“She’s right!” Joran said, grabbing Malik’s arm. “They'll think that by the time the satyrs start to run, you’ll already be tired. They'll expect you to be thirsty and weak.”
“It’s a big risk. What if they catch you with the supplies?” Malik hedged.
“We’re doing it, Malik. You can stop me from running with you, but you can’t stop me from doing this.” Joran jabbed his finger at the air in front of Malik’s face as he spoke. “Get some rest. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
“You’re going now?” Malik gaped.
“Soon. The sun will be up in an hour or so. It makes sense to go then, when the fae are all inside.”
“Joran, I…” He reached for the younger man.
“Save it for when I get back.”
***
Ylsriss rose as silently as she could and made her way out of the hut onto the deck. The others were still asleep and Tia’s snores were loud enough to mask her passage. The sky was shifting from the true black of night to the silvery twilight that would last all morning until the sun rose for its hour near noon. They would be coming for Malik before too much longer.
She passed through the camp and tapped lightly on the wall of Joran’s hut. The deep, steady breathing coming from within it carried on rhythmically. Ylsriss shook her head and smiled. Were all men this hard to wake? Klöss had been just the same.
“Klöss.” She whispered his name. She hadn’t allowed herself to think of him or their baby in so long. She clenched her fist and dug her nails into her palm in an effort to stem the rising tears. She would find a way to get Effan back, to get back to her own world. It was a hope she’d hidden from herself, one too distant to indulge in, but now...now that Joran had changed...perhaps it was possible. She stopped herself. “One thing at a time, Ylsriss,” she whispered.
She knocked again, louder, and the splutter from inside told her she’d been successful. Joran pulled the curtain aside and peered out . His relief at seeing Ylsriss spoke volumes about his fear that it would be someone else waiting. “Ylsriss, it’s still early. What do you want?”
“It’s not that early. They'll come for him soon.” She looked back over her shoulder, half expecting to see movement in the trees. “We should make sure he is well fed before they do.”
“He probably needs sleep to more,” Joran said, stepping out onto the deck.
“No, Joran. She’s right.” Malik’s voice carried from inside the hut.
Joran shot her a black look and then held the curtain aside for her to enter.
She cooked quickly and they ate mostly in silence as the sounds of the camp waking drifted in through the door and window. Conversations started and ended almost before they began, stifled by the situation. The sound of distant voices prompted Ylsriss to pull the curtain aside and she turned back to the pair with a grim expression that said all that was needed.
“You remember the directions?” Joran whispered, with a sudden urgency.
“I remember.” Malik rose and stepped through the curtain with a quiet dignity. Two fae faced the hut while a small group of satyrs stood behind them, laughing and speaking in their musical tongue.
“Come,” the fae said simply, while reaching a hand out to Malik.
Curtains twitched in the other huts as the men and women watched, their eyes filled with nothing more than a dull curiosity.
Malik turned once as he was being led away. The expression on his face was calm but he managed a smile. Ylsriss knew, as they followed at a distance, that it was the only goodbye they would get.
The Whitestone was close to Tir Rhu’thin on a hill at the end of a well-trodden forest path. The stone itself was a massive grey boulder, shot through with veins of white. Ylsriss was reminded of the cheeses she used to steal from the market in Hesk, and had to fight down a wave of nervous laughter as they stopped at the very end of the path.
The forest seemed to have shied back from the hill that held the stone at its summit. The image stuck with Ylsriss and she found herself looking down at the trees and trying to decide if they actually were growing at an angle leaning away from the stone. It was an odd thought but it helped to distract her from the horror of the moment.
The hilltop was packed with satyrs, their eyes filled with anticipation. Aelthen waited at the stone, surrounded by a small ring of fae. The growing crowd parted as Malik was escorted through and presented to Aelthen. They were too far away for Ylsriss to hear any of the words but, even at this distance, the massive creature's voice carried.
“What happens now?” Tia’s voice was low.
Ylsriss glanced at her. She hadn’t realised she was so close. “We wait,” she replied.
“Wait for what?”
“The sun.” Ylsriss spoke without looking at her, her eyes searching the crowd for Joran. They’d become separated on the walk to the hill. “When the sun rises, Malik will start to run. He has the whole day. When the moon rises, he’ll loose the satyrs on him.” She nodded to the antlered figure next to the stone.
“Aelthen?” Tia guessed. “He’s magnificent, isn’t he?”
Ylsriss gave her a sharp look. It was there, in her expression. The admiration in the girl's eyes was plain for anyone to see. It wasn’t quite adoration yet, but she knew it soon would be. She bit back a retort that would have been wasted anyway and sighed.
The fae and satyrs waited in silence. Slaves filed in to join the crowd. Ylsriss guessed that almost every human in the camps was in attendance. Was Effan somewhere in the crowd? Or was he still in his camp with whoever cared for him? Any murmur of conversation was stilled by cold looks from the fae and even Tia’s whispered questions eventually stopped. The sky grew lighter by degree as they waited and, finally, the first rays of sunlight fell upon the hilltop.
The satyrs hissed and flinched as the sunlight hit them, and a faint green mist began to rise from their bodies. The fae were more stoic, Ylsriss noted. They initially grimaced but then ignored the deeper green vapour trailing from them. Aelthen stood as before, silent and impassive, simply waiting.
Only when the sun had crested the trees and the whole of it could be seen in the sky did he move. A cheer rose from the massed satyrs as he turned his head to speak to Malik. The crowd parted to allow the condemned man to walk through, and he made his way to the edge and then began to run down the hill and into the forest.
They watched for a time, long after he had passed into the trees and out of sight. The humans began to drift away soon after he faded from view. Despite their summons to bear witness, there was still work to be done.
Ylsriss spotted Joran and walked over to him, reaching for his hand. Eventually, they were the only two humans left. The satyrs stood, as if frozen, the mist boiling from them in a great green cloud. They would remain there until the moon rose. “Come on, Joran,” Ylsriss said. “We should go.”
The walk back to the camp seemed very quiet and very long.
***
The day passed slowly. The mindless drudgery of the work was bad enough, but Ylsriss itched to be able to speak to Joran. Her basket was filling slowly with berries, but she wasn't really putting any effort into picking them. The longest anyone had lasted on the chase was until the moon had begun to set the same night. At least, that was what they had told her.
The satyrs were fast and they wouldn’t tire in the same way that a man would. Usually, they would find their quarry quickly. The dehydrated and terrified slaves must be easy to chase down. She wondered whether the supplies that Joran had hidden for Malik would make any difference.
When it was time to head back, she set her own pace and passed the others with ease. It was impossible to run whilst wearing the basket without spilling the precious berries, but she moved as quickly as she could. Tia was silent for once, walking with the group, wearing the same vacant look as the worst of them. Ylsriss was driven on as much by the desire to get away from the sight of her as she was to speak with Joran.
When she arrived in the camp
, she immediately saw that she needn’t have bothered rushing. It was silent. The men must still be out on the hunt. She dumped her berries into the vat in the storehouse and made her way back to her hut. The runeplate lay on the ground outside where she’d left it to absorb the sunlight, but she ignored it, stormed into the hut and threw herself onto the hard bunk. Sleep was an escape, the only place she had left she could run to.
Morning marked the surreal return of the camp's daily routine. Tia had retrieved the runeplate and breakfast was the usual silent ritual. Ylsriss ate as quickly as she could, then gathered up the soiled clothing and the washbasin, taking them out to the deck.
Washing the clothes was a chore she privately despised, but it would give her some time to herself and, hopefully, the opportunity to see Joran.
She ferried the bucket to and from the wellpumps, filling it with steaming water which she then transferred into the tub. The glyphs on the pipe running out of the well-mouth shone brightly in the twilight as she slid back the sleeve to activate them. They must have recently been renewed, although she hadn’t seen a fae enter the camp.
Ylsriss kept an eye on Joran’s hut as she scrubbed the clothes against the ridged board. She was up earlier than most of the other slaves, but she knew it wouldn’t be long before they started work. As if on cue, the first of the men emerged from their huts, their eyes downcast and their voices subdued when they spoke at all.
Joran came out of his hut and she gave up all pretence of working, watching him openly. He moved just as the others had, slowly and without meeting anyone’s eyes. Her heart sank. Surely he hadn't drifted back under the influence of the fae already? The thought of being truly alone here, the only person not smothered by the Touch, was too dreadful to bear. He glanced over at her. It was little more than a flicker of the eyes, but it was enough to give her hope.
She groaned inwardly as Tia approached and handed her a basket. “Come on. You're really slow today.”
There was no avoiding it. She drained the water away and quickly hung the washing on the lines behind the huts before following the women and children out to the trails.
It was the last hours of twilight before true dark when they finally heard it. Ylsriss had returned to the camp and was working the press in the fruiting shed, crushing the berries down and setting the juice to ferment. The horn cut through the stillness, its haunting note made all the more poignant by what she knew it signified. Malik was dead. They had found him after all.
***
Ylsriss looked around the dark hut in confusion. She listened to the soft sounds of the others sleeping for a moment, trying to understand what had woken her. A soft tapping came from the wall next to the door opening, barely loud enough to hear.
She picked her way through the tangle of the two women sleeping on the pallets on the floor and stepped out into the darkness. A dark figure loomed next to the door. She jumped back in shock, before a soft green glow illuminated Joran’s face.
“You scared me!” she whispered.
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t think of a way to wake you and not the others.”
“How did you know it was me?”
“You’re the shortest one in there.” His smile was an eldritch green in the glow of whatever it was he held in his hand.
Ylsriss grunted her acknowledgement. “It’s not polite to point it out, though.”
“I’ve been thinking about Malik. I think we need to talk.”
She glanced back into the hut, then nodded. “Not here, though. Let’s not run the risk of waking anyone else up.”
He reached for her hand. The darkness was absolute. No moonorbs still glowed and the clouds blocked any starlight that there might have been. They moved carefully, by the tiny bit of light Joran was shedding. He led her through the camp and behind the juicing shed.
“Behind the sheds, Joran? If we were home, people would talk,” Ylsriss said, with an impish grin, before realising he couldn’t see it. “What is it you’ve got there, anyway?”
He ran a finger over the glyphs and the moonorb began to glow more brightly, giving off enough light to illuminate them but not enough to extend beyond the shed.
“The glyphs themselves gave off enough light for me to see my way through the camp,” he shrugged.
“Clever,” she said. “I tried to talk to you earlier. I’ve been trying to find a way to talk ever since we got back from Tir Rhu’thin.”
“I know.” The darkness hid his features but it couldn’t cover the misery in his voice. “It’s stupid, but I feel like everyone is watching me now. That they’ll notice I’m different.”
“You’re right. It is stupid.” Ylsriss was only half-joking. “Most of them wouldn’t notice if you burst into flames.”
Joran grunted at that. “You heard the horn?” It was a foolish question. Everyone had heard it.
“Yes.” There wasn’t much else she could say.
“It was a good three hours after sunset. He lasted more than a full day.” There was a note of fierce pride in his voice.
“It was the only revenge he could have against them,” Ylsriss said, in a hoarse whisper. “He spoiled their game.”
Joran cleared his throat and shook his head. “I’m not sure he did. They might have just seen it as a greater challenge. That’s not my point, anyway. My point is he lasted three hours past sunset. Longer than anyone else ever has. He achieved that even though he had no real supplies, and when they knew where his trail began and how fresh it was.”
“What are you saying, Joran?” Ylsriss already knew the answer.
“We could run.” His eyes were bright in the night. “Think about it. I mean, it’s only really the Touch that keeps us here. There are no guards. They might not even notice we've gone for days. Not until the quota was missed.”
“Run?” She kept her voice neutral. “Where would we go? What would we survive on?”
“I don’t know where we’d go. Maybe in search of a way out of here. A way home.” He shrugged. “Just away from here. That would be enough to start with. I can’t go back to being the way the others are. I know I won't notice once it starts, but I can’t bear the idea. I know if we stay here, eventually I will, though. As for what we’d survive on, what do we survive on now? I could take a bow. We could hunt and forage.”
“And what about Effan? What about my son?”
“We don’t even know where he is, Ylsriss. But maybe, in time, we could go in search of him too,” Joran said.
Ylsriss tried to ignore the excitement rising in her. He probably didn’t mean it about Effan. He was just humouring her. He was young though and, much as she didn’t like to admit it to herself, she was not above using him if she had to. Not if it meant getting Effan back.
“When would you want to go?”
“You’ll do it then?” He practically squeaked with excitement.
“I didn’t say that, Joran. I just asked when.”
He paused for a moment. “I think if we’re going to do it, it should be as soon as possible. I know it would make sense to wait until the Wild Hunt when more of them are in our world, but I don’t dare.”
“What are you afraid of?”
“I don't think you ever fell under the Touch, Ylsriss, not really. You don’t know what it feels like.” His voice was harsh, raw. “It’s like being numb inside your own mind. Nothing matters except for the fae. You live only to serve them, to please them. I can’t let it fall on me again. It’s not just that, though. We have no idea how this works. I mean, what if they can tell somehow?”
“Tell what? About you, you mean?” The thought hadn't even occurred to her.
“It’s no more outlandish than stoves powered by glyphs and sunlight, is it?” He laughed suddenly. The sound was too loud in the night and his teeth clacked together as he clamped his mouth shut.
“I hadn’t thought of it like that,” she admitted, softly. “You’re wrong though. I felt the Touch as strongly as anyone when I was in the pens.” She fell
silent, studying his eyes in the dim glow of the moonorb. “Tomorrow?” she whispered.
“That soon?”
“Why not?”
He couldn’t think of a reason.
“We’ll need to gather some things,” he said.
***
Ylsriss stabbed herself on a thorn again and swore under her breath as she sucked at her finger. She sucked and spat, then sucked again. The poison was very minor but it would be enough to make her clumsy and more likely to scratch herself again. She'd heard tales of women dying in the berry fields, scratching themselves over and over until they finally collapsed. It wasn’t something they spoke of any more. The Touch seemed to have affected the rest of the women more powerfully recently. Maybe it was just the events of the last day or so that made it seem worse to her, but they seemed even quieter, even more docile. “Like stupid sheep”, she muttered, spitefully.
She spat again and began picking once more, moving slowly, deliberately. Why hadn’t she volunteered to work the vegetable patch instead?
Tia stood to her left, humming contentedly as her fingers flickered over the bushes. Ylsriss shot her a sour look. The young woman disgusted her now, although she knew that it was irrational. It didn’t seem likely anyone could resist the Touch once it was upon them, but some were just more susceptible than others.
Tia was different though. She seemed to have opened herself to it, to have welcomed it to her. She’d been entranced almost from day one. From the moment she first saw the runeplate and the other magical items around the camp, she’d given up any thoughts of home or the fact that she’d been taken by force. It wasn’t just the Touch, although that had very clearly taken hold. She actually wanted to be here.
There were women in the camp who’d actually looked forward to being taken by the fae, who had welcomed the chance to try and carry a child for them. Tia would be one of these women, Ylsriss knew it. She would go to the fae with open arms and be willing, possibly even eager, to be bedded.
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