by Jim Galford
The female shook her head and gave Estin a sad look, apparently thinking him insane. “No, I don’t. Then again, I barely smell you and we’re less than five feet apart.”
Moving toward the entrance of the chamber, Estin continued trying to pick out the smell, but it was elusive. It was almost as if his sense of smell had gotten more refined and he had to work to pick out the details. Normally, he could identify direction, intensity, and other bits of information from what he smelled, but this was far enough off that he had trouble even finding it again.
A second time that scent came to the forefront. When he could pick it out, the smell of blood was strong enough that Estin expected that if he blinked, he would find a wounded person in the room with him. Over and over, he tried to find a direction to the scent, but he was not used to finding anything for which he could not pick out a source or direction.
All he could find among the smells was a name.
“Feanne,” Estin said aloud, his eyes snapping open. “She’s alive, but hurt. Badly.”
“Mom?” said Atall weakly. “Where?”
“I thought…” Lorne started to say, but Estin was already running.
Racing from the ruins and onto the desert plains, Estin stopped only long enough to pick up the scent again. Out in the open air, it was far stronger and he had little trouble picking it up. He even could tell the direction now…straight toward where Atall had said they could probably find her body.
Estin set off at the hardest run in his life, pushing himself beyond anything he thought himself capable of. Estin even dropped to all fours, running across the desert like a true animal in his attempt to reach his mate. She was hurt somewhere and he was not going to make her wait for help.
Chapter Ten
“Thirty”
Living your life without something you want or need is easy, right up until that moment when you realize that it is absent. To a child, that might be a toy or a friend that has gone away. Yet the child will be blissfully ignorant of what they have lost, happy and content.
Then, there comes that day when the child is somehow reminded of what they once had. From that moment, only that missing item matters, at least until the child forgets again.
We adults are more complicated creatures. Loss of an item can usually be dismissed, especially when the item is not essential for one’s survival—at least that is how I had to view things growing up during a war. What we cannot bear the loss of are people, whether they be family or friends.
An adult will seek out those they have lost with a passion that would shame a child. I have known people who have wasted away, so single-minded were they in their quest to restore things to what they view as normal.
When the person is lost forever—all too common during the wars—a part of the adult dies with them. Even those who go on and live full lives are never quite the same after that moment.
I know that all of you understand this much too clearly.
Myself, I faced loss all around me, with no sure way to recover. I was not an adult and had no idea how to react. I could try to be childlike and ignore the problems, but that only worked for so long. I could try to be an adult, but I had no idea what to do to help myself.
My brother had lost his first love and was a deeply broken male, though I would not even realize that until later reflection. He had grown up in those weeks, while I was still a child at heart. His loss made him an adult as surely as age ever could. It would take more than watching him suffer to teach me the same lessons.
Estin had been lost to my mother, leaving her a distant shell of who she had been. She still had a good twenty years ahead of her and five children that adored her, but I could see a darkness in her that would likely never be filled again for his absence. Even the brutal floggings under Desphon’s orders never seemed to approach the pain of loss that shone in her eyes.
To this day, I think she would have died eventually of grief.
I thought I had lost much, but a child has a poor concept of what true loss is. To me, my mother’s beatings and separation from the rest of my family was a devastating loss. I felt there was nothing worse that could happen and nothing more that could be taken from me.
And then you find what truly matters to you. If that single thing were to go away…then, and only then, can the world present you with the terror of truly losing yourself. In that, I learned what Estin’s disappearance could mean to mother.
For the fifth day in a row, Oria slid carefully into the room where her mother was being kept. It had gotten easier with each passing day, as the guards had gotten lax. The weaker Feanne had grown, the less they cared to watch her for any danger.
Each day, Oria had made it her habit to come in early in the mornings before her mother was whipped. It was the easiest time to reach her and the time she needed company the most, knowing what was coming.
“Mom?” Oria whispered as she closed the door behind her. “Are you awake?”
Hanging from the frame that still remained locked on her neck and wrists, Feanne opened her eyes slowly, though she seemed to stare right through Oria.
“You need to go,” said Feanne, her voice barely a croak.
Oria walked around the side of the frame, seeing that Feanne hung by her wrists, her legs unable to support her anymore. Long gashes from the whips crisscrossed her back, covering similar cuts from the day before and the one before that. It was difficult for Oria to think that this was the remains of the previous day’s work, with more yet to come. The entirety of Feanne’s back had been so badly mauled that Oria thought it looked more like rotting meat than living flesh anymore.
Judging by the scent, she guessed that rotting was not far off. She smelled disease and knew that infection was likely rampant. Not that it was surprising after more than two weeks without any care for her wounds beyond the rudimentary cleaning Oria had been able to give. Though only having seen her frequently during the last five, Oria had missed much of the progression of the injuries.
“Are you sure you can’t change?” asked Oria, digging through the pack she carried. Water and food were all she had brought, but deep down she wished for something else in that bag that might help. She had tried both lock picks and a crowbar in recent days to no avail. “You could break the locks…”
“Not strong enough,” gasped Feanne. “I would die before I completed changing.”
Oria came back around the front of the frame, trying not to let herself cry as she looked for any way to get her mother free. Absently, she let her hand touch the knife at her side—recently retaken from the guards that had stolen it two weeks earlier. At her other side, Atall’s knife hung.
“Do not be afraid to end this,” Feanne told her, eyes following Oria’s hand on the knife. “Killing one you cannot save is a mercy, even if it is hard on the heart. If that is what it takes to make you leave, please do it.”
“Never, mom,” she said, taking her hand quickly off the knife and picking up a flask of water she had brought. “We’ll leave here together, one way or another.”
Oria lifted the flask to Feanne’s mouth, losing much of the water as her mother tried to drink at the odd angle forced on her by the frame. Feanne soon gave up and shook her head.
“Daughter, I will not make it another day,” she told Oria, getting her feet under her in a shaking effort to take weight off of her wrists and neck. “They will kill me soon. Have you given thought to what you will do?”
Setting aside the flask, Oria sat down in front of the frame, so that she could look her mother in the eyes, as though they were having a somewhat normal conversation.
“If you die, I’ll kill every elf and human that touched you,” Oria said simply, drawing her knife and laying it across her lap. “When every one of them is dead, I’ll bring your body back to Atall and the kits. Together, we’ll find a way to bring you back to the mountains.”
Feanne smiled weakly. “What of your friend?”
Sliding the blade of the knife along
her claw, Oria shrugged. “How well do you think he’ll like me when I carve his father open and leave his entrails across the desert?”
“He likely will not have to worry about it,” answered Desphon, standing in the doorway behind Oria.
Spinning onto her feet defensively, Oria raised the knife and snarled, trying to put herself between Desphon and her mother.
“Dear girl,” the older male said, waving two guards into the room to flank him, “I have put up with this long enough. Lower your weapon.”
Oria studied the two elven men carefully. Both were lightly armored and held short swords, but they moved with experience. Either was likely a match for her in combat, but both together would have little trouble stopping her. Worse yet, she could see another two guards in the hallway.
“If I give up, will you let her go?” Oria asked, pointing her weapon at Desphon. “I want your word, or I’ll start cutting your men down.”
Smiling in amusement, Desphon nodded at her. “Drop the blade and I will take you both outside these caverns,” he told her, earning a confused glance from at least one of the guards. “This has become a waste of my time and serves no purpose other than gratification at seeing one who challenged me suffer. I give you my pledge that you will be allowed outside.”
Oria lowered her weapon slightly, looking between the armed men waiting to attack her and her mother, whose eyes were on the floor. There was no hope or fear in Feanne’s eyes. There was only death.
Throwing her knife to the floor, Oria stood as straight and tall as she could.
“Release us, as you promised.”
The guards visibly relaxed, turning to Desphon for instruction.
“Take her,” the wildling ordered, stepping back out of the room to let the other two guards enter. “Drag her and her mother outside and secure them.”
“You promised!” Oria screamed as the guards leapt on her. She tried to reach her weapon, but there was no time in the small room. “Does your word mean nothing?”
As the soldiers forced Oria face-first to the ground and began tying her wrists behind her back, Desphon knelt in front of her, bringing his face close to hers.
“I am not obligated to be honest with traitors,” he said softly, then motioned for the guards to stand her upright. “Besides, I have not lied.”
Oria fought to kick at the men holding her, until they tied her ankles together and shoved a rag in her mouth, tying it behind her head. Other than squirming, there was nothing she could do as they unlocked the frame that held Feanne, letting her mother collapse limply to the floor.
Within seconds, they had Feanne tied like Oria and began dragging the two females out into the halls.
The path they took was familiar to Oria after so many trips through the underground city. The guards were, in fact, dragging them toward the nearest exit to the surface. Desphon had not completely lied.
“We did not quite make it to the twenty days I asked for,” Desphon told Feanne, tapping her sharply on the nose. She barely moved as he did so. “Eighteen days. I would have expected you to survive longer. Another disappointment for your gender, it would seem. A male would have had some fight left in him, I would hope.”
Oria tried to slip free and go after Desphon, but could not break the grip of the guards, or the ropes holding her.
They continued through the halls until the torchlight began to fade into daylight. At that point, the passage floor began a slow rise toward the surface.
“Take them out to the open space,” Desphon ordered. “I’ll gather the witnesses. Make sure nothing happens before I get there.”
Oria soon lost sight of Desphon as he went back up the passage, while the soldiers dragged Oria and Feanne outside.
Heat washed over Oria as they came out into the bright daylight. It had been weeks since she had been above ground and she had grown accustomed to the cooler air of the tunnels. The change of temperature hit her hard, sucking the fight out of her briefly.
She looked around dazedly as she was carried, trying to figure out where she was. This particular place was not one she had seen before, but it was no secret what the area had been set up for.
Sitting in the middle of the tiny sand valley, a large stone block lay. Chains had been attached it, allowing the intended victim to be secured for execution or torture. Dark dried blood covered the surface of the stone…likely Feanne’s from previous days.
“A traitor’s death,” said one of the soldiers to Oria, cutting the strap on her ankles and then pushed her to her knees to wait. “I’m sorry…Desphon’s orders. None of us want this…”
Looking up, Oria could see that it was nearly noon. High overhead, vultures circled, waiting for a fresh meal. Today, she realized they would probably be getting two meals, instead of one.
Held down by the guards as they waited, Oria felt as though her heart was going to beat out of her chest. She could just barely see her mother lying nearby, with one man keeping his knee atop her to keep her immobilized. She was barely breathing, let alone trying to escape.
At last, a small group of people came out of the tunnels. Led by Desphon, they consisted of one more fox wildling that Oria had not met, Phaesys, and a group of elven nobles from Corraith. Of the group, Desphon was unquestionably the highest-ranking, leading the way for the others. To Oria’s knowledge, he was the only council member among them.
Following the group, a single human came out into the light. Unlike the others, this man wore a black robe and face-concealing hood. Over one shoulder he bore a massive single-edged axe and over the other was what appeared to be a chain.
The guards holding Feanne—though carrying was probably more accurate—brought her to the stone block, throwing her down beside it.
“I give you one more chance,” Desphon said loudly to Feanne, walking up to her as she pulled herself to her knees. “Accept slavery for yourself and your child and this will all end. There is no reason for this brutality. This can all be forgotten once debts are paid off.”
Slowly, Feanne pushed herself into a sitting position, wincing as her back crackled loudly.
“I agree,” she said so softly that Oria could barely hear her. “I agree that there is no reason for the brutality. Either kill us, or release us.”
Desphon motioned to the men who held Phaesys’ manacles, having them bring him forward.
“This is a lesson to you, son,” Desphon said, motioning toward Feanne. “Nobility is not just about being born, but about what you will do to hang onto it. We must enforce the laws, even if doing so is unpopular.”
At first, Oria tried not to look at Phaesys, but slowly lifted her head to see what he would do. He stared back at her, his eyes unreadable. There was no tension, no anger, no emotion at all.
Phaesys would not save her, she realized, letting her head hang again.
“Perhaps the child can talk some sense into her mother,” Desphon went on, turning to Oria. “What you both did breaks the laws, of that there is no doubt. Would you watch your mother die for these mistakes?”
As soon as the soldier ungagged her, Oria shrugged off the hand of the man that kept her kneeling, standing as best she could without the use of her arms. She stood straight, as she had seen her mother do every time she had addressed outsiders as a leader.
“If your lesson is for your son, not for us, have him do the work,” Oria told the assembled group, though she made a point of not looking at Phaesys when she said it. “Just get it over with. We aren’t going to be slaves.”
Desphon smiled slightly and turned to Phaesys. “Would you do your duty, or shall we have the headsman do it?”
Saying nothing, Phaesys patted the spot on his belt where his sword would normally be.
“Arm him,” commanded Desphon, motioning to the soldiers. “He will execute the mother first, as she caused the most harm.”
An elven man walked over to Phaesys, offering him a heavy sword. There was something in the looks they gave one another, but Oria could not
guess at what it might be.
Without hesitation, Phaesys took the weapon, marching past Oria to where Feanne still knelt by the gruesome stone block. Drawing the weapon slowly, he let the tip rest on the ground beside Feanne.
“Do you deny attacking a noble of Corraith?” asked Phaesys, stepping behind Feanne. For the first time, his eyes flicked to Oria.
“No.”
“Don’t do it,” Oria mouthed silently at Phaesys, but he looked away from her, raising his weapon.
“Do you deny breaking the laws of Corraith and committing a crime punishable by enslavement or death?”
Feanne smiled absently, looking down at the stone in front of her and the blood that coated it. “No.”
“And do you accept punishment, rather than enslavement?”
Feanne lowered her head, exposing the back of her neck for Phaesys. “I would not deny refusing to be a slave. I am, and will always be, free.”
Raising the sword high, Phaesys took a deep breath and proclaimed, “By the laws of Corraith, you would be executed as a traitor for assaulting the rulers of the city...”
Twisting the sword mid-air, Phaesys spun on the headsman, striking him in the throat with the sword’s hilt. Turning back to the soldiers that were slower to draw their weapons, Phaesys added, “…but we aren’t in Corraith anymore, are we?”
Phaesys rushed the nearest soldiers, striking at every man who touched a weapon, leaving a bloody trail around him as he cut down half a dozen men on his way toward Desphon. Many of the soldiers made a point of keeping their weapons sheathed and stepping aside as Phaesys rushed toward his father. This was not a fight that the soldiers wanted any part of.
The charge was cut short as a dwarven man near Desphon raised his hands, flinging a barrage of stones and sand that formed from the air itself. They pummeled Phaesys until he collapsed and was grabbed by the soldiers who were not bleeding.
“What is this about?” asked Desphon, leaning closer to his son, while four men held the youth down. Despite all four being larger than Phaesys, he very nearly dragged them as he tried to free himself. “It is not unexpected, but I do want to know why.”