by E G Stone
All the while, that nagging doubt lingered in the back of her mind. Ravenna was unused to such open cruelty, but submission was not new. No matter how she fought it, Tacitus’ words from her fever-dream rang true. She had submitted without a fight. She had submitted to almost everything in her life without a fight, excepting learning to run through and amongst the forest. And she did not know how to change that.
The third day dawned hot and clear. The two humans that had branded Ravenna stomped into her prison and dragged her to a bathing spring where she was scrubbed, her hair oiled and pinned away from her eyes, and dressed in a ridiculous costume. The trousers were like the billowing trousers in fashion at the Aerial City. They cinched at Ravenna’s waist, flowed down her legs and collected at the ankles. If she expected a pinch of homesickness, she was disappointed. All Ravenna felt was an abiding disgust for the person who thought these black sheer things were all the clothes a person needed.
Only, they weren’t all the clothes. Ravenna was provided with a beaded top that strategically covered her chest and left everything else bare. Including her back and wings. A beaded headdress was placed on her hair and a shining silver chain was attached to her ankle. Ravenna did not have to look at her reflection in the spring to know what these people wanted her to be.
Angel of Darkness. A concubine. A glimpse of the dark night or a white star.
To these humans, Ravenna was beautiful. Their gasps, leering gazes, admiration, and awe made it perfectly clear that, even disregarding the wings, Ravenna was special to them. It was so strange, given that the sylphs had never thought her as such. Sure, her limbs were lithe and her muscles powerful. Her figure trim and her features aristocratic. But everything else had been treated with such frowning disdain that even her attributes had been ignored. And then there were her flightless wings. Ravenna was now supposed to be portraying a beauty she had never felt, but all she could feel was disgusted.
“Yes,” Jazer hissed in pleasure as Ravenna was brought out to the enormous balcony where the Slave Master sat and oversaw the games in the Pit. There were other chairs and couches, surrounded by tanned children waving fans. Ravenna’s chain was attached to a stake in the centre of the balcony and she knew that this was to be her world. “You will do quite nicely. Do you know your tasks?”
Ravenna bit back the desire to snap and fight against her fate. It could have been worse, she thought. Much worse. “I am to serve drinks and food to your guests.”
“Very good,” Jazer ran a possessive hand over Ravenna’s night-black feathers. The sylph shuddered and drew away. “No flapping those wings of yours and trying to fly away, now, hear?”
Ravenna nodded, not wanting to reveal her greatest shame to this parasite.
Jazer raised a hand, rings glinting in the sun. “Say it!”
“I could not escape if I tried,” Ravenna spat out.
Jazer lowered her hand and quirked a painted-on eyebrow.
Ravenna swallowed, fear of pain overriding her sense of shame. “I cannot fly.”
Jazer was silent for a moment. Then, she tossed her head back, the jewellery on every inch of her body clinking and taunting. Jazer’s laugh, though, was the worst of all. It scraped along Ravenna’s back, making her wish for a weapon. Any weapon. She could do nothing with it, though. In that moment, Ravenna knew that she had been broken. And she had not fought that, either.
She lowered her head.
“You cannot fly,” Jazer sneered. “Why not? One of those slavers break your precious wings?”
“No,” Ravenna said. “I was born unable to fly.”
“Well, well. This does change things. I no longer have to worry about clipping your wings to keep you by my side,” Jazer fingered the blade at her round hip. She grinned wolfishly at Ravenna. “And you are still as beautiful as ever. The world will never know that you cannot fly. You will still be my Angel. My sign of good fortune and divine blessing.”
Ravenna winced back from the caressing touch of Jazer, a sob building in her chest. Who was she kidding? She had told herself she was strong. Tacitus had told her she was strong. Ravenna had vowed she would not break, that she would not give in to the horrors of the human world. That she would be everything Tacitus had told her she could be. The truth was, though, that Ravenna had been submissive and quiet for so long that she had never been strong. She had only ever tried not to be a burden to others. Running through the trees? That was as close to freedom as she had ever been.
And now look at her.
“Oh, tsk,” Jazer drew a finger over Ravenna’s black hair, playing with the beaded headdress. “Don’t cry, Angel. My guests are arriving. You must be prepared to serve them and then to stand at my side and watch the games.”
Ravenna took a single breath for herself. Then she straightened and bowed her head to Jazer. Her expression remained cool and calm. She would not let the others see what turmoil lay beneath. At least she had that.
Whatever it was that Jazer wanted from Ravenna, she at least knew how to keep the sylph safe from any wandering hands and eyes, from the guests that were more likely to take than to ask. Ravenna served drinks and food to the hungry-eyed males and their females, clothes finely crafted and, Ravenna thought, absurd. The whispers about her followed with their gazes. But the shame and disgust that Ravenna had felt eventually faded away into numbness.
Now that Jazer had an “angel” in her possession, it seemed like the games were more about showcasing Ravenna than the fighters. Jazer quickly increased the number of fights from once a week to twice a week then three times. Every fight, Ravenna stood behind Jazer’s couch, shielding her from the sun with her wings. And every time, the audience would watch Ravenna with wide, startled eyes that such a being existed out of legends of dragons and elves and magic when their world contained none. As the weeks, then a moon, passed by, Ravenna sank deeper into the numbness, telling herself over and over again that things could be far worse.
Then, things changed.
Jazer had a particularly rowdy group of guests that day. They were supposedly some wandering tribe’s shaman and leader, enjoying the respite from the desert in the springs that surrounded the Pits. They were already wine-drunk and kept asking Ravenna for more.
“Please, Angel, another drink to make the sun beat less harshly,” the shaman slurred, leaning forwards and holding out his goblet. Ravenna heard Jazer’s huff of annoyance behind her but went to do her job anyway. Saying nothing, she poured another goblet-full of wine and tried to ignore the roar of the audience as they cheered the bloodshed behind her. The fights were the only things that Ravenna actively ignored. After having become a slave, she didn’t think she could stand anymore blood and violence, proof of human cruelty.
“Mmmmm, yes,” the shaman licked his lips and raked his dark eyes across Ravenna’s exposed skin. It was nothing new, but this time she took a step back, the delicate chain around her ankle dragging as she did so. After Jazer discovered that Ravenna was unable to fly and lacked the will to run, the chain had become more for show than anything. Possession.
“Angel, why don’t you sit with me and my tribe fellows for a while?” the shaman waved a light-brown hand to the leering humans beside him. Ravenna shook her head. “No? What do you mean, no?”
“I cannot,” Ravenna said, backing up another step as the shaman rose. His bejewelled scabbard was empty, but the threat of violence was present all the same.
“I say you can,” he snarled. “After all, you are nothing more than a slave.”
“I cannot,” Ravenna repeated, her voice firmer. She took another two steps backward, hoping to run into Jazer’s couch, so the Slave Master would stop her guests. Jazer was a cruel woman, but the alternative was much, much worse. It was the darkest of Ravenna’s fears about her new life. The shaman let out a wordless hiss and advanced, following Ravenna. She retreated again, the backs of her legs hitting the stone railing that surrounded the balcony. Ravenna glanced desperately to her side and saw Jazer’s c
ouch was a good distance away. She had not been retreating to Jazer. She had been retreating to the edge of the sinkhole.
Her momentum was too much. Ravenna stumbled over the edge, the chain on her ankle snapped with the slightest pressure. And then, she was in open air, falling.
This was too much like falling into the gully as a child. Like falling from a tree. For two heartbeats, Ravenna felt as she were suspended midair. Her eyes took in the startled looks of the spectators, the open-mouthed horror on Jazer’s face. Ravenna reached out to grab at something, anything. All she managed to do was twist her wings and beat them against the air.
Then suddenly, Ravenna remembered her training. She remembered running through the forest, leaping through trees and surviving in that moment between jumping and landing. She remembered what it was like to feel the wind cupping beneath her feathers. Her wings might not have been strong enough to carry her in flight, but they could help her twist right-ways-up and slow her fall.
Ravenna landed on the floor of the Pits with a resounding slap, her bare feet bracing against the dirt; her knees absorbed the shock along with her wings. A dust cloud enveloped her, making her cough. She straightened and blinked rapidly, clearing her eyes. She was alive. Not only that, but she was uninjured.
A cry rose from the audience and suddenly, they were cheering. Ravenna winced at the noise and looked around to see if there was a way out of the Pit. She spotted the fallen form of a human, staring up at her in shock. He was about ten feet away from her and lying on his back, an enormous gash in his left leg. The rest of him was so covered in dust and gore that Ravenna couldn’t tell anything about him except that he was powerful and had green eyes. They were not staring at her, Ravenna realised, but behind her.
She whirled around and saw a desert lion stalking towards her, eyes bright with bloodlust. The lion’s shoulders were massive slabs of muscle, its haunches made for springing. Its sides heaved with breath, ribs showing easily. It snarled, showing Ravenna its fangs already dripping with the fallen soldier’s blood. Its paws were easily the size of Ravenna’s face, claws digging into the dirt with ease.
“Ah,” she muttered.
“Here!” the soldier cried. Ravenna turned and lunged for him, just as the lion did. She reached him first, grabbing the leaf-shaped bronze blade lying at the soldier’s side. The lion roared and barrelled into Ravenna, throwing her through the air. Once again, she used her wings to land upright. The lion paced and roared again, eyes glancing between the soldier and Ravenna. It was fairly obvious which was the easier target.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Ravenna hissed. She did not think about the fact that the fallen soldier was human, that he likely deserved whatever punishment this starved-in-captivity lion deemed worthy. Ravenna only knew that the lion was advancing and that she should do something about it. So she did.
She let out a cry and ran for the lion, her wings twisting in the Dalketh motion for Eagle Lifting Prey. When Ravenna crouched and sprang, the air caught beneath her wings just as they should have. Instead of flying, though, she came down on top of the lion. It roared as her blade sank into the space between its shoulders.
Ravenna fell off the lion’s back and rolled in the dust, her left wing trapped beneath her. She groaned and forced herself to stand, to face her opponent. The lion, though, was uninterested in attacking Ravenna or the human it had already injured. It was staggering away, moving towards a boulder. Collapsing before it could reach the meagre shelter, the lion was dead.
Ravenna almost did not hear the shouting of the spectators. She was too busy dealing with the roiling of her stomach and the horror at what she had done. Turning, Ravenna bent over and emptied her stomach. Her muscles trembled and her wings ached at being used in ways they had not been for weeks. Tears fell unbidden from her eyes, though she quickly brushed them away.
“Hey,” the human had managed to stagger to his feet and was limping towards Ravenna, hands raised in concern. “Are you alright?”
Ravenna nodded. Shook her head. “What have I done?”
“You saved me, is what,” the human held out his hand. Ravenna looked at it, a furrow in her brows. “You shake it,” the human said, his own legs trembling almost as much as Ravenna’s. “It’s a sort of sign of trust and friendship. Sort of.”
Ravenna took the man’s hand and he shook it. “Thank you, Angel.”
“Ravenna,” she said softly, the words barely heard over the ecstatic cries of those watching. “My name is Ravenna.”
“Well, Ravenna, I’m Radim.”
“You see!” Jazer’s voice rang out over the roaring of the audience. Ravenna and Radim looked up to see the Slave Master standing at the front of the balcony, her arms spread wide in victory, jewellery glinting in the sun. “The Angel shows her true nature! She is a warrior!”
The audience cheered all the louder and Radim patted Ravenna’s shoulder, seemingly ignorant of the wound on his leg. “Welcome to the Pits, Ravenna. You’ve just become the star attraction.”
Chapter Six
Ravenna’s life, once again, changed dramatically in a blink and a misstep. No more living with the household slaves, she was sent to bunk with the other warriors of the Pits, deep in the caverns that surrounded the arena. Her days of following Jazer around had also ended, leaving Ravenna to train with the humans.
She was terrified.
“Have you ever held a sword before?” Radim asked, raising his eyebrows. He stood next to a giant of a human, whose hands were probably large enough to wrap around Ravenna’s skull and crush it in an instant. This was the most experienced of the slave warriors, a human Ravenna had learned was named Tekko. He had a shaved head and more pink, scarred flesh than unmarked leather-tan skin. He was frowning at Ravenna like she was the scum beneath his shoe.
Well, she was not too pleased, either, being trained to fight with yet another group of horrible human parasites. Ravenna was not interested in fighting. She had never even wanted to kill anything in her hunts, though she had done so out of necessity. Killing that lion had been self-defence, but it did not mean she liked it. It was starving and desperate for food, probably tortured until it was mean enough to go after the first thing that got in its way. It was a horrible fate. Yet now, Jazer was convinced that Ravenna was going to be a great warrior. And Radim seemed to think that they were friends since she had saved his life. She silently cursed both impressions with every breath.
Ravenna flared her wings slightly and shifted the grip of the leaf-shaped blade in her hand. It felt clumsy and awkward and she hated it. “No. I’ve only ever used daggers for hunting.”
“This isn’t a dagger,” Tekko growled. “And if you don’t lift that point in the air, you will be dead before your next match even begins.”
Ravenna curled her lip in a snarl but did as Tekko demanded. If learning how to fight meant surviving one more day, then she would learn how to fight. And she would do it well, to keep these humans from coming anywhere near her.
“Good. Now attack the dummy.” Tekko waved his giant hand towards the straw dummy that had been set up across the arena. Skeptical, Ravenna raised her brow, but did as she was told. She edged forwards, trying to keep the sword up whilst looking around to see if anyone else was going to sneak up on her. She would not put anything past these humans. After a minute or so, she reached the dummy, raised her sword and brought it down in a swipe that should have, to her estimation, hacked off one of its arms. Instead, the sword got stuck in the straw.
“Not enough power,” Radim said.
She whirled, letting go of the sword and jumping back in a motion that had been trained into her from an early age.
Radim whistled, impressed. “Well, well, looks like you have some fight in you after all.”
“That wasn’t fighting,” Ravenna snapped. “That was Dalketh.”
Radim and Tekko exchanged a confused look. Radim shifted his weight off of his still-healing leg, “Dalketh? Some sort of angel thing?”
; “I’m not an angel,” Ravenna said for what felt like the hundredth time. At this point, it seemed like Radim was saying it just to get a rise out of her. She took a deep, calming breath and plastered calmness over her face, just like she would when dealing with Crispinus and Desarra. Ravenna released the breath. “Dalketh is a series of exercises designed to help balance a sylph’s energies and manoeuvre in flight. They stretch and use all the muscles in the body and wings and teach balance, control, grace.”
She did not mention that it was also what had helped her run through her beloved forest and jump through the trees like a bird or flying snake. She did not tell them that the uneven walls of the Pits were enough for her to use her experience to climb and jump out of there. The soldiers pacing the perimeter of the fall into the Pits were enough to deter Ravenna from that.
Tekko nodded brusquely. “Show me.”
“Show you what? Dalketh? It’s not a fighting style,” Ravenna pointed out.
Tekko just nodded again and waved an impatient hand.
Ravenna swallowed the urge to roll her eyes. She kept her expression the same icy-calm and took a few steps back, stretching her wings out to their full length. Radim and Tekko’s eyes gleamed at the sight, but they said nothing.
Ravenna spread her legs to shoulder width, sank down a touch, and began the routine that she had learned all those years ago. Her wings twisted in conjunction with her hips, her arms flowing through the air to move the energy in her body. Her legs sank and rose, stretching the muscles, allowing her to fall into a lunge or a crouch. She flowed, her eyes closing as the familiar feel of the exercise took over. This was home. This was control over her body, making it do everything she asked of it…except fly. This had been her safe space for so long, a place where no one would interrupt her with errands to run for the Intellecti or demands to go climb the Stair and spend the day in the Aerial City. There were no taunts about her flightlessness and lowly status. In Dalketh, Ravenna was grace and control and power.