by Markus Heitz
Phondrasôn, 5427th division of unendingness (6241st solar cycle), spring.
Firûsha blinked in the warm, honey-coloured light. At first she thought she was looking at a lantern, then the sun. How ever did I get back to the surface?
Her senses returned slowly and she shaded her eyes from the glare. There was none of the usual tightening in her face and her eyes did not turn black, as they did in daylight. It could not be the daystar after all.
What can it be? Peering through her fingers, Firûsha could see the bars of her cage and long, reddish-green stalks of grass swaying in the breeze round her prison. She could smell the earth, sweet blossoms and ripe fruit.
Then the pain surged in. Her whole body must be covered in bruises and she could feel the sting of a cut on her forehead. Luckily, the wound seemed to have stopped bleeding of its own accord and she did not think she had any broken bones.
‘Sisaroth? Tirîgon?’ Her cage had landed on its side so she couldn’t stand up. She propped herself up on her elbows and looked around.
She was surrounded by giant vegetation and in the distance she caught sight of blue sky peering over a crumbling grey wall. A broad track of flattened grass showed where the cage had travelled. It looks like that’s where I’ve come from.
Firûsha tried the padlock on the bolt of her cage. It was not locked, as the condemned exiles were expected to leave their cages on arrival in Phondrasôn, but it was stuck. She could only guess just how rough her trip had been, as she had obviously passed out, but the bumpy passage must have damaged the catch.
No! Firûsha shook the cage bars frantically. There was no way she could force the door open. She cursed under her breath.
‘Sisaroth? Tirîgon?’ she called, hoping her brothers were close. What do I do if they’re too far away to hear me? I’ll starve and die here, despite the fruit that smells so close!
Her cries for help echoed back down to her and Firûsha realised she must be in a cave. That wasn’t the sky she could see overhead after all, but a strange blue roof – perhaps it was the natural colour of the stone. Or has it been painted? Who would do such a thing?
None of this would matter if she could not free herself from her metal prison. Without her brothers, who was going to get her out? Were there any living beings here at all? And if so, how would they react to visitors?
According to the stories told about Phondrasôn, it was highly unlikely anyone would come to her aid, but if she just sat there quietly she’d probably starve to death. ‘By all the gods of infamy!’ She attacked the cage bars with renewed vigour, shaking the door and kicking it. The only results were exhaustion and further grazes on her hands and legs.
It is too strong. I’m having absolutely no effect on it whatsoever. She lay down to get a little rest, closing her eyes and deliberately slowing her breathing, trying to decide whether to risk calling for help or to carry on waiting.
The cavern’s light had begun to grow dim and the pleasant warmth was disappearing – she had goose pimples on her arms and legs. Her dress was badly torn and her costly tiara must have rolled only the gods knew where. Maybe one of Phondrasôn’s more discerning beasts would be seen wearing it. When she opened her eyes again, she noticed her breath steaming in the cold air.
This sudden drop in temperature surprised her. There must be a strong draught from the upper world. Despite the springtime there had still been plenty of snow on the ground in the älfar empire. The icy mountain wind must blow in through cracks in the tunnel. Frost started to form on the grass stalks as she watched.
Firûsha shivered. If it gets any colder I’ll freeze to death. With her body starting to shake uncontrollably and her teeth chattering, she realised she had no choice; she shouted for help. Grateful for her training in languages, she yelled in the älfar tongue at first and then in the lingua franca the barbarians used.
Her voice eventually gave out. Nobody came.
Sometimes she thought she heard footsteps, but no one ever materialised. The grass rustled and cracked as the layer of frost grew, ice forming on her belt and hair.
She was near tears in her desperation, but did not give in. Defiance took over.
I will not die. Tirîgon, Sisaroth and I vowed we would find each other. I’m sure they will come and find me. She rubbed her slim hands together to keep the circulation going; her rings were bitterly cold on her fingers. They will find me.
Rustling steps approached and she saw a creature drawing near. Though it walked on two hind legs, its eyes were similar to those of a hungry hunting cat – except that there were three of them. The creature’s throat emitted a clicking purr.
Firûsha couldn’t stop herself shrieking as she struggled against the bars of her cage, but after a few seconds she realised how futile it was. She slumped against the metal bars on the far side of the cage and asked quietly, ‘Can you understand me?’ in the barbarian language.
The creature had a simple fur mantle tied around its middle and it bared its teeth as it pushed at her with its filthy calloused paws through the bars of her cage. ‘Soft,’ it muttered. ‘Good!’
What does that mean? Firûsha pointed to the damaged door latch. ‘Can you open it? I am stuck!’
The creature hopped on top of the cage and jumped around for all it was worth, kicking at the door with its shabby boots. There was no end of noise and a lot of dirt but the door release mechanism remained unimpressed.
The disappointed creature hissed and screamed with anger and frustration. As it slid back down to the ground and pummelled the bars with hairy fists, Firûsha was almost overcome by the pungent smell from its body.
The beast can’t be very bright. Its boots don’t match and that cloak is probably stolen. Firûsha tried to calm the creature down. ‘No, wait. Slow down. Shhh. It’s okay – why don’t you find a stick?’ She attempted to make her meaning clear by the use of gestures and pointing. ‘Stick. To break door. I show you how.’
The creature paid no attention to her but instead pulled out a little trumpet and blew on it, producing a quavering note that reverberated through the cavern.
The response was an answering tone from many similar bugles. Monsters came running up on all sides, trampling the grasses flat. Frost sprayed into Firûsha’s face and she found herself being sniffed and stared at by several specimens of the same type of creature. They reached through the bars to poke her arms and legs and pull at her dress, tearing it even further.
‘Stop it! Stop! Go away!’ It was stupid of me to shout for help like that. The new creatures were dressed just as strangely as the first, wearing a mixture of random, ill-fitting cast-offs. They continued to rattle the bars of her cage angrily as they tried to reach her, tugging at her hair. ‘Get out of here and leave me be or my brothers will—’
Suddenly, the monster who first discovered her sprang on top of the cage and shoved all the others away. He shrieked something unintelligible, pointing at Firûsha as he did so.
Whatever he was shouting seemed to find favour with the others and they took hold of Firûsha’s prison and lifted it into the air with their leader still on top.
‘What are you doing?’ she cried, her long hair finally free from their clasping fingers as they carried her away. The cold was intolerable – it was vital that she get out of the cage and find something warm to put on. The overpowering stink of the creatures was making her feel sick. I hope Sisaroth and Tirîgon aren’t far away. They should be able to follow these tracks.
The beasts lugged her to a clearing where a number of odd-looking shelters had been erected from animal skins. In the centre of the camp, a crowd of monsters were roasting meat on long spits over a blazing open fire. When the group arrived, they were greeted with enthusiastic cheers and ridiculous trumpet blasts that sounded like the toys barbarians gave their children to play with. Their strident tones were far too harsh for älfar ears.
With Firûsha still inside, they put the cage down and rolled it toward the fire. It was like being spun rou
nd in a bee-keeper’s centrifuge. She was momentarily relieved that they were pushing her closer to a heat source until she realised they weren’t slowing down.
The cage continued to roll, starting to get very close to the flames. It wasn’t slowing down at all . . .
Do they want to cook me? ‘No! I’m not an animal. You can’t eat me!’ she shouted in desperation. Her plea fell on deaf ears. She tried to use one of her älfar magic gifts – the ability to douse flames and extinguish lights – but she was being rattled around too much to concentrate. The fire remained unaffected.
She attempted another of her gifts – the ability to instil fear – in order to drive the beasts away. This was equally unsuccessful. She had spent too much time recently on her singing and had neglected her magic arts practice.
The monsters danced around, as excited as ever, anticipating a good feast. The cage was now perilously close to the fire.
There’s only one thing for it. Aware of the extreme danger she was in, Firûsha raised her voice in song. She did not sing any song in particular – merely a simple series of notes that occurred to her on the spur of the moment. The sound cut through the noisy atmosphere like a diamond slicing through glass.
The monsters fell silent.
They stopped rolling the cage half an arm’s length from the fire and stood it upright. A hundred triple eyes stared at the älf-girl as she sang. Enraptured, the creatures pushed closer to their captive and shushed each other.
It’s working! Firûsha forced herself to carry on in spite of her sore throat and the flames scorching her back. In a stroke of genius she decided to base her tune on the crude melody she had heard their trumpets make as she entered the camp, elaborating and refining the simple theme. She put her heart and soul into the performance – her life depended on it.
While Firûsha appreciated being out of the cold, her proximity to the fire was becoming rather disturbing – her exposed skin felt as if it were being burned and she was afraid her hair would catch fire. The metal cage bars were extremely hot and scorching the soles of her feet.
Her vocal cords were also suffering and in danger of failing her.
I can’t go on singing indefinitely. O gods of infamy, help me! Send my brothers to find me! She ceased her song with one final long drawn-out note and begged her audience to drag her further from the fire and to give her some water. The request was met with angry hissing; half-chewed bones were flung her way, as were handfuls of dirt. It was obvious that they wanted her to start singing again.
But Firûsha refused – her throat would not let her. ‘Please get me away from the fire,’ she croaked.
The creature that had found her originally pushed and poked at her to get her to sing. When Firûsha shook her head he screamed in fury and grabbed hold of the bars of the cage. His comrades joined him and they began to tip the cage into the fire.
They’ll eat me! ‘Wait! Wait, I’ll—’ She tried a new tune but her voice had been overworked – she could barely produce a sound.
Firûsha bent to avoid the sparks that were darting in through the top half of the cage, making herself as small as possible and hiding her face and hair in her arms.
Just then, Firûsha heard a dark, roaring sound above the beasts’ shouts and cries. It was like the wind howling in a deep chasm and was quickly followed by the death screams from the first of the creatures.
Those closest to her let go of the cage, sending it teetering back and forth. My brothers! Firûsha got to her feet and tried to stabilise her tiny prison. My thanks to you, o gods of infamy! So even in such a place as Phondrasôn you do watch over your children.
All around her the beasts were frantically running about, picking up stones to defend themselves, while others howled a war cry.
‘You’ll be easy prey for Sisaroth and Tirîgon!’ she called out, laughing. ‘Not a single one of you will survive the night. You’ll be made to pay for what you’ve done to me, you scum!’ She made use of the utter chaos to try her fire-dousing skills again. This time the flames sputtered and shrank, though they still didn’t extinguish entirely.
The creatures’ screams were changing. Their shouts of excitement and battle-fever had reduced to the sound of pure terror. Some of the tents had caught fire and the smoke made it impossible for Firûsha to see what was happening. She could hear bodies falling, liquids spraying; she heard yells of pain and groans of agony and the sounds of death.
Her tormentors’ cries gave way to thundering footsteps as they fled in all directions to get away from the two älfar who had arrived to save their sister. ‘Over here!’ she called through the haze of smoke. ‘Sisaroth! Tirîgon! I’m here! By the fire! Please, get me out before I burn!’
A wounded monster came stumbling out of a cloud of whirling, grey smoke, its three eyes open wide in horror. It was whimpering pitifully and its forepaws were clenched tight over a jagged cut in its side, unsuccessfully trying to prevent its guts spilling out. It staggered drunkenly and crashed into the cage.
‘No!’ shouted Firûsha, throwing herself against the front of the cage to counter the impact. The beast sank down, howling, and vomited dark red blood onto the sandy ground.
The älf-girl was able to reach a fragment of bone that lay discarded near the fire. She grabbed it and dragged it across the creature’s throat. There’s no way I’m letting you topple me into the fire.
Then she caught sight of a silhouette approaching through the smoke. It was too tall and broad to be either of her brothers.
As the monster below her gasped and gurgled, desperately clinging to the sides of the cage, a mighty spear came winging through the air. The weapon narrowly missed Firûsha and hit the creature, which juddered and kicked out with its feet in its final throes – spraying her with blood and pushing the cage towards the fire.
‘No! Please no!’ Firûsha was powerless to prevent the cage toppling.
But before it fell on the glowing coals, it was arrested, jerked upright and pulled to one side.
Icy winds dispersed the smoke and Firûsha saw the stranger who had rescued her. A tall creature, dressed head to toe in beast-skins. An uncanny mask on its face was elaborately crafted from pieces of skull with only a narrow slit to leave its grey eyes uncovered.
So one monster saves me from all the others. O gods, what are you thinking? Keeping tight hold of the fragment of bone in her hand, she felt her survival instincts coming to the fore despite her precarious situation. ‘You probably won’t understand what I’m saying, but I swear I’ll slit you in half if you try to touch me!’ she exclaimed.
The unknown figure, at least a head and shoulders taller than she was, tugged his spear out of the victim’s body and wiped it clean on the corpse’s fur. ‘Why should I want to touch you?’ came the amused retort from behind the mask. It was a man’s voice.
Firûsha stared at the figure in disbelief. He spoke älfar! My language! ‘Who are you? Why are you keeping your face hidden? What is your name?’
‘I choose who I show my face to – and when I wear a mask the beasts are afraid of me,’ he replied, studying the door of the cage. ‘The catch has broken off.’
‘Yes, I know that,’ snapped Firûsha. ‘Can you get me out of here?’
‘Of course.’ He slid the shaft of a giant spear through the bars at the top of the cage and looping his arms around the pole, hoisted the cage on to his back. He set off, moving through the smoke and treading on bodies as he went, heading deeper into the cave. It was growing darker by the minute.
‘So why don’t you?’ The älf-girl almost sobbed with frustration. I’m such a fool. This is Phondrasôn – where my people’s worst criminals are sent. He’ll be expecting something in return for his help. She had a good idea what that might be. She stared at her kidnapper’s broad back with trepidation. I will not let him have his way with me, but I can’t stab the bone fragment into his neck from here. ‘What do you intend to do with me?’ She was struck once more by how cold it was. She started to sh
iver.
‘I’m going to take you to where I live before you freeze to death,’ was his response.
Not a bad idea. She turned the weapon in her hand. And there’s bound to be an opportunity for escape sooner or later. ‘And then?’
‘What’s your name?’
‘Firûsha.’
‘Nice name. Suits an artist like yourself. I shall give you something to eat. Warm soup will help your poor throat recover.’
‘And then will you release me?’
The masked figure stopped and turned his head; she heard a quiet, muffled laugh. ‘Oh, I don’t think so. You shall be my little singing bird now. I have been quite homesick for the songs of our people.’
‘Songs?’
‘Your voice was why I saved you, and I want to keep it.’ He set off once more. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you’re well looked after. You will be my personal entertainment – I hope you know many, many tunes. It would be such a shame if I got bored with you too quickly.’
I’ve ended up being rescued by a mad älf. Firûsha groaned with despair and sank down onto the floor of her wildly swinging cage. Wherever you’ve got to, brothers mine, it’s high time you turned up. I need you.
Phondrasôn, 5427th division of unendingness (6241st solar cycle), spring.
The soothing noise and the pleasant sensation of warmth meant that Tirîgon was in no hurry to open his eyes.
The noise grew louder, swelled and then fell, rose and then fell again . . .
In the spaces between, the sound of birdsong trickled through and reminded him of the one of the few happy times he’d had in Dsôn. It had been summertime, and he’d been playing with his siblings down by the stream that ran through the bottom of Dsôn’s natural basin. They’d shared their dreams for the future.
Am I beside a river now? He opened his eyes and watched waves roll towards a beach, seeping into the white sand to make way for the next. Light glinted off the water. A small crab scuttled across the sand, its pincers aloft and snapping wildly, as if it were battling with a whole army of invisible foes.