The Unfettered Child

by Michael C Sahd

  When she drew nearer to the convoy, she walked as close to the briars as she could. These humans dressed more brightly than the ones she had previously encountered. She entertained the thought of what a good price she could get for them. She could hear them singing, and some walked next to the wagons, practicing feats of acrobatics. What a novelty.

  There were sixteen carriages in all, pulled by horses or camels. Some of the carts had horses tied to the backs of them, and all were highly decorated with Havallan symbology and myth. The first one had a leafy, floral design that traced the bed of the wagon and the roof. Sky blue seemed to dominate most of the other colors.

  Only seven humans rode outside the coaches, and two or three strode beside, but she could see more walking past behind the windows.

  As the third carriage passed, she heard a familiar voice inside her head. Zayra? So you tracked me after all.

  She smiled triumphantly. Finally, she said. She stepped away from the tree, preparing to battle for the gem.

  I wouldn’t. She can destroy you easily, Illtud said.

  Her smile fleeting, she asked, Who? I heard about some small child. Did you, in fact, find Abizou?

  Yes! She’s amazing, Zayra, Illtud said, enthusiastically. Have you seen the results of her abilities?

  Zayra paced the caravan through the woods, her body morphing along with the foliage she passed. Yes. I’ve seen the ice crystals, the crater, and the Havallan settlement. Was that bridge of ice also her?

  Yes! She did the first two before she learned to control her power. She made the bridge as part of her training. I have taught her, and I have her almost completely under my control. When I had her destroy that Havallan temple, I set things back. I must rebuild her trust, Illtud said.

  Zayra’s eyes darkened. You can’t just take control of her mind? she asked. She knew he could potentially gain mental domination over the one who claimed ownership of the gem. If that were to happen, he would be free to pursue his own goals. A person with a strong will could use Illtud’s power freely, and she considered that if Abizou took control of Illtud, her home could be in danger.

  She’s strong enough to completely block me from even talking to her.

  And what if she takes control of you? Zayra asked.

  Don’t worry, Zayra. She has the mind of a child, and she considers me a guardian figure, Illtud said. But I do need your help.

  Only Aeson and Elion are left. Between her and the barbarians, almost every member of our team is dead, Zayra said angrily. I do not think you should bring her to Lelran Alor. She is much more powerful than just any djinn. Much stronger than we anticipated.

  You will do as I say! I may not have a body, but I still oversee this expedition, Illtud reminded her, his mental voice exploding in her head. Unless you want to lose your holdings?

  I have the sphinx hair necklace. Why don’t you use that? she asked, deflecting his outburst.

  Illtud considered this for a moment, but finally answered. No, now is not the time for that. I think I can manipulate her to do as I bid without it. If not, Armein has a second choker on the ship.

  Chewing on her bottom lip, Zayra considered arguing. Instead, she asked, How can I help? Losing her land would mean that she would also lose her social standing. She would become a laborer for some other lord or lady, and Illtud could certainly do that to her. If he made it back.

  Easy . . . get her mother back to the ship.

  How will I know which one is her mother? All these humans look the same, Zayra said.

  Bring them all, Illtud said. However, her father’s tracking you. He’s a large man, a blacksmith. Capture him as well. And treat them both very well. Use magic to enchant them if you must, but not when we get there. Samara will know.

  Zayra’s stomach dropped. She felt certain that the barbarian who had attacked them was this blacksmith that Illtud spoke of, which meant she had ordered Abizou’s mother killed. She almost told him as much, but hesitated, finding no benefit in telling him.

  Lost in her thoughts, she stepped onto a fallen log. The rotten wood collapsed under her weight, and wood dust sprayed into the air. With disgust, she climbed over the remains. Samara?

  Illtud said, Yes, that’s the name her human parents gave her. She doesn’t know that she’s Abizou. Use her human name to ferret out her parents.

  You still haven’t told me what you’re planning. When you get her home, then what? Zayra asked. She slowed down a bit. Her agitation had caused her to increase her speed, and Illtud’s mental speech was growing weaker as she outpaced the wagon.

  I’m going to mold her. She will be our greatest tool. Our first order of business will be to end that old human lich.

  She wondered what the girl looked like. That a Malaikah would choose a human host was inconceivable. Elves were far superior beings. They lived longer than humans and were gifted with magic. Until very recently, she had thought humans no better than other animals, such as horses or goats. Yet there was Havelle, a human mage, able to imprison Illtud with ease.

  During her current trip, she had seen many examples of human ingenuity. This group she currently paced were performers, something she wouldn’t have conceived of if not seeing it with her own eyes. She knew elves sometimes trained humans to perform, but to see them doing it of their own volition was astounding.

  She thought of the man who had attacked her camp, easily killing four of her best. A trained elf could defeat multiple humans in combat, but then that barbarian, Samara’s father, had bested four of her trained warriors. Gnawing on her lower lip again, she had an idea. She said, I want to see her.

  That’s a bad idea. Your spell of hiding may work for the humans, but she can see your aura, Illtud said.

  Rolling her eyes, Zayra replied, Don’t be foolish. She has no reason to think ill of me. Just get her outside.

  She raced ahead of the wagons, ended her spell, stepped onto the road after pulling her hood over her head, and walked toward the approaching caravan, keeping her head low.

  A child stepped out of a wagon and walked toward her. Zayra wondered briefly if it was the right child, but Illtud sent her an affirmation. She found it difficult to believe that this child could possibly have the power that Illtud claimed. If she hadn’t seen the destruction for herself, she wouldn’t have believed him.

  This girl seemed innocent and . . . well, human. Human children were much easier to manipulate than human adults were, so she thought maybe Illtud could manipulate this girl.

  When she stopped in front of the child, the two of them stared at each other. The girl had dark eyes, such a dark blue that they were almost black, and Zayra could see in them an intelligence unlike that of any human she had ever seen.

  Her eyes were wide with wonder. Zayra thought the girl was very pretty, for a human. Her skin was lighter than the rest of the barbarians’, but she had the black, straight hair of her people.

  Finally, the girl said something to Zayra, and Illtud translated, She says you’re very pretty.

  Crouching down to the girl’s level, Zayra sang, “Thank you.” Samara tilted her head toward the knife at her waist, then smiled briefly. “Ask her if she wants me to pass on a message to her father,” Zayra intoned.

  As Samara listened to Illtud, her eyes widened. The girl conversed with him for a bit. Studying Samara’s expressions as she talked, Zayra noted the similarities she had to the large barbarian. She had no doubt that this little girl was related to the big man.

  Illtud finally said, She wants you to tell him that she is well and that she looks forward to seeing him and her mother.

  Zayra nodded and stood up. The last wagon passed the two of them, and a woman called out for the little girl. Zayra turned and walked away as Samara ran to catch up with her cart.

  When the carriages could no longer be seen, she recast the spell that allowed her to walk unobserved and hurried to catch up.

  After interacting with the young girl, observing the intelligence in her eyes, she no lo
nger believed that Illtud could keep her under his control for long. She couldn’t allow him to bring the child back to Lelran Alor.

  When she caught up enough to speak with Illtud again, she decided to dig a little deeper into his plans. She asked, If you defeat Havelle, what do you plan to do next? Every elf desired the death of Havelle; the lich’s very existence humiliated the entire elven race after what he had done to Illtud.

  However, Zayra suspected that many of the elven upper-class feared the ancient human mage as well. Illtud had been one of the most powerful mages in elven society, and his defeat shook the very foundations of elven belief. Before that, all elves had believed they were unmatched in magical aptitude.

  If you help me, you’ll be on my favorable side, no matter what I do, Illtud said.

  Hmm, what if she can’t kill Havelle? You’re putting yourself at risk, Zayra said.

  I’m certain Samara can kill him. A week ago, she pulled me from my phylactery and kept me enclosed in a container of pure magic. It took seconds, Illtud said, excitedly.

  Zayra sucked in her breath. That’s impossible.

  Nevertheless, she did it, Illtud said.

  Zayra stopped walking. Do you realize the implications of that? She could make anyone she pleases immortal, a lich. Sensing Illtud’s presence fading, she resumed walking.

  A thought came to her that she kept well-guarded. Samara could pass Illtud back into a living body. Illtud responded to her, but she was so caught up in her thoughts that she failed to notice.

  How could one human child do something like that, without any focuses. She should be dead, Zayra said.

  But that what’s so amazing . . . her personal reserve of magic grows every day; she will have attained the same strength as a senior mage within a year. But what she currently lacks in power she can take from every living thing around her, allowing her to accomplish amazing magical feats. However, she was unable to take the magic from an experienced mage back in that Havallan settlement. Nonetheless, she defeated him with her superior magical ability, Illtud said.

  You mean she can take the magic that keeps us alive? Zayra asked, incredulously.

  Exactly, Illtud said.

  You should use the necklace, Illtud, Zayra told him.

  I already said no, he responded. I am confident that she will obey me without it.

  Hmm. Zayra bit her lower lip again. Very interesting. I’ll be off then. How long should I wait by the ocean? She wanted to get back to the girl’s father as soon as possible. Samara’s mother might be dead, but she had the father, and she felt he could easily sway Samara from Illtud’s influence. She didn’t trust her mentor’s decision to not use the choker.

  This troupe of humans is agonizingly slow. They stop for at least an hour three times a day, and then they stay a few days, trading, performing, and restocking at every settlement before moving on. Unfortunately, Samara’s set on staying with them. When we get closer to the ocean, I’m going to convince her that we must leave these people. Illtud paused. They’re an interesting society. It’s funny how little we know of humans. I’ve been learning a lot.

  Agreed, Zayra said, stopping to let the wagons move on. Until then. I’ll be going now.

  Goodbye, Zayra, she heard faintly as Illtud moved out of range. She watched the wagons disappear down the path, which twisted behind some trees. Alone with her thoughts again, Zayra walked along the road for a time. She decided she would teleport back to the mountains and catch up to Aeson and Elion.

  She stopped and scowled after the wagons, as a sudden fear came upon her. The power Illtud described. What if the necklaces didn’t work? They had been designed for Malaikah, but Abizou was not an ordinary djinn. She had been their queen. What would happen if the child remembered who she was? The Malaikah were vindictive. No, she thought, I must not let the child go to Lelran Alor.

  If she could reunite the girl with the barbarians, she may stay willingly. Wouldn’t that be nice?

  After she cast her teleportation spell, she reappeared at her destination, and the smell of the northern mountain forests filled her lungs. Exhausted, she almost collapsed against the tree where the barbarian had been tied. Instead, she stepped back in shock as a barbarian boy stumbled backward to keep from blundering into her.

  *****

  “You’re keeping me very busy, young man,” Priestess Samara said, smiling down at Nikolai, who stood in a rectangular hole outside of the village, past the gardens. Next to the priestess crouched the clan builder, Jagan, his fiery red hair spilling over his shoulders to mingle with his beard. He watched as the young man dug the foundation for a new building.

  Nikolai was using his broad-headed spear—or shovel, as the clansmen called it—to level out a subfloor. In the short time he had lived among these people, he had learned many new things. Stabbing the shovel into the ground and leaning on it, he regarded the priestess thoughtfully.

  She wore hide breeches and a leather shirt borrowed from the clan, which almost blended together with her olive skin. For the first time, Nikolai could see the mage’s dark, Havallan hair. She normally kept it covered under a white scarf, which he had learned was called a hijab.

  Nikolai wore similar clothing, only his hide shirt rested on the ground not far from the mound of earth. The clansmen had taken his hides for washing. He liked wearing the mountain men’s clothes. They were lighter and not as warm as the tribe’s parkas, but in the summer air, they were very comfortable.

  Smiling back at the mage, he said, “I’m sorry. I have a lot to do, and you’re the only person who can help me talk with the mountain people.”

  He turned back to the hole he was digging. “My people are staying in the large room . . .” He paused to remember what the clan called it. “The feasting hall . . . and I don’t want to be an inconvenience in any way. You’ve already done so much, but I need someone to translate Jagan’s instructions for building these new huts.”

  “I’m glad to help, jameel,” she said. “When you’re finished digging, come fetch me. I’ll be checking on the health of the freed captives. Clan An’Blathain wasn’t prepared for so many people. I need to get them well so they can return home as soon as possible.”

  Nikolai’s eyes darkened. His people didn’t have a home to return to. Everything had been destroyed: their yurts, their horses, their hunters. The priestess must have noted his disposition, because she said, “I have spoken to Brahun. He’s aware of your situation, and he’s going to allow your people to stay, permanently. Provided you can acclimate to their way of life.”

  This made Nikolai feel better. He knew he couldn’t make the decision without consulting the rest of his tribe, at least what remained of it. However, as chief, even after conferring with the others, his decision would be final. Only his mother, who had become babushka, clan grandmother, could overrule his decision, but she spent all her time at Natalia’s monument, shirking those responsibilities. With just three hunters left, he felt that staying with these people would be their best option.

  Tossing a load of dirt onto a growing pile of soil beside Jagan, he said, “I thank you, Sama—” Stopping himself, he glowered at the dirt.

  “Please, Nikolai. Don’t hate the child,” the priestess said, studying him, her face a mask of pity. “I’m certain she didn’t kill your people on purpose.”

  Frowning, Nikolai said, “She did, though, and nothing can change that. Our tribe is broken, and I can’t even blame the elves.” The priestess sighed. She looked like she wanted to keep arguing her point, but Nikolai went back to digging and cut her off. “Please let Brahun know that I am in his debt.”

  She shook her head sadly and walked up the gentle slope toward the village.

  Nikolai tossed his shovel down. He’d had enough digging, and he wanted to go hunting, just to get away from everything. Orin had been very supportive of him on their trip, but with him in a coma, all responsibility fell on Nikolai.

  He glanced up at the redhead and said, “Thank you,” one
of the very few phrases he had learned of the Gahra language. Jagan pulled him out of the hole and slapped him on his bare back, jovially.

  Nikolai grabbed his shirt and slipped it over his head as he controlled his stumble forward and turned around to return the man’s smile. Jagan laughed at his agility, then walked up the path to the village.

  Taking a deep breath, Nikolai looked toward the settlement. He wanted to go check on Orin, but the owner of the hut Orin was in made him feel uncomfortable.

  The clansmen had informed him that they called the man a sorcerer, but everything in his hut seemed like something a shaman might have. The Vohen didn’t have male shamans, and no matter what they told Nikolai, this man acted like a shaman, and a woman for that matter.

  Picking up the rest of his gear, including the spear and sword that Orin had given him, he walked up the cobbled path to check on the blacksmith, in spite of his distaste.

  Stopping in front of the hut where they kept him, he hesitated before stepping inside. The shaman glanced up at the intrusion. When he noticed it was Nikolai, his eyes brightened, and he leered at the young hunter.

  Nikolai smiled uneasily back at the sorcerer, then walked over to Orin. The blacksmith looked better but still lay unconscious, in spite of the priestess miraculously healing his wounds. He had a puckered scar where the arrow had been, and only a stump remained of one of his thumbs, but his skin glowed with a healthy pallor. Priestess Samara had no explanation for his coma and couldn’t say when he would wake.

  Regardless, the room smelled terrible, and Nikolai didn’t want to stay too long. He pointed to one of the elven bows sitting opposite of Orin’s bed. Nodding, the sorcerer picked it up and sashayed around to his side.

  He handed it over, gently caressing the boy’s hand in the process. Nikolai grabbed the ammo quickly and retreated, giving the shaman a polite, nervous wave as he left. He could feel the shaman’s eyes following him as he walked out.