Euphoria

by Scott J. Kramer

  Taylon took a step back, into his original spot. Hazel relaxed her grip, but did not remove her hand. “Sorry,” she whispered.

  The smoke from the incense lightened considerably, and the night air reclaimed its place. Taylon didn’t know how much more he could take, but his heart reminded him of his Rose. If this could save her, he would stand by and watch, helpless.

  And at last, the spirit box was brought forth. The old man held it reverently, firelight dancing off its mahogany sides. He set it upon Euphoria’s stomach. With a quick crouch, Zediah came back holding the dark elf’s severed hand. The fingers were starting to show decay, as well as the stump. For the first time, the captain noticed a ring on the index finger. How did I miss that?

  Chanting again, this time in a monotone pitch. Zediah waved the hand in the air, swirling some of the smoke above Euphoria. Taylon watched the peculiar spectacle with unease.

  With an ohm, Zediah was silent. He slowly lowered the palm to the box, using only it to nudge the artifact ajar. The captain remembered what happened last time and began to tense again. It came open a crack, and then flew the rest of the way.

  Nothing happened at first. Zediah was in the process of switching the elf hand when Euphoria let out a bone-chilling scream. Her eyes burst open like her mouth, and she catapulted into a sitting position. The spirit container tumbled from her stomach into the fire. Zediah, not expecting this at all, fumbled with the elf appendage. Its ring snagged his old skin and tore a jagged line on the back of his hand before he too threw it aside.

  Taylon jumped forward, Hazel’s grasp slipping from his arm. Zediah saw him coming and put out a hand to say stop, while his bloody fingers pressed against Euphoria, who was still screaming. Zediah’s blood coated the cracked stone. A sliver of blue light sealed the crack as the life essence was absorbed.

  The captain did halt short of Zediah, not knowing what he could do to help Euphoria or the old man. Her scream was loud and staccato. No, that’s not a scream. The wailing turned to laughter—maniacal, harsh, and evil. Taylon looked to Euphoria, her face not contorted in pain but in a mask of twisted enjoyment. She held her hands out to her sides, palms up as if holding something round and invisible. Her eyes quickly snapped to Zediah, his hand still trying to push her back.

  It was Hazel’s warning that saved him in the end. Two hands grasped Zediah’s arm and twisted. A sharp crack ripped through the air as the old man’s forearm bent oddly to the sky. Euphoria quickly swung her legs around the table and hopped off as the old man screamed in pain. Taylon watched dumbfounded, recalling the battle six months ago.

  He stood rooted to the spot, watching the horror unfold.

  Euphoria rotated her head as if working out a kink. Her hand then found the dagger, raising it high in the air.

  He wanted to scream, to warn Zediah, but everything happened so….

  THUNK.

  A wave of agony passed over Zediah’s face, but it was not the wizard’s pain that made Taylon tremble. It was Euphoria’s expression, a smile wide, sinister. Her eyes held a fire, a burning, psychotic, pleasurable anger that frightened him deeply.

  “Taylon!” Hazel screamed his name, bringing him back to the moment, out of his shell shock. Euphoria jumped over the old man, withdrawing the dagger from the corpse. She was within attack range. The captain quickly two-stepped back as a swipe cut through the air in his previous position. He continued the retreat, running for the front of the house. Hazel was at his side, keeping pace.

  He dared not look back to see if someone pursued, but a triumphant cry followed by a hideous laugh told him Euphoria held her place and reveled in her killing. The horses were not glad to see them and even more put out when they were roughly mounted and whipped with the reins. But they obeyed, carrying their riders away from the disturbing laughter.

  Chapter Twenty

  Katrena was the first to awake after the…she didn’t really remember what caused her to be on the floor. Her back hurt as she got to her knees. A broken chair lay under her. Slowly she pulled herself up so she could at least look over the table.

  Everything in the house looked normal, at least for Shade’s style of decorating. The explosion only affected this room. Slowly she regained her feet beneath her. All muscles ached as if she had finished battling twenty of the best elven soldiers the council could find.

  A moan came from Katrena’s left. Shade was stirring. Blood painted the floor around him, but Katrena figured it was from his quail dinner. His eyes remained closed, but his head was moving around. Maybe he was having a bad dream.

  Memory came back to her in bits as she stood. She recalled Da’Lynn doing something with her necklace and a piece of broken glass. Katrena shook her head, knowing it probably wasn’t true. It sounded so ridiculous. But looking at the table, there was a shard of dark blue glass where her mother had been sitting. It pulsed slightly, intriguing, but nothing she couldn’t come back and look at later.

  Katrena stepped over Shade, not caring if he was awake, asleep, sick, or dead. Rounding the table, she did not find her mother. There was a crystal on the floor, which made her reconsider the memory. Shade moaned louder now, and his eyes fluttered open.

  “Wha…?” It came out with a belch that made him sound like he was dying.

  “Where’s Da’Lynn?” While the question still hung in the air, Katrena knew Shade had no clue.

  “Come on. Help me up.” The large elf flailed on the floor, trapped in an awkward position. Katrena disregarded him and looked out a door that led outside. It stood slightly ajar.

  Night had come and gone; dawn was breaking. Lire wolves had retired at least an hour ago, and the rest of the forest creatures were venturing out. But none of it interested Katrena. No, her sights were set elsewhere.

  In the middle of the yard, Da’Lynn stood with her back to the house. Her arms raised above her head. A sound like crushed dried leaves rang in the air.

  “Da’Lynn?” Katrena was half out the door.

  Her mother turned. Katrina could sense something was not quite right with her mother. Her eyes.

  Yes.

  Katrena flinched at the sound. It was a sharp serpent-like tone, but one that sounded dead or like the dry leaves she had heard a moment before.

  “Mother?”

  I’m sorry, dear, but your mother is not here right now. She has lent me her body though, and what a wonderful specimen, I might add. The voice possessed female qualities, but it raised every alarm bell inside Katrena instantly. A memory also came forth, one that was also not pleasant. Kreitan and his box….

  Katrena’s shock showed upon her face as the memory of the torture replayed in her head. Something about her time trapped in the castle.

  You remember right, little one.

  “But how?”

  Your mother gave up her soul for power. Transferred out and I transferred in. Touching, really.

  Shade came up behind her, rudely pushing Katrena out the door. She stumbled but didn’t fall. “What the…?” Katrena was turning around to rebuke the elf when she noticed Da’Lynn rush past her. She grabbed Shade by the arm, examining him. He tried to pull away, but her grip was like a metal shackle.

  “Get off me!” His other hand tried to shove the councilwoman away. She blocked his attack with her arm. Katrena drew her dagger, not sure what was going on, but not liking it one bit. Every second, Shade’s anger increased and his defense became sloppy.

  One hand swung out close to her and brushed against Katrena’s dagger, making a shallow cut. It was as if someone had shown a starving peasant a roasted boar dinner. Da’Lynn sprang forward, toward Shade’s bloody hand. Thrown off balance, he toppled to the ground with her. Katrena danced back a few steps, letting this odd struggle play out.

  In the end, Da’Lynn subdued Shade and drank in his blood. Katrena stared on, aghast, at her once-mother sucking down a fellow elf’s blood. As the blood left him, Shade struggled less and less. Eventually, Katrena turned away, unable to watch any l
onger.

  You can look, o daughter of mine. I had no need of his skills. Yours, on the other hand, may still come in handy. Katrena’s thoughts simply whirled as the evil words, the sound, grated into her head. She turned, and all that was left of Shade were his garments. Da’Lynn appeared different as well. No remnants of her violence remained, and she appeared healthy—almost glowing.

  As much as she had despised her mother in the past, Katrena knew she was going to hate this new version of her even more.

  ***

  They made it back to Ra’na’s with no trouble from the wolves. No one spoke along the way, even though it was a long journey. Once home, Gantha found an empty patch of floor to rest. He said a polite “good sleep” and promptly did just that.

  Gantha was the first to awaken in the morning. His legs ached, as well as his back. He felt rested, but his body sure wasn’t acting like it. Sitting up, he noticed his own smell. Gantha hadn’t bothered to change out of his disguise last night—so what had smelled unpleasant yesterday now smelled terribly rotten.

  Quickly he made his way out to the well, shucking the clothes as he went. Before rounding the corner and losing his last stitch of clothing, he slowed as his ears caught singing. Carefully he poked his head around the side of the house to investigate the source.

  Ra’na was at the well, her back to him. He blushed and pulled his head back when he realized she was naked. She must have gotten up earlier. Gantha quickly glanced around, hoping Lourak hadn’t also gotten up early to bathe. Nothing like seeing a dirty, naked dwarf in the morning.

  He was in a quandary. Most of his disguise now lay in the garbage pile, except for the bit he still had to cover himself. Gantha did not want to put back on the smelly clothing, yet he didn’t want to wait in the house naked, either.

  While he debated the question, the singing stopped. He paused in his deliberation to listen. He could still hear sloshing, but he couldn’t quite make out the concept. Was somebody emptying the water in the tub or refilling it?

  Nervously, and a bit anxious, Gantha peeked. Ra’na was indeed bathing; her back was turned to him still. Instead of pulling back, Gantha continued to stare. Something had caught his eye. Her lower half was blocked by a small tree, but he could see her shiny, dark back, her long hair pulled over her shoulders. That was what was different this time.

  But it wasn’t just her beautiful form that caught his eye. Running across her back were six nearly white lines. No, not lines—but scars. Gantha stared at them in awe and shock. Scars that deep meant a reprimand of some sort. What could Ra’na have done to merit such ferocity?

  Suddenly he felt himself falling, and before he could catch himself, he toppled out into full view. Ra’na stopped her bathing for a moment, but luckily, Gantha was able to scamper behind the house before she saw him. He huddled on the ground, embarrassed but also concerned about the implications of the brutality. Gantha had seen criminals bearing those types of scars on their backs from the multiple times they had gone to punishment, but Ra’na?

  She began to sing again, which eased his spirits some. Eventually the water sounds stopped and the singing drifted away. After five minutes of silence, he did a quick look and found she had gone inside. Gantha gathered himself and went to the well to wash the stink off.

  While he bathed, he continued to glance at the house, wondering what Ra’na might be hiding.

  ***

  It felt as if the whole world were crashing around him. One minute Fret was sleeping and the next, chaos ensued. He yelped awake as his cage came toppling down on the stone floor of the cave. The vibrations rattled him hard. If he had had anything to eat, he would have vomited everywhere. Just as soon as the shaking occurred, it stopped.

  When he became fully awake and aware of his surroundings, Fret realized his cage was upside down. He stared at two massive, ugly, green feet. One cracked, brown toenail was so close he could have reached out and touched it. Again, his stomach wished it had something in it to heave up.

  A grunt sounded, and suddenly his world spun. The cage righted with such ease and so quickly, Fret’s head felt like it was spinning. In some ways he was glad he hadn’t had anything to eat because he would be wearing it.

  “This ’ere is fragile merchandise. Might ye be a bit more careful with it?” Van’s voice yelled, echoing in the cavern.

  With the cage righted, Fret’s new scenic view was that of an oversized, green belly pressed against the bars. Small, brown hairs protruded from a few warts close to Fret’s face. He pushed himself as far back as he could go in his confines, but felt something similar pressing through the back bars. Disgusted, Fret did his best to suffer through it.

  After a few minutes of jostling around, daylight penetrated the cage. His prison lifted up higher and then set down roughly on a platform of some kind. The green stomach left, and Fret breathed a sigh of relief. In front of him, he could only see wood—maybe the back of a cart. A clear sky shone through what little treetops he could glimpse. It was a warmer day than yesterday.

  Other objects Fret supposed were cages were set in the cart too. Maybe three more, if his counting had been right. Possibly a fourth. He wanted to call out, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted anyone to answer. The slave traders didn’t seem like the kind of people who would offer up good conversation. And Fret definitely didn’t want to meet the things those stomachs and feet belonged to.

  Off in the distance, toward the front of the cart, two creatures were chatting, but the words were garbled to him. He sighed, knowing nothing could be done except wait.

  “We’re off to the market.” It was Warren who spoke. His voice came from behind Fret.

  “A slave market?” The cart started to move. Each bump along the roadway jolted his cage against another. The metal grinding made him wince. The other passengers issued their discomfort in a myriad of grunts and snorts.

  “Where else would they sell slaves?” Something had happened to Warren long ago for him to sound this morose or droll. Maybe he was never happy.

  “But isn’t that against the law?” Fret knew slavery was banned in Smead. The king’s men saw to enforcing the law of the land. But here, in the Territories, he had no clue.

  “Where there is gold, there is a way,” Warren said with a final sigh. It was the most emotion Fret had heard from the creature.

  Fret tried to catch more glimpses of the trees, maybe something different and unusual would pass the time, but his view was extremely limited. The road became smoother as they rolled, less bumps to jar the cages.

  He began to wonder what other creatures were contained in the makeshift prisons stacked in the wagon. There hadn’t been another sound out of any of them. Maybe they were still asleep. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine them. Fierce beasts made exotic pets. Other marvelous wonders were dangerous but collectible. But his thoughts shifted to thoughts of creatures similar to him, alone and cramped. Creatures who lost their way, captured, sold as slaves.

  For the first time in a while, Fret wept for someone else.

  ***

  A crow cawed from the dead tree branch, shaking Taylon out of his restless sleep.

  CAW!

  A death cry, or at least that was what he felt like this morning. They had ridden most of the night, Hazel leading in a blind panic. It wasn’t until several hours later, far away from Euphoria and the predators, that they had commenced camp. There had been some talk of keeping a watch, but both were exhausted and fell asleep before they agreed upon a night watch schedule.

  Taylon squinted at the sunlight beating down. Above him, the crow looked toward him, its black eyes mirroring what they saw. Nightmares haunted his dream, wraiths and possessions and magic. Terrible things.

  He slowly sat up, the crow cawing once more before flying off. Stiff pain radiated outward for a moment before easing into a numb ache. His head felt muddled, heavy as he shook off his sleep.

  “You’re up?”

  Hazel was sitting up and looking around.
Her answer came with a simple nod, as her eyes remained focused in the distance. Taylon looked out on the horizon but saw nothing of interest or alarm.

  Starting to talk about last night was difficult for Taylon, but he tried his best. “What…um…I…. Her?” Hazel turned to look at him, her face emotionless, looking drained. She managed a smile though.

  “It is hard to begin. There’s so…” But her words trailed off, and she looked away.

  “What do we do?” Taylon forced it out of him. All his training as a soldier, and he had not even the first clue of what to do.

  He didn’t think she was going to answer. But after a piece of silence, she admitted, “I don’t know.”

  Hazel turned to look at him. A tear ran down from her eye. Her mouth quivered, holding back emotion.

  “I’m sorry. I know Zediah was special to you,” Taylon said and dropped his gaze to the ground, giving her a moment to compose herself. Hazel did just that. Taylon looked up again and met Hazel’s eyes. “I think something evil was unleashed last night.” Hazel nodded and then turned to look out again.

  “The crows,” Hazel began, “they have such a simple life. Freedom. They really don’t have to worry about much of anything.” Taylon’s brow furrowed a bit, but he let her go on talking. “They fight sometimes, but then sit and watch. Watch the world in front of them.” Out in the distance, Taylon did see a group of crows. Some shared the same tree, while a few perched on a rock on the ground.

  “Taylon, we have to warn the crown. Warn the people.” She had turned to face him now with a determined look. Her face showed intense worry but a worthy courage.

  “Of course…but Euphoria was the crown.”