The Shattered Sylph

by L. J. McDonald

  He nearly lost his head. He’d thought Melorta fled with her employer. Instead, the lead handler was waiting for him in the guardroom, and her sword stabbed viciously forward. Ril dropped purely by instinct. Landing in a crouch, he lunged and punched both fists toward her gut. Melorta threw herself backward in avoidance, tumbling onto her backside and somersaulting over onto her hands and knees. Ten feet apart, they glared at each other, Ril gasping for breath.

  Melorta’s will pressed against him, a definite force against his empathy. She wasn’t as strong as Rashala, but he hadn’t been so tired then.

  “Seven-oh-three,” she commanded, her voice remarkably calm.

  “Don’t,” he snapped. “Your lies won’t work on me anymore.”

  “How…?”

  Ril smirked. “My master has a much stronger voice than any of you. He set me free.”

  Melorta scoffed. “You’ll never be free.”

  “And you’ll never make Lizzy cry again.”

  Ril had his breath back. Bracing first against the floor, he lunged. Melorta tried to roll out of the way, her sword a flash of light. The blade carved a line of fire into his side, but at the same time Ril grabbed her jaw and yanked it around. Her neck shattered and the lead handler collapsed.

  An alarm was going off somewhere far down the hall that led out of the guardroom, discordant and shrill. Ril ignored that, glancing around. He’d been here whenever he was taken to the arena or the feeders, so he knew the routes to at least those two places. Narrow corridors jutted out on either side, with peepholes for the handlers to spy into the harem. Across from the harem door was another, this one leading down into the maze of feeder pens. Lizzy was somewhere in that direction.

  Stepping over Melorta’s corpse, Ril approached the door, gasping and bloody. It didn’t have a lock. Ril closed his eyes and focused, trying to sense what was on the other side. Nothing, at least not immediately. Melorta had been the only one brave enough to ambush him so far. He looked back at the door to the harem. With the lock broken, the remaining handlers could follow him once they worked up the nerve…but he sensed conflicting emotions from that direction. Some wanted to stay where they were.

  Ril ran a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes. Drawing the hand back, he saw it was bloody and shaking. He was tired and stressed, his body ablaze with pain. Lizzy was waiting, though. He opened the door and stepped through.

  A crossbow bolt slammed into his chest, right where his heart would have been had he been human. He fell backward nonetheless, and broke the shaft off an inch above his skin. Fifty feet down the corridor, another handler glared at him, the butt of her crossbow braced against her belly as she pulled back the string to reload.

  Shoving himself to his feet, Ril charged, sprinting forward at his fastest speed. Like Melorta, the handler didn’t panic. She calmly locked the string and nocked a bolt. Not having enough time to bring the crossbow up to her shoulder, she fired from the hip. The bolt took Ril in the throat. He fell, rolled, and came up again, throwing himself at her. He and his assailant collided.

  Ril still weighed more than she did, and she fell back, his body atop hers. The handler had dropped her crossbow and pulled her dagger, for which the two now struggled. Ril choked around the second crossbow bolt the whole time. It wasn’t enough to kill him, but he did need air and wasn’t getting much. Also, the pain was tremendous. He couldn’t give up, though, not unless he wanted himself killed and Lizzy unprotected.

  Instinct taking hold at last, he lashed out with energy. The woman underneath him turned into a smear of blood and shredded meat, and Ril slumped into that wet mess, groaning and drained. Even knowing Lizzy needed him, it took him a long moment to get moving again. Shuddering, he finally rolled over onto his back and withdrew the bolt from his throat. It was hard to get a grip, and when he did pull it free, he just lay there, shuddering.

  His energy was leaking out as he closed his eyes, focusing on trying to force the wounds to close, but only time and energy could heal them. Or Leon. It would help if Leon were there, so he could drink of the man’s warm, comforting essence. But his master was somewhere else, unaware of what his battler attempted. Busy. Ril could feel that just as he could still feel Lizzy’s fear.

  Lizzy was so afraid that he couldn’t calm down. Fear for herself, fear for him. He could tell where she was, though, and he forced himself to his feet yet again. He was covered head to foot in blood and gore, his eyes staring out through a mask of red. Staggering a bit, he continued down the corridor, passing doors that he knew led into offices and storage rooms as well as sleeping quarters for the handlers. They were really no different from the women they guarded; none of them were allowed to leave either. Ril also passed the staircase that would bring him to the surface, but Lizzy hadn’t been taken in that direction. She was ahead, through the door that led into the feeder pens.

  The door was locked. Ril tried the handle and returned to where Melorta lay. The key was in her pouch, and he took it.

  The alarm he’d been hearing was much louder on the other side of the door, but no one was waiting in ambush this time. Everywhere, men and women shifted uncertainly in their cages, confused by what was happening and frightened. Sylphs did the same, around and above, most of them invisible from their own fright. They didn’t know what the alarm was for, Ril realized. There was no specific alarm for an out-of-control-battler attack, or none that had ever been practiced. The people who ran this place were panicked themselves, most ignorant of the problem. Once they learned, though, he’d be in trouble—especially if they thought to bring in someone who could order the other battlers to attack.

  A little bit more chaos would help delay that. Ril entered the first section of feeder pens, lurching drunkenly toward the closest cages. They were occupied by his own feeders, and the two men gaped at him in shock. Ril could feel it more clearly from them than the others. They were his masters after all, even if they couldn’t speak and Leon’s control made them impotent.

  Ril gripped the cage bars and drank deep, the two men gasping as he drained their energy. For his part, the pain eased, and he felt their life flow into him, restoring his strength. Their energy wasn’t as good as Leon’s or Lizzy’s, but it filled him and he drank heavily of them for the last time.

  “Out the door I came through,” he announced. “Turn right at the stairs and go up to get to the surface. I hope you make it,” he added, and actually meant it. He never wanted to see anyone caged again.

  He grabbed the front of one of the pens and pulled, hard, snapping the lock. The door opened and he went to the next. For a moment, the man he’d just freed stared in amazement. Then he stepped out of the cage, shivering, and ran for the exit.

  Ril yanked the next cage open as well, and his second feeder fled after a grin of thanks and a bow. The alarm was still sounding all around, and sandals slapped on the catwalks linking the thousands of cages. Somewhere, people were beginning to get organized, but no one had come to find him here yet, and no one had called any battlers. One floated above him in his natural shape, watching gleefully. Still more floated beyond that. They couldn’t fight, but they were allowed to come to the feeder pens whenever they wanted, and gloried in seeing someone who could. Ril wiped his mouth on his shoulder and headed down the catwalk after Lizzy, ripping cage doors open as he went and leading a useless army of battle sylphs behind him.

  For whom they would fight was still a question.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Lizzy was hustled down the corridor she remembered from her first trip into the harem, her arms gripped so tightly by handlers that she sported bruises. Rashala hurried ahead, gasping. Their route lay through another door and the feeder pens, down the metal catwalks that formed the floor, Lizzy wincing as she crossed these in her bare feet. Whenever she stumbled, the handlers yanked her back up and made her keep running.

  They fled along the first level, passing dozens of cages before Rashala turned down a flight of stairs and right i
nto another section. Women filled some of the cages here, water and earth sylphs feeding from them. The sylphs moved out of the newcomers’ way, and they kept going, finally reaching a central area with a real floor and walls, the room full of tables and cabinets. It also had a long rope descending from the ceiling, which Rashala ordered one of the handlers to pull. The frightened woman did so, leaving Lizzy with only one guard, and a bell started ringing somewhere out of sight.

  Rashala turned. There were three other women from the circle with Lizzy, including Kiala. All of them were sobbing, held tightly by handlers who looked nearly as frightened. Lizzy didn’t have any sympathy for them, even as she shivered at the memory of Ril’s attack. She’d only seen the first few seconds, but that had been enough. The battlers back home didn’t fight much, there being no need, but she’d seen them horse around. She just hoped he could keep up his strength and speed.

  He was still alive—she could tell that. Now that she’d been with him, she could feel him as easily as she suspected her father could, not enough to tell what he was feeling unless he projected it, unfortunately, but enough to know he hadn’t been killed.

  “Keep that bell ringing,” Rashala told the handler, who pulled the rope harder. She regarded the concubines, but she didn’t ask them what was going on. Unlike Melorta, she didn’t see them as people who might have answers, Lizzy thought—which was lucky for her. At least, she hoped it was lucky.

  “What’s going on, mistress?” one of the handlers begged. “How could it do that?”

  “I don’t know,” Rashala murmured. Male guards from the feeder pens burst in, demanding explanations, and with them came a man dressed in the same type of robe as Rashala, his pate just as bare. Lizzy stood in the grip of her captor and eyed the way she’d come, hoping the confusion in this place lasted and that Ril was still safe.

  Rashala turned to her brother, so frantic that she nearly fell into his arms and wept. Everything had gone so wrong so quickly. She’d confirmed the identities of the women the battlers were apparently sharing, and it had been easy enough to collect them. By morning, they all would have had their tongues removed and been caged for use as feeders with the next sylphs summoned. She’d already planned to visit the slave market after breakfast, in order to select women to take their place.

  “What’s wrong?” Shalatar asked.

  “Seven-oh-three,” Rashala whispered, aware of the others listening. She led her brother into a corner. “He went mad, attacked the handlers. I’ve never seen anything like it.” She shook her head. “He wouldn’t obey our orders.”

  Shalatar gaped at her in horror. “I went over the commands with him again, thoroughly! He submitted to them. How could he disobey?”

  Rashala shrugged. She didn’t know. She’d been trying to think of a reason, but could only summon one possibility. “It’s because of his original master.”

  “But no one ever found him. He must be dead!”

  Either that, or he was better than the battlers who were looking for him. They should have killed Seven-oh-three the moment they took him. Rashala closed her eyes and ran her hands over her smooth head. Once, she’d had hair as long and dark as any of the women in the harem. She’d had to attain supreme confidence in herself to get out of there. Now, though, her confidence was shaken. For the first time in years, she didn’t know what to do.

  “Something got to that battler,” she told her brother. “He’s killing everyone. We need to stop him somehow. Turn other battlers on him.” Only she couldn’t give that order. Neither could Shalatar. No one except the Battle-Sylph First of the arena or the emperor himself.

  The emperor was unreachable, but the First could be approached if they dared. He’d have them both put to death when he found out, but how could they keep him from knowing? How could they ever hide this debacle?

  Rashala heard shouts outside and screams of pain. She heard metal tearing and the sound of running feet, most of them barefoot. The nearby handlers and concubines cowered in fear, except for the straw-haired girl. She looked toward the door, her stance relaxing, and Rashala made another empirical leap.

  She understood at last what the battler was after.

  Leon stood by one of the exile’s huts, looking toward where Tooie and Eapha stood. He could barely see the woman in the darkness, except as a silhouette before the flickering lightning that filled the cloud of the battler. There was a strange intimacy going on, a quiet that made him look away, not wanting to intrude on their privacy no matter how desperate he was for them to succeed.

  Turning, he found Justin. The boy stood only a few feet away, obviously afraid to be too distant. Leon reached out and clapped a hand reassuringly on the youth’s shoulder, feeling the tension in the muscles beneath his grip. Justin didn’t flinch, quite, but he was clearly afraid. Leon worried that he would always be afraid.

  “We’ll be going home soon,” he promised. When the youth nodded, Leon took a deep breath. “Justin, about Lizzy and you…I think…I think it’s not going to happen.”

  The boy yanked away, his expression in the dim light that of one betrayed. Leon let his arm fall back to his side. “Justin…”

  The youth shook his head again and pointed at himself, poking his chest furiously. Leon didn’t have any doubt about what he was saying.

  “Justin, Ril—”

  The boy shook his head even harder, poked himself again before slamming his fists against Leon’s chest. It didn’t hurt, but the emotion was there, and Leon let him continue. He could understand the boy’s fury, and felt his own guilt at bringing him and leaving him to be tortured, but he couldn’t do what the boy wanted. Not without betraying his battler and—more important right now—his daughter. She’d made her choice and made it obvious: she wanted Ril, not Justin, and even if the rules of Sylph Valley hadn’t removed a father’s right to choose his daughter’s husband, he wouldn’t force anyone on Lizzy. That would just mean a different kind of slavery than that from which he was trying to save her. And Justin could say it was unfair, but unfair would be to give him a spouse who didn’t love him. Every person deserved more than that.

  “Justin, I know I said I would give you my blessing, but I also said that was only if Lizzy wanted it as well. You and I both know what she’s decided. I’m sorry.”

  Justin just kept shaking his head and hit Leon again, refusing to accept his words. The boy’s mouth moved without making any sound, but Leon could read the words if not hear them.

  She’s supposed to be mine.

  “She doesn’t belong to anyone,” Leon said. “Not even to me. I can’t just give her to you. She’s picked someone else. You need to accept that.”

  The frantic head shake came again, and Leon squinted to read the boy’s lips. No! I love her!

  Leon sighed. “She doesn’t love you, Justin.”

  I don’t care! I’ll make her!

  Leon made a gesture of dismissal, not wanting to talk about this anymore. Justin had gone through a lot, but that hadn’t won him any special rights. He was going to have to go home alone. Leon hoped he wouldn’t become bitter. He suspected the boy would, though, and that he’d blame Leon and Ril. Justin would probably blame Lizzy as well, for daring to love someone else.

  Leon crossed his arms. Justin’s emotions aside, he couldn’t coddle the boy much more. They were still in a very dangerous position, and he honestly didn’t know if Tooie could make Eapha into a queen or even what would happen in the near future. He didn’t know Eapha well or Tooie at all.

  He glanced at them—the woman standing in the contained storm that was her lover—and then back at Justin. “I’m sorry, son, I truly am, but you’re going to have to accept this. You have no other choice.” When Justin started to shake his head again, Leon raised a hand. “No. Let it go.”

  He turned away, intending to return to the campfire where Xehm and Zalia were sitting, neither exile knowing what was happening. He hoped that what came next would mean a better life for them, and for all the peopl
e in this place. But after taking a few steps, he stopped and glanced back over his shoulder. “One other thing, Justin. Once you get your tongue back, don’t give Ril any orders.” He let his voice harden, reflecting the dangerous man he truly was, and was both satisfied and sad to see the boy flinch. “I’ll be watching.”

  With that, he went to the campfire, leaving Justin shivering in the cold night air.

  Eapha stood in Tooie’s embrace, trying to reach out for him as Leon directed. She’d seen Tooie in this form before, whenever he entered or left the harem, but she’d never really had the chance to study him. Not that she could see much now in the darkness, just the lightning that sparkled inside him, changing color to form his eyes and fangs. He looked to be half mouth, but she didn’t feel threatened at all, and she plunged her hands into the depths of him, feeling the energy tickle around her and the hair stand up on her arms.

  “You’re really beautiful,” she told him, meaning it. His tendrils enwrapped her, creating a rushing feel like furry little mice wherever he touched. The ball lightning that was his eyes was fixed upon her.

  She couldn’t feel him, though. Leon had explained that once the bond was formed, she would be able to feel whatever he projected. She didn’t quite understand what that meant, but she’d seen how much Lizzy loved Ril and how deep their bond was. She wanted that closeness with Tooie, wanted it even more with the knowledge that she could use it to free him. She’d be able to free everyone, Leon said—which was hard to understand. There were thousands of sylphs; she couldn’t imagine them all listening to her. Instead, she just focused on how such a change meant she could be with Tooie.

  He shuddered around her, his lightning flashing. He’d stayed nearly as long as he could already, and she buried her arms in his energy again as though that would help detain him.