by Nelson, J P
After Kn’Yang passed on, at a very old age, mind you, another Great Chief was never ordained. For whatever reason, the tribal leaders parted ways, each to govern their own band in their own way.
My momma’s father, my grandfather, Ml’Shain, wasn’t in favor of the parting, but apparently he wasn’t very high on the scale as warriors go, so his words of appeal went largely ignored among a society where prowess in combat and hunting was everything. Well, momma didn’t put it that way, but that is what I figured, only I didn’t tell her that.
Maybe you can relate with me, maybe you can’t, but how would you feel always knowing your father or grandfather didn’t measure up in a society of warriors; always knowing it was he who should have carried the sword of leadership forward, only to be ignored by his peers; even worse, that maybe, just maybe, he was even a coward? How do you deal with something like that?
Once the tribes had scattered and become settled a new enemy rose up, something worse than inbred cannibals, worse than poison spears, worse than trolls and Windigos. This enemy struck suddenly, unseen and without warning. In one battle, momma said, the entire Clan of Ml’Shain was slaughtered in the worst way imaginable, and she could never describe it.
My momma alone of her father’s house had been found alive by some humans, bound, and brought south more than three thousand miles to the country of Gevard and made a slave to the Family Fel’Caden. I still hadn’t figured out what had been done to keep her from escaping, but it was definitely some strong magic.
Time after time I asked myself, ‘Why didn’t those magnificent Elvin Warriors momma talk so well of make an attempt to rescue her? Had my momma’s people become cowards after Kn’Yang’s death? Had those who had once been so fierce in battle been themselves utterly wiped out?’ I came to the conclusion it would be up to me to save us both.
Listening to me talk, you might get the impression my momma and I never argued, not true. We had our moments and they got stronger as I got older, but I want you to take to heart I always knew who the momma was, and what the words respect and courtesy meant. She taught me you never knew what the next day, or even the night might hold, so we always went to bed with a clear air. I mean if we had had a problem, we had it worked out or we didn’t go to sleep.
Living the life of a slave, even though at the time we were being left alone, there was always the shadow of something going wrong. Too many people living in safety take it for granted they will have tomorrow, not us. It was not a rare thing for momma and me to give each other some little gift. My favorite thing was to give her a flower, or give her a hug for no apparent reason and say, “Thank you for being my momma,” and she did the same kind of little things for me.
The day came, when Roveir couldn’t ride so well. I had never seen a human get old before and I have to admit it was a curious thing. Sometimes he would just sit with me and look at the trees while momma softly played her guitar or flute in the background.
One day when it was just the two of us he looked at me and said, “I’m sorry.”
It was the summer after I had turned nineteen, although I looked twelve by human standards. I didn’t understand and he smiled at my expression. “I wish I could have set you free.”
Staring at him I had no idea what to say.
“I tried to buy your momma once …” he looked down, “… long time ago.” He winced his mouth, “But they wouldn’t let me.” He looked at me with a sad smile, “You’re a good lad, skipper, Komain. It would have done me proud to be your papa.”
After some contemplation I asked, “Would you have taken us away?”
“Yes, I would. Anywhere you wanted to go.”
He looked around, “How would you have liked to have all of this, for it all to belong to you?”
I thought about it and said, “I would set all of the slaves free.”
Roveir laughed heartily, and I couldn’t help but smile when I realized he wasn’t laughing at me.
“You remind me of me, skipper, you surely do.”
We threw some rocks together for a while which made him happy, and then he said, “I’m goin’ to tell you somethin’ your momma may not want me to say, but I think you need to know …” he pointed out to the mountains, “Someone’s watchin’ over you, skipper, he is for sure. I met him once when I was out there ridin’.”
I looked at him, “Jh’Rhohai? Momma says He is always watching.”
He thought about it and asked, “Do you believe in Jh’Rhohai?”
“Do you?”
In a very matter-of-fact voice he responded, “Yes, I do. I like to think I know Him well.”
“How do you know Jh’Rhohai?”
“Well now, your momma taught me about Him. She taught me how your people find Him in the woods, and the water, and all over. Then one day I started lookin’ for Him, my own self.”
“Do you have any kids?” It was a sudden change of subjects and it caught him off guard, but only for a moment.
“Yeah, I have a kid, a son.”
“Do you ever see him?”
“Sometimes, sometimes I do, yeah. I don’t think he likes me very much, though.”
“Why? Is he stupid?”
Roveir chuckled a bit, then said, “No, no, he isn’t stupid.” He had been doodling with a twig, then he tossed it to the side and said, “He isn’t stupid by a long shot. I think he’s smarter than me. It’s just that … I wasn’t there for him when he needed me, and now … now …” It was awkward and he just looked at me like he didn’t know what to say.
We sat there like that for a long time. I looked at this human who momma said was feared everywhere he was known, but I saw a man who looked tired; a man who it seemed had something left he wanted to do but didn’t get to finish it. Suddenly I realized I wasn’t afraid of this man anymore.
Picking up a couple more rocks, I offered him one and said, “I’ll play with you.”
The biggest smile came across his face and it looked like he got younger by a lot of years. He took my rock and said, “You’ve just signed my charter, skipper.”
We took our time and threw a bunch more rocks after that, and then he got back on that big stallion. When he rode off he was still smiling.
On the evening of the next day, momma came to me with tears on her face and told me Roveir had been found that morning at his favorite spot on Surry Creek, sitting under a tree with Dahnté standing beside him. He had fallen asleep and died that way.
The next day there was a formal burial and momma sang for it. I saw where he was buried, and then momma and I went back to our quarters. As we went back, though, I could sense the stares at us, many of them full of contempt.
The next couple of days went by with tension heavy in the air for us. Momma grilled me heavy on the surrounding eastern mountains and a place she had shown me, map wise, called the J’Whanté Ridge Road, a dangerous passage following the highest passable ways of the Sahrjiun Mountains. It was a trail blazed by the Druids long ago, and used by Oshang in the Kl’Duryq War.
I wasn’t sure why the urgency, until the morning of the fourth day after Roveir’s passing. I saw she was packing a special bundle with some clothes and food. She was very calm when she said, “Komain, my son, I want you to do your chores with Barlan and do them well. Then come straight home, do you understand?”
There was intensity in my core, and a wave of fear went up my spine and the hairs on my body prickled. I thought, ‘What was going on?’ But deep down, I knew.
“Momma …”
“Komain … do what I tell you.”
I felt the world go surreal, almost like the time in the tower crib.
Momma took my hand and held eye contact with me, then she smiled that smile I will never forget, “I love you, don’t ever forget that.”
I looked back at her and tried to keep my mouth from trembling, “I won’t, momma. I love you, too.”
Walking to work with Barlan in the dairy barn was the longest walk of my life. I was scared, n
ot for me, but for my momma. I wanted to do something, take her and ride off. That was it, I thought, Dahnté was a warhorse. I would leave early, find Dahnté, and then rescue momma. It would all be alright.
Barlan and I were eating lunch when a searing pain went through my mind and I heard the words, [Komain, run … run for the mountain!] I shot a look of panic at Barlan, who had heard nothing, and then we both jumped as a bolt of green lightning streaked down from the sky toward our quarters and a boom of thunder shook the ground … with it were the screams of men and sounds of death.
Chapter 8
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I JUMPED FROM our makeshift table, knocking Barlan off of his stool and scattering hot tea and bowls of stew all over. Hurtling a barking dog who ducked low, ducking under a hoist hanging from the ceiling, and weaving through a couple of workers getting ready for their own lunch, I bolted as fast as I could to our quarters and my momma.
The mental message she sent me was lost in my fear for her safety, it didn’t even dawn upon me she had never communicated to me like that before. I heard Barlan yelling at me, but what he was saying fell on deaf ears, I had to save my momma.
Again, the deafening boom of thunder with that flash of lightning just as I was turning the bend of the trail; I saw the bars of the front window fly into the yard with a man tangled up in it, and the door was off of one hinged with three men strewn about, one was in a tree hanging limp. There were other men standing ready, two had ropes, and I saw one of these run inside … I recognized him as Colsti; Phaul was one of those standing outside.
Suddenly I saw three filthy humans half drag, half carry my momma outside. Her arms were tied behind her and her tunic was almost torn off of her body and those bastards were laughing. I heard someone say, “We are Fel’Caden, you whore … how about that?”
I heard a voice of rage come from my throat I didn’t recognize as I blindly charged the vermin who dared to touch my momma so, and I heard Phaul point at me and yell, “Look!”
That’s when out of the corner of my eye I saw someone throw something at me, and suddenly a cord wrapped around me two or three times and I felt something hit me in the chest and back of the head.
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When I awakened it was to the worst headache I could imagine, and I felt sick to my stomach. A toe nudged me and I heard a voice I hadn’t heard in years, “Well, well, well, now; if it ain’t my stub-Johnny slink? How are you, stub-Johnny?”
As I slowly came around I found my hands were tied behind my back and I was lying in a foul smelling shed with manure all around. Some of that manure was under me.
Apparently I was in a stall for mules, and inside were two workmen and Cordis. Cordis was kneeling at my feet and was stropping a knife on a leather belt and he was grinning. There wasn’t much for him to grin with, what teeth he had were yellow, and not many of them. Grungy whiskers spoke of a week’s ragged growth and he smelled like he hadn’t bathed in ten times as long.
The potbelly on the taskmaster hung way low to the ground from his kneeling position, but the rest of him actually looked kind of skinny. There was no mistaking Cordis’s intention, and I knew it. I was fairly trapped and I didn’t even know where I was. The smell and air made me think I was in the lower region of the Province. Could I have already been taken to another county? I was terrified for my momma, I needed to …
“Looky here,” Cordis said to the workmen, “we got us a scardy-cat, a real down-to-roots yaller-belly.” He kept stropping that leather and eyed me keen and with contempt. “Half-breed slinks can’t breed. You can pump, but it don’t do you no good. But you don’t got to worry ‘bout that no more. You just gotta work.” He laughed, “We’ll make some more of you with your mammy. Ain’t no …”
I growled and began kicking, futile strikes for sure, but violently nevertheless. I was almost on my feet when one of the workmen kicked my feet out from under me. This was followed with a kick in the stomach from Cordis, followed by a wallop to the face that sent me reeling against the stall wall.
Laughing, Cordis said, “Grab him and spread him.”
Those workmen clearly knew what they were about, and they grabbed me in such a way as I couldn’t get free. My rear end was up in the air and my legs pulled wide apart, each human with a thigh secured in their grip.
“Roll him over!” Cordis said with sadistic savagery, “I want his spike ass to see it comin’. I been waitin’ for this a long time. I always wondered what a spike nut looked like.”
Despite my panicked fighting, they got me turned over amidst much laughter. I managed to break one of their noses and got three or four hard fists for it, but in the end they had me spread open in front of Cordis.
Waving that knife a couple of times in front of me he said, “Careful now, whelp, you ain’t careful and you won’t have anything to piss with, either.” They all laughed and one of the workers said, “Hold still you damned slink,” as Cordis grabbed the cuff of my left legging and slid the knife inside. I could see the cruel glint in his eye as he slowly glided that blade up the calf and to my knee … when a voice in the barn sharply yelled, “Cordis?! Where in Hades are you.”
“In here, Felder, I was busy, damn it!” Cordis held his poise with the blade at my knee. This was tedious work, and he clearly wanted to enjoy every moment of it. At that moment, I was liking Felder, a whole lot … at least for the moment.
Felder, if I remembered correctly, was sort of an errand boy in the main house, only he was more like thirty of forty and balding. I had seen him a few times in the past, this time he anxiously opened the stall door wide and breathlessly asked, “Have you cut him yet?”
Looking past the hands and what not, we all just froze in place as Cordis turned red in the face and spewed out all kinds of profanity while asking, “Does it look to Hades like I’ve cut him yet?!”
“Lord Herrol wants him saved, says there have been breeding successes with half-breeds before and he wants to try with this one. He says he wants to work with that wizard from Charlamae.”
Cordis was furious and said, “He WHAT?! Damn, his arrogant ass. He’s not even been …”
Calmly Felder said, “Yes sir. Would you like me to pass your comments along?”
Cordis whipped his blade out from my leggings with a snap of fabric and his demeanor suddenly changed, “No! No, you don’t need to do that.” He put his knife back in its belt holster, “I just …” he passed me a violent look, “… I just think he’s makin’ a mistake is all. Let’s have a drink and you tell me what I’m supposed to do with him.” He gave some kind of glance to the workmen and they set me down. I was fairly well relieved, but still afraid for my momma.
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Fel’Caden had seven counties and I worked them all. I threw hay into stacks, picked beans and corn, shoveled manure, dug ditches, carried sacks of seed, and pushed wheelbarrows. My muscles became hard and the calluses on my hands became thick and tough.
When Cordis was angry, which was often, I was his favorite to blame mishaps to and lay a strap on. I tried to escape more times than I can count and was regularly beaten with a cane or belt for the trouble. But as time went on I learned not to cry, instead I kept all emotions in and learned to hate.
I slept, ate and worked. There were no friends, no companions, only human brat children who called me the mule, spike-eared, and half-breed.
Over and over I tried to reach out to my momma by thinking real hard. How was it she said she heard me that time? Every kind of bad thought entered my mind that could be happening to her. I cursed myself for not having the thought of stealing Dahnté long before, we might could have been gone away long before. My thoughts of Roveir again slid back to a smoldering dislike; he was human, he was Fel’Caden, he had been an old man who wanted to keep his elf-woman around.
Why, he could have let her, us, go anytime he wanted to. Those people were afraid of him. How did I know, really, that he had nothing to do
with what was wrong with my momma, with whatever it was inside of her, keeping her from leaving.
It mattered nothing to me that I was half human, I hated them all anyway. Humans were all filthy parasites, like locusts, consuming whatever they saw; dirty creatures that should be wiped off the face of the world. And there were the elves … I resented the Itahro Elves in general and Ml’Shain in particular. It seemed to me he was a weakling, a wielder of a wooden sword and an unstrung bow, unable to protect his family. It struck me he deserved to have been slain, but those damned elves should have come after the granddaughter of Kn’Yang, regardless.
About one year after I had been put into the field I was in the upper region of the Kel-tok County, close to Brakstein Ridge which was on the eastern border and close to the wild lands. A rider came to the sleeping shed where several of us slaves were living the season. In tow, he had a string of horses that were to be used for pulling wagons. It was early and I had been to the outhouse to tend my morning business.
Walking back to the shed dragging my leg-irons I noticed one of the horses look over to me. It took a moment and then I recognized Dahnté. Those people must have really hated Roveir to treat his horse like they had. Dahnté had whip marks all about him, but his head was still high.
The rider had gone in to talk with the quartermaster, so I sauntered up to the stallion and whispered in Elvish, “I know how you feel.” He dipped his head to me and I found myself rubbing his nose, and I liked it. Suddenly I remembered Roveir saying he had trained Dahnté in Elvish.
A mischievous thought entered my mind and nobody had noticed me with the horses, at least not yet. I had a thought to jump on and go, but he was way too big; so I did the next best thing. I pulled Dahnté’s lead rope down so I could grab his halter and the choke chain tied to it. Unbuckling the whole contraption as fast as I could I then said in Elvish, “Free, Dahnté, free. Run, boy run!”