Sufferborn

by J C Hartcarver

  “Listen now,” Lord Dax said. “Lord Rem told you to go to Norr.”

  “Those elves’ll skin us,” Del grumbled.

  “You’re partially right. Things have been strained between Sharr and Norr for a long time, and the sorcerers work to aggravate the situation. But there are certain loopholes that haven’t been closed up. More than likely, Damos will be flying over Norr on his ravian, though he’ll have to take caution because of their hostility and their excellent ability with ranged weapons. He’s not stupid; he knows all of this. What you should do is take the common trail. It’s a prominent road that runs through Norr, built before the days of Hanhelin’s Gate. Traders, elves, and human pilgrims all used to use it. Its primary function was to guide non-elven travelers through Norr without allowing them any sight of the elves’ villages. Back in those days, you would’ve found station cabins to sleep in, made for that purpose, but I assume those cabins are no more.”

  Bowaen stepped forward. “This common trail is the loophole you were getting at?”

  “Yes. Though non-elves aren’t welcome in Norr, they’ve written nothing to Sharr barring us from using it. My people have reported that the road is overgrown because it doesn’t get much use anymore, but it’s still there.”

  “Well, how do we know we won’t get skinned if we’re caught on it in the heart of their forest?” Bowaen asked.

  “I’m sending you with an official document bearing my seal. If you get waylaid by the saehgahn rangers, show it to them. They may take you into custody, but if you can show it to the right dignitaries, they may communicate with me and possibly ransom you back. Nonetheless, I’m not expecting them to harm you outright.”

  “Still sounds shaky,” Bowaen said after clicking his tongue.

  “It is, but it’s the way things are. This is urgent, and your reward is waiting.”

  Del scoffed. “It’s not worth getting skinned.”

  “They won’t skin you, my good man!” Dax sucked air through his nose and relaxed his shoulders. “The elves conduct themselves carefully and with consideration. However, the sorcerers will skin you in good time. Go home and watch current events advance, and they eventually will—that’s a promise.”

  Del shrank under Lord Dax’s stare and twiddled the pipe hanging off his shoulder on its leather strap.

  “If you see any elves along your way, they might appear…rough, but please don’t judge their appearance. They all live under the same refined principles of honor.”

  Sighing, Bowaen said, “I’ll give it a try.”

  “Remember to stay on the trail. Don’t leave it.”

  “We can’t leave it even to hunt a rabbit for dinner?”

  “Best not to. Between the three of you, you carry more than enough food to get through Norr. I’m hoping you’ll catch Damos before then.”

  Bowaen nodded sharply and hoisted his jewelry lockbox on his back. Del helped him with his cloak and took both of their new travel bags.

  “Well.” Lord Dax slapped and rubbed his hands together. “I suppose we’re finished. Use your best judgment on whatever problems arise. I trust you. You’ve no idea how deeply I trust you.”

  Cocking his head, Bowaen snorted. “Why?”

  “Lord Rem recommended you.”

  For hours, days, weeks, years, lifetimes, Dorhen fought to find his muscles and move them, still stuck in the thick, dark place. Every once in a while, he’d locate a finger or an ankle, and he kept looking.

  He made a fist with his right hand. He still couldn’t find his other hand because he had focused all his effort on the right one. The snakes slithered faster around him. He ignored them.

  An enormous wave of hot tingles washed over his abdomen, as if the darkness itself were pleasuring him. It would seduce him again and put him back to sleep. To suppress his efforts and make him forget.

  His head clouded over as some of the snakes coiled around in his skull to smother his thoughts. He would keep trying until it killed him. As heavy as the slime in his head grew, he’d keep fighting. He couldn’t let it win. He couldn’t lose the connection his brain had managed to reestablish with his appendages.

  The snakes rushed around his form, many staying at his genitals—at least he’d found those. But if they made him feel too good, he’d fall asleep and they’d win. He ignored the pleasure and turned his thoughts back to moving his arms. The hot, slithering creatures squeezed. They were beating him at his game.

  No!

  There! He’d found his mind’s voice.

  Fool. What are you doing?

  There was the other voice. The off-putting voice that had shared his thoughts since…since… How long had it even been? The caressing washed away his other senses and replaced them with a luxury he’d never wish to refuse. What little senses he’d reclaimed would disappear with the fast approaching climax.

  Enjoy yourself, fool. You’re not needed anymore. Lie back and enjoy yourself.

  The snakes rubbed him a bit faster, like a hand, but as the pleasure mounted, he could no longer register it as anything beyond the warm enveloping bliss.

  He moved his arm up. Hopefully, its movement wasn’t his imagination. Tearing his mind away from the slithering around his lower body, he managed to wiggle his fingers. He searched for his face.

  A flash of light.

  There it was! He fought on, moving his hand, his arm, making a fist, stretching his fingers, and back again. Up. If he could keep pushing in that direction, he might find his face. His sleepy, lethargic existence in this darkness no longer made sense. He had a body! He should be able to move it. To wake up. A world existed somewhere outside of this dark place. Surely that flash of light proved his eyes were still there too, and soon they would open. And stay open.

  The squeezing, pulsing sensation around his penis slackened; he had pushed it further from his mind, for now. Focus. Maybe he could open his eyes if he thought hard about it and tried.

  His fingers met resistance. In the place where they touched, a feeling bloomed. His cheek! He’d found his face. He hadn’t ceased to exist after all. He might not be dead either. The stroking sensation down below slowed but remained.

  You’re going to regret this, fool, the other voice said. You are no longer needed. Lie back and have your orgasm.

  It took great effort to mold his thoughts into words of his own. No. Go away.

  Make me.

  Another flash of light seared his eyes. He did have eyes. It flickered and lingered a few seconds this time. Dark. Dorhen kept trying, though it drained his energy. A new wave of cloud crept over his thoughts. The snakes in his head thickened and slithered around in circles. He had finally grasped this level of consciousness after…years of trying—he couldn’t give up.

  The stroking snakes hastened their movement again, and more blood travelled down through his abdomen. A new awareness of his blood ignited. Each time he made note of any bodily function was a triumph. Piece by piece, memories of how it felt to be alive returned to him. He could try to find his left hand next.

  The snakes gripped harder and continued the caress.

  Shit, it feels good. Ha!

  He had made another thought, and with minimal effort. Frustration mounted. Frustration was a thing. And “shit” was a rude word. He’d…he’d heard it…somewhere. He’d heard it from the mouths of men. He used to walk around. He used to drift through towns.

  Light beamed into his vision again. It flickered and remained. He forgot about the snakes’ seduction. They vanished. Numbness still plagued his body, yet his right hand was in attendance. He couldn’t move it much, but it supplied a sense of feeling.

  The light separated and seeped back together. All he could do was watch. Shapes. Lights. He could only feel the graze of air on his right hand, nowhere else. He still couldn’t smell anything on the breeze. Shadows moved around, but the light didn’t go away this time. The dark shapes organized into discernible structures.

  You want control back, fool? Enjoy. Your ef
forts are rewarded with the return of your sight, the other voice said in a taunting manner.

  Long, dark shapes materialized in the background: trees. And below him, smaller dark shapes hovered, some moving. He squinted. They were people. He loomed over their heads. One or two men nearly reached his height. His vision sharpened. A few turned around and he saw their faces, none of them recognizable. Rumbling vibrations rolled through his head until they settled into recognizable sounds. Voices. The voices weren’t his or the other voice he’d shared his mind with; they were on the outside of his head. The snakes must’ve cleared from his ears.

  “What’s wrong with Wikshen? He just puked on himself.” The volume of the voice rose and fell. Several more faces turned around.

  “He’s just weird. There’s no excuse for ‘im,” another voice answered the first.

  A wave of laughter.

  “Nasty creature, isn’t he?” That speaker’s eyes drifted over him. “He doesn’t seem to notice what he’s done.”

  The other voice in his head asked, Do you wonder how busy your body has been?

  Dorhen didn’t respond. He tried to speak with his mouth. It didn’t move. He hadn’t won back control of it. His head moved, though not of his own will, and his vision shifted downward, where tied hands rested over a naked torso. All of it wore a splatter of pale-colored vomit. A length of rawhide had been bound around the wrists. They weren’t his hands, though—they were too big with longer fingers. His vision panned back up and surveyed the area. About twenty men moved around freely. A whole lot more were tied together in the back. The soft murmuring of women’s voices registered behind him.

  “We’ve still got a lot of dunces left,” a different man said. “How long ‘til we get to the breach?”

  “Oh, about…two days, I’d say.”

  “Well, the dunces are dying fast. Should we put ‘em to use?”

  The other man looked at Dorhen. “You up for one more raid or two, Wikshen? Will you behave and contribute?”

  Oh, yes! We will, won’t we, fool? If the fool wants to be conscious, we’ll have a good time. Let the sorcerers call the shots for a while. You’ll see what we do, fool. Watch the world move around you. It’s all you’ll be able to do.

  Dorhen’s vision rose and fell as if he were nodding. The other voice in his head rasped a laugh.

  Another man’s head cocked, and he smiled. “What do you think Wikshen feels about attacking the land of his kin?”

  “Bah!” another responded. “He may have pointy ears, but he’s no elf anymore.”

  Someone to the left, standing in the hazier side of his vision, pointed. “Hey, look! He agrees.”

  Someone else snorted. “Yeah, we’ll see about that.”

  A more prominent-looking figure shushed the lot. “Listen, gentlemen, keep your eyes peeled. Norr’s coming to an end. While we’re still here, let’s find the kingsorcerer a gift.”

  Are you listening, fool? The greedy, lecherous kingsorcerer wants a gift. Let’s be the one to find it. We’ll use it to bargain for our freedom. Then I can show you the life of a god. What do you say?

  What are you…? Dorhen struggled to say in his head. The words still flowed like slugs out of a mouth. What are you planning? What are they talking about?

  The other voice’s laugh rolled on until the darkness engulfed his vision again.

  Nonetheless, he’d never give up. He’d fight with all the strength of his mind to gain back control of his body.

  Chapter 31

  An Order for the Saehgahn

  The air wheezed in and out of Gaije’s lungs. He had run through the wilds of his homeland for two days, perhaps more, hardly stopping to sleep. His legs trembled and a shock of pain ran up his shins with each step. He chose southeast, based on a vague idea of where his home clan lived from where the attack had occurred. He realized he must be close when he broke into a meadow followed by another soon after. Clan Lockheirhen raised horses and used the largest of Norr’s open fields for grazing and training. Lehomis loved horses…

  “Gaije. Wake up, my son.”

  A bright red sunset flared in his vision when he opened his eyes. He was sprawled face-down in one of those meadows. Frightened horses whinnied faintly, and their hooves sent a tremor through the earth to his ear.

  He groaned and tried to lift his head. “Father?” His muscles didn’t want to move. “I’m sorry, Father. I didn’t mean to run away. I lost my nerve, and I…”

  “Hurry home.”

  The warm radiance of light shone down on him as a shadow passed away. Gaije worked up to his feet. “I’m coming. Wait for me.” His numb arms hung and his legs trembled.

  “Father?” Gaije stood alone in the tall grass. The clouds in the sky sopped up the red sunset like blood. “Father!”

  He must’ve dreamt the voice. He stumbled on over the lumpy earth and through the tall, waving grass. The wind picked up. The horses didn’t sound any calmer. He might have to spend all night helping to gather them up.

  Through his dizzy and exhausted senses, some faint sounds echoed through the rushing wind. Screams. He ran forward into the tree line until a red glow, brighter than the red sunset, roared under the canopy. He shook his head. A village was being raided. First his company, and now a village.

  He ducked his head and stepped onto the trail winding through the buildings, now reduced to earthen shells set alight from within. A saehgahn ran around the bend, dirt-smudged and without a weapon.

  Gaije squinted and coughed and resorted to filtering the air through the side of his hood. He caught the other elf by the shoulder. It was a mere saeghar in his teen years, his terrified face gawking.

  “What happened?” Gaije asked. When the lad didn’t answer, he shook him. “What happened?”

  “Humans!”

  Humans.

  The lad jerked away and ran, a cowardly thing which would earn him a beating if the saehgahn found out, something to worry about later. Gaije charged forward, holding his bow. He reached for an arrow. None remained in his quiver. He’d been so shaken since his own attack, he’d failed to keep stock of them.

  Past the village center, fewer buildings burned and more people ran about. Screams. Some of them were female, but their location proved hard to pinpoint in the chaos. Many clansmen, young saeghar and old shi-hehen, ran wildly. A few bumped him as they ran past, knocking him off balance. Some saehgahn remained alive, fighting with the rest of their strength for however long it would last, and Gaije would join them. It might not be his clan, but that was what saehgahn did.

  He combed the village, striking down the attacking humans with his knife and checking empty houses and sheds for survivors, all while harvesting arrows from the dead.

  Like the ones who had attacked his company, the humans stank, even over the stench of the burning village, though these were dressed in maroon and olive livery—Sharr! What did the smelly humans want from them?

  Leaning over to remove a dead one’s helmet, he found bone with flesh barely clinging to it. He lurched backward, smothering his nose in his sleeve.

  Before he could speculate, a spear with a curved blade whooshed toward his neck. Gaije threw up his arm to block the strike with the stone plate on his bracer. Sparks flew, and he fell all the same. He didn’t have enough energy right now. The human, also stinking and wearing a Sharzian tabard, raised the spear. Gaije’s head spun, but he rolled as far out of the way as he could.

  Thunk-thunk-thunk! Three arrows stabbed into the man, and he stumbled to the side. The archer approached, and Gaije scrambled to his feet.

  The archer ripped the arrows out of the man’s neck, shoulder, and rib cage, and hauled him into the fire. Turning to Gaije, he yelled over the roaring flames, “Stay on your feet, saehgahn!”

  “G-Grandfather?” Gaije pushed his hood back, and the other saehgahn paused. His long hair dangled in loops behind his head, the way Lehomis fashioned his ground-length hair when he needed to shorten it hastily.

  This
is my clan!

  “Gaije, what in hell are you—?” The two stared at each other until Lehomis shook his head. “Forget it. Now that you’re here, listen. Your father’s dead!”

  Gaije’s mouth hung open. “What?”

  “Shut up and listen! You’d better look sharp.” He handed him the three bloody arrows. “Mhina’s missing! You need to help me find her.”

  “Which way did she go?”

  “I couldn’t tell, but she’s still out there. Find her!”

  Gaije took off after Lehomis slapped his shoulder.

  “Mhina!” For an hour Gaije had searched, killing and burning humans all the way. He made his way to the outskirts of the orange inferno which used to be his home, and paused to suck in the clean air. He bent over and coughed, persistently calling her name. Most of the stinking humans had thinned out, and Gaije welcomed the lull in their aggression.

  Heavy footfalls preceding an equine snort caught his attention. One of the clan’s horses, a smoky grey stallion, stood among the shadowy trees. Someone sat bareback upon it.

  Gaije ducked behind a tangle of brush and squinted to make out the person’s identity. He couldn’t put a name to the form, but in this madness, he hadn’t recognized that teenaged saeghar right away either.

  “Who’s there?” he called.

  The horse snorted again and stamped the ground, but the rider didn’t answer. It was a saehgahn with years of adult-length hair, whoever he was. Gaije didn’t ask again. The stranger paid no attention, thank the Bright One. An ominous vibration radiated off this person, not counting the fact that he didn’t pay a fellow saehgahn an answer.

  Gaije lifted his bow and nocked one of the bloody arrows Lehomis had given him. The horse shifted to the side, and the distant firelight behind Gaije flared in the person’s eyes like a cat’s.

  Gaije drew the arrow back and aimed at one of the greenish eyes. Even when the eye turned to him, Gaije held the bow and arrow taut. Whatever had befallen his village, this…creature must be involved. He’d even helped himself to one of their young horses.