by K.N. Lee
The trek lasted for days, with the horses pulling the carts swiftly. The ride was somewhat smooth. Only a few times had she been jarred or startled by bumps or going over rocks or into divots.
They quickly left behind all of the lands Nala had ever ventured to.
Mother took her hand, giving it a silent squeeze.
Together, they would be strong.
Together, they would face whatever horrors awaited.
Chapter Three
Sore, tired, and on the brink of starvation, Nala struggled to stay awake as the carts of prisoners rolled into the wooden gates of a foreign village. During the entire duration, she had done her best to memorize the route.
Thick forests gave way to lush meadows and fields of wheat. They passed rivers and mountains, only stopping so that the raiders and horses could rest. She and the others did their best to survive on hard bread and water.
The smell of manure assaulted her senses, and the gray sky—heavy with an oncoming storm—reflected the turmoil within her soul. She licked her chapped lips and lifted her gaze to the sentries at the tops of the towers that overlooked the village.
“Mother,” she whispered. “Do you know this place?”
Her mother shook her head, eyes weary, skin pale.
Svein had fallen asleep against her, but he woke when the cart abruptly stopped in the middle of a muddy courtyard.
Startled, he sat up. She removed her bound wrists from around him, wincing at the aches in her arms and back.
“Where are we?”
“I don’t know,” she said.
A swift kick to the cart by a strange creature with horns on his head, who towered over them, sent everyone rolling to the other side. Bearded, and big as a tree with corded muscles that bulged and glistened with sweat, he snatched the door open, and glared in at them.
“Out,” he growled, and everyone was quick to obey.
“What is that?” Nala asked her mother as they shuffled through the city.
“Satyr,” she said, and Nala gasped, glancing over her shoulder at the creature that had the face and torso of a man, and the legs and hooves of a goat. “My mother used to tell stories about them when I was just a girl.”
Mystified, I watched him for as long as I could as we were led to a series of buildings just at the back of the city, before the massive stone wall that reached to the clouds.
“Children, this way,” a tired-looking elven woman said, glancing at them, and pointing to the dome-shaped building. “Women, this way.”
Nala and the other women were ushered away to a short, rectangular building just outside of the courtyard. The walls were made of stone and heat wafted onto her face once they stepped inside. Pools of aquamarine water awaited on either side of a narrow path. Steam caressed her face, promising a chance to become clean again.
A bath house.
Nala had heard of them. She’d always dreamed of visiting one of the larger cities where such luxuries were found. They were popular amongst the tribes on the other side of the realm.
Had they traveled that far?
Time no longer had any meaning—all they cared about was when they’d get their next bite of bread or if the rain would assault them as they slept.
Several other prisoners were already in the bath house. Elven women clothed in gray cloths, ushered them inside. From the looks on their faces, they didn’t seem to enjoy this task, and Nala wondered if they hated the humans as much as the soldiers.
In silence, they went about washing the prisoners in the pools of water. Two satyrs remained to guard over them, watching as they undressed and submerged into the pools.
When it was her turn, one of the elves approached her. She looked her over with tired brown eyes and sighed.
“I’m Lessa,” she said. “Let me help you out of those rags.”
It wasn’t as if she had a choice, so she nodded, chewing the inside of her bottom lip as Lessa ripped off her dress and then helped her out of her undergarments. Her cheeks burned red as she twisted away and covered herself, glancing at her mother, whose eyes were glazed over with a look she had never seen on her face.
Trembling, she accepted Lessa’s help into the pool. The first step into the water was brilliant—euphoric.
The euphoria didn’t last long, as Lessa began scrubbing her tender flesh.
“They’re filthy,” she muttered to another elf wearing a faded red turban. “Kati, I’ll need more soap. And, more gowns.”
Kati nodded and glanced to the satyrs.
“We need more gowns,” Kati said in a soft voice, with a thick accent she couldn’t place. “For the slaves.”
Nala sucked in a breath. So, it was she’d feared. They would be slaves to the elves now.
He rolled his eyes. “Be quick about it.”
Kati bowed her head and slipped away. Once Lessa finished bathing Nala, she moved onto another. While Nala stood there, dripping wet and wrapped in a heavy cloak, Kati returned with an armful of red dresses similar to the ones they were wearing. She headed straight for Nala with a smile that was a beacon of hope. No one had given her any kindness since that fateful day her village was massacred.
“Kati,” Lessa called. “Dress the others.”
Kati dressed Nala, her mother, and the others and put garlands of flowers on their heads.
Eventually, the slaves were set out into the courtyard.
As the cool wind swept around her, she did her best to pay attention to where they were walking. She spared a glance toward the building the children had entered. No signs of activity gave her any indication of what had happened to the children.
She began to wonder why they were cleaned at all, as they trudged through the mud, soaking the hem of their dresses. The woman in front of her tripped, soiling her dress. Nala helped her up, and caught a glimpse of her tear-streaked face. She swallowed back her own grief.
Later.
She would mourn her father later.
First, she had to learn what was to happen to her.
In the dim light of an early dawn, they were marched along to a market and to a small dais. A crowd of elves had already gathered there.
As they were lined up, on display, she knew what was happening.
She, her mother, and the others were about to be sold.
For what, she had no idea.
Taking her mother’s hand within her own, she held it tight, and watched the crowd. Lost in her thoughts, numb to the world, the auction began.
Tears burned her eyes, but she blinked them away. She turned her eyes to the sky, watching the clouds roll along the murky gray. Father would be devastated if he were alive to see his family like this.
“Sold!” an elf said, eagerly.
Nala blinked in confusion. She had been so wrapped up in her thoughts that she hadn’t realized the bidding had finished.
To her horror, the elf with the blue hair who had taken her and her mother from their home approached from the far side of the dais. He had bought her? He hadn’t purchased any of the others.
She cried out. “Mother!”
She’d been bought by an older elf, who stood before them, prepared to lead her away.
“No, you cannot take her,” she pleaded.
Her words went unheard, for the rough grasp of a satyr’s giant hands clutched her arms and held her back. Through tears, she wept, and watched her mother be led away.
The part that broke her heart was that her mother never looked back. No, she was so lost in her own grief that she allowed herself to be quietly taken.
She wanted to fall to her knees, but the satyr held her steady.
Up close, her new master was even more intimidating. The scars on his face suggested he was a fighter. That he had survived those fights implied he was a great one. One scar ran down his left eyelid, but the eye itself seemed to be normal, spared the brunt of the attack.
He eyed her and nodded. “Follow me,” he said, his voice gruffer than she’d imagined.
She gulped. A few of the other buyers were casting her owner glances. Through the whispers, the only word she overheard was “warlord.”
An elven warlord.
Her fate was sealed—she now belonged to a warlord who had destroyed her entire world.
Now, she was truly lost—truly alone.
Chapter Four
Nala dutifully trailed behind her new owner. She hated to think of herself as being owned, but she couldn’t dispute the charge. She had been kidnapped. She had been sold. He had purchased her.
It was the way of the world.
After all she’d been through she hated to wonder what fresh hell awaited her. She followed him through the village, as the elves watched them pass by.
When he reached the stables, he claimed his giant Great Wolf whose thick black fur was dusted with sparkling silver.
“Ebony,” he called her, smoothing her fur and resting his forehead against hers. “We’re going to let this young human ride. Is that all right with you?”
Ebony looked to Nala with ocean-blue eyes. She sniffed her, her wet nose gliding up her arm. Then, she snorted with a nod.
“Aye,” she said, startling Nala. “She looks too weak to keep up with her scrawny human legs. I’ll allow it this once.”
Nala lifted a brow. Scrawny?
The elf glanced over his shoulder, his bright eyes examining her. “All right, then. Ebony seems to like you.”
Is that so? She couldn’t tell.
He hoisted her up, and joined her, sitting behind.
Then, they left the city behind.
Although she wanted to twist around and look at him, she refrained. She sat there, on the Great Wolf, stiffer than a tree.
They rode in silence, and as the time slipped by, the sun began to shine. It was as if they left the darkness behind and beheld a new land of blooming flowers and enchanted scenery. Hours went by, and they only stopped for quick meals along the road. She’d watch him while she ate the cheese and berries he’d brought along, wondering what fate awaited her.
As night fell, a village appeared just beyond a cluster of hills. She sat up in her seat, peering into the horizon at the large village ahead. It was alive with activity. Fires blazed in pits and several elven villagers lingered in the streets as if in celebration.
A chill ran up her spine as she realized that the destruction of her home might be their cause for celebration.
Many glanced at the warlord as Ebony brought them through the village.
Abruptly, Ebony stopped, and the warlord dismounted. The home was large and impressive, almost as foreboding as the warlord himself. She swallowed hard as she scrambled down. Her ankles were especially sore from the bindings. Though tired and weak, she refused to let it show.
The door burst open, and a young male and female elf stepped out. Nala stared at them in shock. The resemblance was uncanny as she looked from them to the warlord.
Were they his siblings?
“Magnus,” the female said, crossing her arms over her chest. “What is this? A human?”
Nala narrowed her eyes at her.
What of it?
The male openly appraised her. With varying shades of blue hair and hazel—almost golden eyes, it was clear that they were related somehow. Still, they appeared younger than the roughened elf who had bought her.
“Aye,” he said. “Sunniva, Ciaran, this is Nala. She will care for the animals and keep the house clean.”
After a shrug and a nod Sunniva approached her. She smiled, her eyes brightening as she touched Nala’s hair. “I’ve always wanted my own human.” she grasped her arms. “We shall be friends.”
Nala was mystified, but nodded despite her confusion and reluctance.
“Where did you get her from?”
Magnus’ eyes darkened. “We followed the raiders back to their village.”
Ciaran nodded, understanding his brother’s meaning. “I see,” he said. He stared at Nala a moment longer, and then disappeared into the house.
“I am to be your house slave, is that right?” Nala asked, her tone even.
When he stepped closer, she flinched, but didn’t back away. Instead, she lifted her head to him and met his hawk-like gaze.
“Listen,” he said, softer than she expected. “The truth is, I bought you because you’re young. Innocent. I had a daughter almost your age—and despite your people showing her no mercy, I could not harm someone who reminded me of her. I bought you because not many elves would have shown such mercy. I know the fate you would have suffered.”
Her face paled, and she swallowed despite a dry throat.
“And, my mother,” she added, lifting a hopeful gaze his way. “Will I see her again?”
He shrugged. “All is possible if one has faith in the gods.”
She tensed when he wiped a tear away with his thumb.
“Come.”
Magnus motioned for her to follow him into the house.
For a moment, Nala stood there, amazed by his kindness and gentleness. For the first time since she had been taken from her home, she wondered if she might finally be safe.
There was hope. Hope that she might see her mother once again Hope that she would survive.
Chapter Five
Four years had passed, and despite her initial vow to do so, she never did try to run away. On the contrary, she befriended the warlord's siblings who shared a large home with him.
In elven households, family stuck together. Brothers, sisters, grandparents. But, because of the constant battles with the humans, Magnus, Ciaran, and Sunniva were alone. They were all each other had left.
Out of the three, somehow, she grew closest to Ciaran. As they left the village of Giran, she ducked beneath the low branches of trees and stepped over logs. It was time to practice shooting her bow. Her quiver bounced along her back as she meandered along.
"Keep up," he said, and she rolled her eyes.
"Why? There is no rush," she said.
She might’ve been purchased, but she wasn’t truly a slave—not in her soul.
There hadn’t been a day or night that any of the elves made her feel like a slave.
To them—she was family.
"Rain," he said, smelling the air. "It's coming. We must practice before it does."
She peered at the sky. He was right, clouds were gathering across the sunny sky. But, it was amazing how he always seemed to know.
Elves and their senses. She wished she could do something as practical as predict the weather.
They stopped in a clearing. Traces of golden sunlight spilled through the canopy of ancient trees that stretched high into the clouds.
The song of the forest soothed her as she breathed in the scent of pine and crisp air from the mountains. For a moment, they stood in silence, and Nala rested her head against his shoulder.
As a child, she’d always wanted a brother and sister, and now she had that. But she feared that one day, he'd bring a female elf into the household as a mate.
Why that bothered her so much, she was unsure.
She glanced at him. She'd discovered that he was only five years older, and despite being an elf, her attraction to him was a nuisance. She should not have such feelings.
But, as she watched him prepare, butterflies filled her stomach. His arms were lean and corded, and he stood a foot taller than her. His hair--a shiny indigo--was shaved at the sides and worn long on the top.
"See that leaf there?” He broke her from her thoughts, and pointed an arrow at a single leaf that hung down from a branch.
“I see it.” She crossed her arms over her chest.
Ciaran brought up his bow, nearly touched his nose with it, lined up his shot, and fired.
The arrow zipped through the air and hit the leaf, pinning it to the side of the tree trunk. "Now, hit it."
Nala brought up her bow and selected an arrow from her quiver. Tongue out, she aimed and fired. Her arrow slammed into the leaf, right below his.
He chuckled, and gave her a pat on the back. "Well done. I fear there won't be anything new to teach you before long."
Ciara strode across the clearing to retrieve his arrow.
She followed suit and returned it to her quiver.
"What do you say we hunt for dinner?
She grinned at him. His brown leather jerkin fit him well, and his leather belt held a few weapons. At all times, he, Magnus, and Sunniva were armed. That didn’t bother Nala. She’d grown to trust them all.
Life had been trying for her when she first arrived. Despite their kindness, grief had taken over, and she had cried every night for the first month.
During the day, her chores kept her busy. At night, though, she had no such distractions. Her mind would wander, and she would remember her father, and worry about her mother.
One night, Ciaran came to her. She slept in a small room on the top floor of the house. If she had heard his approach, she would’ve wiped her face and stopped crying immediately. But as luck would have it, that night, she had suffered a nightmare.
This time, she and her parents had never gone to the field to harvest. They'd stayed in their cottage, eating sweet breads and laughing at each other's jokes.
When she woke, she sobbed when learning that it had all been a dream.
Ciaran—whose room was across from hers—entered her room, worry creasing his beautiful face.
He had stared down at her. No candles were lit. Little moonlight filtered through the animal hide windows. How well he could see her, she had no idea, but she angrily wiped her tears away, and struggled to control her breathing.
“What to go out for a ride?”
“On a horse?” Nala had asked, confused by the offer.
“No. On my back. Of course, on a horse.”
She sniffled one last time and wiped her nose. "Fine," she'd said, nodding.
Ciaran led her to the stable, and they claimed horses. Only Magnus owned a Great Wolf. But, the horses were magnificent.
“Want to race?”
Out here, the moon and starlight allowed her to see him clearly, and she did not appreciate him noticing her despair.