The Unfettered Child

by Michael C Sahd

  Still smiling, the elf said, “Yes. How can you tell?”

  “I can see the auras,” Samara said, examining the items.

  “Fascinating!” Armein said, placing the objects on the ground, all except for the comb. “This will light up like a torch for a full night, but then you must replenish its magic with your own.” He moved the comb toward her hair, asking, “May I put it in your hair?”

  Samara flinched away. “How does it work?” she asked.

  “Much the same as casting a spell. Watch,” he said, and slipped the comb into his own hair. He sang something in his musical language, and the flowers lit up, brightening their faces with a bluish-white light.

  “You can use the magic enchanted in the item instead of your own. It saves you from exhausting your own energy, which Illtud tells me you’re quite adept at using.” He repeated the musical sound, and the light went away. Taking the comb out of his hair, he held it out to her again. “May I?”

  “Erm, sure,” said Samara as he carefully placed the comb in her hair.

  He reached down and picked up the ring next. Then he gently took her hand. As he placed the ring on her index finger, he said, “This ring . . .” It shrunk around her finger. “Will keep you warm in very cold environments like this forest. No need to even activate it. It’s a permanent enchantment.”

  No sooner had the elf finished talking than a comfortable warmth spread through her body.

  “And that?” Samara asked, pointing at the choker on the ground. The gifts excited her.

  Armein lifted the choker, and her eyes lit up. He opened its golden clasp, and his eyes reflected amazement. “This,” he said. “This is the most wonderful gift of all.” She lifted her hair, and he put the braided choker around her neck. “This is the hair of the sphinx,” he said as he clasped it. “Or the bu-houl, as the Havallans call them.”

  “No! Samara!” Badr shouted and rushed forward when he heard “bu-houl,” for all priests of Havalla knew the bu-houl’s ability to resist magic and enslave mages.

  No sooner had Armein started chuckling than Samara felt a searing pain wrack her body, a pain she remembered from when she had first awakened with magical ability. Then, the pain had been caused by her trying to force the power out of herself. Now, the power was being pulled away. She fell to the ground, screaming.

  She reached for the magic, but it eluded her. She watched the red aura pull away from her. There was a pounding in her head. She stopped screaming and writhed on the ground, crying.

  Through her tears and pain, she could see Varisha being netted by the female elf, just like her mother had been netted. A net appeared over Badr as well, but he cast his own spell and the net faded away. She tried again to grasp at the magic, to help her friends, but it was beyond her.

  You won’t be able to use it, Samara. Sphinxes are resistant to magic, and this choker is designed to suppress Malaikah. The only time you’ll be able to use your power is if I demand it, Illtud’s voice mocked in her head.

  “I want my mom and dad,” she sobbed, twisting on the ground and pulling on the braided necklace.

  Oh, dear child, they’re dead. You killed them with your magic. Illtud’s laughter hurt. She felt betrayed, and her scream carried over the scuffle, echoing through the night.

  *****

  Biting her bottom lip, Zayra stared at the smith’s back as he walked far ahead of them. They would reach the elven ships the next day, if they camped, and would have time to plan.

  However, the foolhardy barbarian had rejected this suggestion and insisted on traveling through the night instead. If a human slave had ever treated her the way Orin constantly did, she would have had him whipped to death. It took all her patience to not use her magic to cow the fool.

  Even the Havallan mage, Samara, had thought Zayra’s plan a good one, but Orin’s impatience and foul mood left no room for anyone else’s opinion. She found it incredibly hard to believe that the lovely Nikolai was related to him in any way. Ever the mediator, the handsome young human had begged her to be patient with the barbarian.

  He had explained that Orin blamed her for the death of his wife and the loss of his child, and Zayra couldn’t fault the smith these feelings. After all, she had ordered his wife killed. If she put herself in his position, she wasn’t sure she would have forgiven herself.

  Sighing, she dropped her gaze to the ground in front of her.

  “What is it?” Nikolai asked, walking next to her. She hadn’t heard the stealthy hunter step up beside her.

  She couldn’t help but smile at the young man. She had grown fond of him during their travels, more than would be accepted by her people. She kept entertaining different ideas of how she could bring him to her homeland without enslaving him. “I’m trying really hard to commiserate with your uncle, but he tries my patience.”

  The priestess walking behind them said, as if guessing Zayra’s elven words, “He’s a troubled man. I fear that his losses are eating away at his soul. I hope, for his sake and yours, that he finds his daughter.”

  Zayra frowned at the priestess’s words. She knew the Havallan spoke the truth and had considered it before ever approaching the barbarian. Regardless, she felt very strongly that they would not be able to control Abizou for long, even with the sphinx hair charms they had brought, and that in the end, the queen of the Malaikah’s destructive power would be brought against her people. No matter what, she couldn’t let that happen.

  A flame shot into the sky like a small twister, pulling her from her thoughts. Right away, she knew that it came from magic. The flame settled, but she could still see a little light given off by the fire in the night sky. Orin must have spotted it too, for he stopped his descent and waited for them to catch up.

  “Did you see that?” he asked, speaking in Vohen.

  “I saw it,” Nikolai said.

  “Hunters?” Priestess Samara asked.

  Zayra walked to the front, scrutinized the light in the distance, and said in Havallan, “That fire was lit by magic. We should keep going to the ship.”

  “I agree,” Nikolai said in Vohen. “It was you, Orin, that wanted to get to the ship before sunrise.” Zayra smiled at the young man, glad she had cast the spell to bond with him.

  Orin scowled in the direction of the fire, clenching his fists. “We should go pay a visit,” he grumbled and walked toward the flames.

  Turning to the other two, Zayra noticed Nikolai’s jaw clenched in anger as he stared after the smith, and even the Havallan sighed and rolled her eyes. Orin’s foul mood and quick temper were growing tiresome for everyone.

  Days ago, Nikolai had shared with her some of their tribe’s history, and she knew the man had at one time been a tribal leader. During the time since then, she had questioned how he had ever led anything.

  Rolling her eyes, she said, “That would be foolish. We should go directly to the ship to discern where your daughter is.”

  Orin whipped around, still scowling, his arm over his shoulder, grasping the handle of his sword. “More likely, the ship’s a trap.”

  “Orin, stop!” Nikolai said, grasping Zayra’s hand protectively. No one other than Zayra seemed to notice the camp in the distance briefly light up with a bluish-white light. She ignored it, as it just confirmed that the camp was probably elven.

  Sneering, she said, “If I wanted you dead, I could have done it days ago. Instead, I’ve suffered your intolerable attitude to help you get your daughter back.” She tightened her grip on Nikolai’s hand for reassurance. Even a confrontation with the barbarian would be better than allowing him to charge into an elven camp, where he would be sure to take more elven lives.

  Staring at their clasped hands hatefully, Orin growled, “You’ve already enslaved one of us. I’m not going to let you have more.” He pulled the sword off his back.

  Zayra stiffened, releasing Nikolai’s hand, and prepared to cast a spell that would root the barbarian in place. She saw from the corner of her eye that Nikolai drew
steel, ready to defend her.

  “Enough!” the priestess said sternly, placing her hand on Orin’s sword arm. “It’s more prudent to go directly to the ship. Your daughter may already be on board.”

  That’s when the first piercing scream echoed through the night. The group stopped their bickering and cast about anxiously. Orin paled, and his eyes widened in terror. “W-what was that?” he stammered.

  “That was definitely a child,” the priestess said.

  Glancing toward the light, Nikolai said, pointing, “It came from that camp.”

  Orin’s gaze followed the young chief’s pointing finger, and a second scream pierced the night. “Samara!” he shouted. “I’m coming, love!” The smith charged off toward the light.

  Zayra looked at the others searchingly and Nikolai nodded. “Yes, that was definitely her,” he replied to the unspoken question, but he did not chase after his companion. The priestess, however, followed as soon as he confirmed that the scream belonged to her namesake.

  “We should go,” Zayra said. He turned to follow, but she stopped him. Looking the young man in the eyes, she said, “Please, Nikolai. I want you to save the girl, but not at the expense of more elven lives.”

  Nikolai gave a brief nod, then they both charged into the woods.

  *****

  Orin knew his daughter’s screams. He recognized the agony in them, and it tore him apart. He felt sick to his stomach, and he couldn’t run fast enough. He had refused to imagine how he would find his daughter, for fear of imagining her dead. Knowing she was alive, but hearing her scream like that, filled him with mixed feelings of terror and relief.

  He dodged past the gargantuan trees and soon discovered that the fire was beyond a very steep incline, which blocked his path. Halting in front of the cliff, he sheathed his sword and cast about for an easy way up, but he found none.

  Seeing no other way, he leaped onto the cliff and started climbing, using protruding plants, roots, and rocks to help his ascent. As he ascended, he heard the others catch up and start climbing behind him.

  Scrambling over the ledge, he could see the fire plainly through the trunks of the trees. There was clearly a skirmish around the fire, and he sprinted forward, only vaguely aware of Zayra landing gently on the edge of the cliff behind him.

  He hustled into a small clearing, where he saw a dark-skinned man struggling against three elves, using a combination of Havallan magic and a broad, curved sword. A woman lay on the ground thrashing within elven nets, and a child lay next to her in a similar predicament.

  An elf lay dead with a dagger in his throat and one in his eye. However, it was a male elf in fancy robes who crouched over his daughter, smiling cruelly, that drew his attention. Samara, wearing garb similar to the other humans in the clearing, thrashed about on the ground, grasping at her neck. She screamed in pain, her face red with effort.

  Growling, Orin leaped at the elf, bringing his knee directly into his face and knocking him onto his back, while yelling in Havallan, “Stay away from my daughter!”

  The blacksmith clutched the fancy elf’s robes at the collar and at the waist, hoisting him up and slinging him at two of the other elves. Three elves collapsed into a knot of limbs, while the other one still harried the dark man, but hesitated at the newcomer’s swift entrance.

  Quickly turning back to his daughter, Orin knelt and lifted her into his arms. “Daddy!” she screamed, “Take it off!” She yanked desperately at a braided necklace around her throat. Before he could reach the clasp, however, he heard an elf snarl in Havallan, “Back off, human.”

  He glared up at the fancy elf, who now sported a crooked, bleeding nose, just in time to see a sparking orb of lightning shoot out of his hands. Orin lifted his arm to ward off the attack and tucked Samara against his chest, placing himself between her and the electrified ball, turning his head away from the missile.

  When nothing happened, he dared look up. Zayra stood over him, her hands outstretched over his head, and the lightning arched against a blue semicircle, protecting them from the blast. He immediately shifted his opinion of the elven woman.

  “Traitor!” the elf with the broken nose shouted.

  Orin grasped the hilt of his sword, ready to assist in the fighting, but Samara wailed again, “Daddy, the necklace. It hurts.” He reached behind her neck and fumbled with the catch.

  Wait! He heard a strong command in his head, and his hand stopped moving against his will. Samara cried out, arching her back in agony. Seeing her like this in his arms was killing him. The strange voice sounded in his head again, Zayra, why?

  “Because, Illtud, she will destroy us,” Zayra shouted in Havallan, still blocking the other elf’s attack. “Didn’t you see what she did in the grasslands?” Orin glanced around, unable to do anything else. Some power held him still. Everyone had stopped fighting and was listening to the exchange and watching the magical duel between Zayra and the other elf.

  You fool, the unseen voice sounded again. I have her under my control. You’re wasting your time.

  “Armein!” Zayra said, “You didn’t see it. She destroyed everyone in our expedition; she even destroyed her own people. The sphinx hair won’t work forever, she’s too dangerous. Illtud is too power hungry to see it.”

  In response, Armein spat a wad of blood and sang something in their musical language.

  Suddenly, Samara stopped writhing. Orin looked down at his little girl and saw that she was crying. “Daddy, run,” she said, before floating out of his grasp. But he couldn’t run; he was rooted to the earth.

  He felt his daughter rise out of his arms, lifting into the air, hovering like a hummingbird, but without wings. Dust and long pine needles swirled under her like a twister. “Samara? What’s going on?”

  “I have no control. My magic, I can’t use it. Illtud is making me. Run, Daddy!”

  Illtud’s laughter echoed in their heads. Now, Zayra, witness my control! he said, still projecting to everyone in the clearing. Abizou, counter her spell.

  Orin watched as Zayra’s shield reached toward Samara, started spinning around as if caught in an invisible tornado, and was gone. Then he was struck by the ball of lightning. He cascaded backward and fell prone.

  He felt like he had been kicked by a horse, and the scent of a coming storm filled his nostrils, but he was otherwise fine. He glanced up at his daughter, who had screamed when the ball had hit him. Something surrounded her. He couldn’t see anything, but her hair and her dress rose as if being lifted by some gust.

  You see, Zayra? The extent of my power? Illtud’s laughter rang out again. I have complete control; the sphinx’s hair will keep her that way.

  Priestess Samara stepped out of the woods next to Zayra. Her chin held high, she said, “You’re a fool if you trust bu-houl hair to keep Abizou captive. The only true way to capture a Malaikah is the way the first Emperor Havelle did. Zayra is right, she will destroy you.”

  And who are you? Illtud asked, his voice tinged with annoyance.

  “I am the high mage of Havalla, Priestess of Samawi.”

  Nothing! Illtud declared. Abizou, kill them!

  Fire sprouted from Samara’s hand and surged toward her namesake and Zayra. The flame stopped, coalescing into a ball, in front of Priestess Samara. Orin felt very small with such mighty powers being flung over his head.

  “Run!” his daughter shouted, and suddenly, the flames grew bigger. Whatever invisible force had held Orin before was now gone. He stood up and looked at the priestess and Zayra. The priestess was on her knees, struggling against the growing attack from his daughter. The ball of fire had grown to the size of a young mammoth.

  Zayra made some motions with her hands, and a semicircle of blue light surrounded her and the priestess. “No more lives, Samara! Fight it!” the elven woman yelled.

  The vegetation started to wither around Orin. “Samara, fight it!” he bellowed. He could see her crying.

  “I can’t, Daddy. Illtud won’t let me.” Grittin
g his teeth and tightening his lips in a deep grimace, Orin decided he couldn’t stand by and let this happen. Rising to his feet and taking a couple of steps back, he leaped forward to snatch his daughter out of the air, but before he could reach her, a red comet of force struck him in the chest, knocking him backward again.

  “Daddy!” Samara screamed. He landed on his back, taking his breath away, his large sword pommel smashing into the back of his head.

  Groaning, he rolled over and jumped to his feet, sucking in air. The elf they called Armein stood behind Samara, smirking. Yanking his sword out of its sheath, Orin circled around his daughter.

  The mage shot another missile at him, but he leaped out of its path, rolling on the ground and coming up in a crouch.

  One of the other elves started gesturing with his hands, but Orin was already charging, and the golden net landed on nothing. Slashing with his two-handed sword, he cleaved right through the offending elf. As the elf’s torso fell to the ground, the golden net around the Havallan child disappeared. The child, no older than Samara, scrambled over to his captured mother.

  “Stop!” screamed Zayra. Orin glanced at her. She and the priestess looked haggard behind their blue shield. They were weakening, and Samara’s attack on the pair had grown. The vegetation below the young girl had started to darken and die, the decay circling out to the tree line. The priestess, his friend, was straining under the assault. “Please, no more killing, Orin.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a female elf with an arrow aimed at him, but he didn’t have enough time to react. He flinched as the arrow let loose, but he felt it fly past his cheek, barely missing him.

  When he glanced back at the elf, the dark man had his fingers tangled in her hair and his broadsword at her neck. His deep voice boomed above the noise. “You heard your lady. Stop!” He tightened his blade against the elf’s throat. “NOW!” he shouted.

  Armein sneered, but he lifted his hands in supplication, and the other elf laid his bow on the ground as well.