and flashed her a smile. He waved at her, then turned his head, shouting, “Ommah!” She wasn’t sure what “ommah” meant, but she was sure that he was talking to somebody else.

  Kill him! Illtud said. He’s Havallan.

  I will not! she replied. Gathering her magic, she pointed at him, ready to scare him off with an illusion. However, the boy pointed back at her and laughed. Swallowing the power, she hesitated. Looking at the boy smiling at her, she started to smile herself. He seemed very friendly.

  Don’t trust him. You should at least run away, Illtud said.

  Samara’s smile left her, and she stood up, putting her knife away. She was about to run off when the boy flicked his wrists and lifted his arms, tossing his sleeves away from his hands.

  A little surprised by his sudden movement, she scrutinized the boy.
His hair was short, curly, and black, not too different than most of the Havallans she had seen so far, but his baggy clothes were dyed sky blue. In one of his hands, he held three small, strange, double-edged daggers that hadn’t been there before.

  When he saw her studying the blades uncertainly, he grinned and winked at her. Taking one in his other hand, he started juggling the blades. They flipped as they went into the air, glittering as the steel caught the sun. Samara had never seen juggling before, and she smiled almost as broadly as he did.

  The grass behind the boy shook, and he caught all his daggers with a bow. A woman appeared behind him, saying something in a scolding tone. However, when she saw Samara, she jumped, uttering an exclamation of surprise.

  Samara gasped at the newcomer’s garb, and her eyes widened in astonishment. The woman’s sky-blue shirt bloused at the sleeves and ended just above her belly button. Her skirt began shortly after that. It tiered down three layers from knees to ankles, each layer a different, vibrant color—sky blue, red, and gold.

  Admiring her exotic beauty, Samara felt entranced. Illtud kept urging her to run, but she ignored his advice, finally blocking the elven spirit from her mind again.

  The woman inspected her, smiling. After a while, she said, “Aren’t you from the Hunting Grounds?” Although her accent was very thick, Samara could still make out her words.

  Excited, she responded, “Yes.” Then she asked, “You speak my language?”

  She felt Illtud’s mental nudge but ignored him.

  “I’ve traveled to the fishing villages by Standing Lake more than once. Our family travels from there to the coast during the year. When the lake people invited us to the last Gathering, I had the honor of meeting some of the nomads and performing for them,” she said.

  The little boy started up in their language and received a smile from the woman. She responded to him, ruffling his hair.

  Then she asked, “Where’s your tribe, jameel?”

  Samara’s smile sank. Ignoring the question, she said, “My name isn’t Jameel.”