by Travis Bughi
She couldn’t distinguish anything from this distance, and in fading light, the ruins were just a shadowy blur. However, the fact that she could see them at all told her they were massive in size. They were likely abandoned—why else would they be called ruins—but at least they could give her some shelter from the wind, and with luck, some water, too. She licked her dried lips at the thought.
She was hopeful as she walked towards what appeared to be a huge building jutting out of the ground, her feet stumbling as the sand gave way under each step. Shivering in the wind, she grimaced when one of the gusts knocked over the top of a dune and rained it over her. The dry sand flew into her mouth, reminding her just how thirsty she was. She spit the sand out, breathed in deeply, swallowed without saliva down an acid-covered throat, and pressed on.
When she reached the ruins, they loomed threateningly in almost complete darkness. The moon’s light was her torch now, revealing a vast, stone mansion that at one time would have been a match to the Angels’ Tower in magnificence. It had countless openings for windows but no shutters, a stone fence that was all but decayed to rubble, and a roof several stories high where it hadn’t collapsed. The wind howled eerily through the hollow structure, and its darkened interior seemed to promise unimaginable horrors. The tearing wind overruled her misgivings, though, so she decided to continue.
However, as she approached the mansion’s gate, several bursts of sand startled her. She yelped and jumped back, and not a moment too soon, as five worm-like creatures wiggled out of the ground. They were thick, as big around as her leg and nearly as long as she was tall. Their red bodies squirmed on the sand, fat like sausages, as they inched toward her, their mouths cavernous maws filled with razor-sharp teeth.
Emily screamed and ran away from the mansion, and the sausage worms continued to snake along after her, slowly. Emily screamed again when they spit a stream of bright green liquid into the air after her, though it never touched her. She ran far faster than the worms wriggled. Behind her she heard the sizzling of melting sand, but dared not look back to confirm it. She ran until her legs couldn’t hold her anymore, which wasn’t more than a few sand dunes away from the mansion.
When she collapsed, breathing hard in painful gasps, she looked back and saw the worms burrowing back into the ground. Somehow, that sight sickened her further, and she mustered up her strength to move on, away from the ruins.
What were those ugly things? How many other nightmares does this place hold? Emily hadn’t been in Savara for more than a day, and already she hated it. Or perhaps that was just her thirst talking. She was finding it difficult to focus; all she could think about was a warm glass of water. Her stomach was clenching in pain as thirst beset her weary body. Salty acid tore at her throat from when she’d thrown up, but she couldn’t summon enough saliva to spit the taste out. Her lips were dried and cracking from the wind’s never-ending attacks, and her eyes were taking longer to open with every blink.
Funny, she thought, smiling faintly. Just a little while ago, I nearly died from too much water. If she could have found the energy to laugh, she would have. She was not so far gone that irony was lost on her.
As that memory surfaced, she was reminded of what happened just before she’d blacked out. Particularly, the moment she’d lost track of where she was, and how she hadn’t felt like she was drowning anymore. It had been a strange feeling, but not entirely unknown to her. It had actually felt like when Quartus had entered her mind. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling—quite the contrary, actually. She’d learned to embrace and welcome Quartus’ presence, and it was something sorely missed now that he was gone.
His guidance, despite her failure to follow it, had always given her hope. It had been a reliable source of comfort, and Emily wished he would return to dispel the gloom she felt now. She wondered if perhaps—when she had nearly drowned—he had reached out to her from beyond the grave. That thought was dashed instantly, though. As much as she wanted to believe it, the truth did not sway with her hopes. Quartus was dead, and what she’d felt was something else. She’d have to think on it later, assuming she survived her current predicament.
And just then, before she’d even made it out of sight of the ruins, her eyes picked up a blessed sight! To the north, not too far away, she saw a single trail of smoke whisking up into the moonlight. It was barely visible, nothing more than a thin, shadowy trail that appeared for a moment before scattering in the wind. Emily’s loosely hanging jaw dropped open further, and she followed the smoke’s trail with her eyes.
There, in the distance, was the flickering orange of manmade light.
Fire, she thought. People!
“Yes!” she cheered. “Yes! Thank you!”
Emily’s heart soared, and her legs felt revitalized. Despite her fatigue and the difficult terrain, she pushed herself to a half jog in her hurry to reach the smoke. She laughed with happiness as she reached the area where the firelight became more of a beacon than a shadow. Emily pushed herself beyond endurance and was breathing hard by the time she reached it.
The dunes gave way to her approach, and from just outside the camp, she could see the outline of two wagons, some sort of animals harnessed to them, and a few humans. Emily pushed past her fatigue and ran faster, breaking into a sprint.
“Hey!” she cried out. “Over here! Help!”
She waved her arms in the air, and the figures outlined by the fire whirled around to face her. Their shadows flickered and shifted across the surrounding dunes.
“Help!” she called out again. “Water! Please help!”
Still, they did nothing as this small, young girl came panting in from out of the darkness. Now only ten paces away, Emily stopped and finally saw what she had run towards.
There were four humans sitting around the fire, two women and two men, all at least a decade older than Emily. They wore loose, sheet-like clothing that wrapped around their bodies from their ankles to their heads, leaving only their faces and hands exposed. The men had thick, full beards and curved swords at their waists. One of the women had a sword, too, but the other had a bow. They all stared like she was the strangest thing they had ever seen.
Besides them, each cart was secured to an animal the likes of which Emily had never seen. Both creatures had four legs and were roughly the height of a unicorn, but they were much bulkier and had black, scaly skin. Each had one large horn protruding from its nose like a behemoth, but curving up and back in a way that Emily thought made the adornment rather useless. Their eyes were set further down their cheeks than seemed appropriate, almost to the point of being even with their mouths.
One cart was covered in a canvas that hid its contents. The other was an iron-barred cage with two shackled occupants: a large viking-like man and a small creature that appeared human from the waist up but had two small horns sticking out of his head, hooved feet, and fur from the waist down.
It took Emily’s weary mind a half second to realize what she had run towards, but she was too stunned to do anything. Fortunately, the viking gave her direction.
“Run, you stupid girl!” he yelled.
Emily spun and took off at a dead sprint. Her lungs, still pained from running to the camp, burned like fire now. Her gasping breath was so loud she barely heard a man’s voice call out.
“Farah, bolas.”
From behind her, she heard a violent swishing sound in the wind, and a moment later a thick string caught the back of her shins and wrapped itself around her legs several times. The string drew tight, pulling her feet together, and two heavy balls cracked into her shins. Still at a full sprint, she tripped and plummeted forward into the sand, rolling over and over ‘til her momentum ceased. Frantically, she reached down and tried to pull and kick herself free. She barely got in one push before one of the men was standing over her, sword drawn and pointed at her chest. Behind him, the woman with the sword appeared and angled her own blade at Emily, too.
“Stop,” the man commanded.
&n
bsp; Emily went still. The two smiled at her.
“Good throw, Farah,” the woman yelled back in excitement.
“Where do you think she came from?” the man asked.
“I have a better question,” the woman replied, her smile turning cruel. “How much do you think she’ll sell for?”
Chapter 15
The only good thing Emily could say was that at least the slavers gave her water. Not as much as she wanted, but it was something. She was bound by rope soon thereafter—the slavers hadn’t brought a set of iron cuffs small enough for her—and thrown in the cage with the viking and the half-human. Her worry about what would happen next kept her awake for about five minutes, but darkness, lack of activity, and sitting down worked into her bones quickly. Exhaustion overtook her, and she passed out, sitting upright in the corner of the cage.
In the morning, the viking kicked her awake.
“Hey, you,” he whispered.
Emily’s eyes cracked open, and bright sunlight flooded into them. She winced, felt her head bounce suddenly, and realized the cart was moving. She blinked herself awake and breathed in deeply.
“Ah, leave her alone,” the half-animal, half-human thing said in a light voice. “She looks like she needs the sleep.”
“I don’t give a damn,” the viking growled. “We’re getting close, and she needs to know.”
That got Emily’s attention. She shook off her morning fatigue and looked around.
Their cart was in the lead, driven by one of the couples from last night and being pulled by one of the black, scaly animals. It breathed heavily and snorted often, shaking its head back forth like a behemoth. The man held a set of reins in his hands, but Emily couldn’t see much else. Their clothes and hoods hid their faces, though Emily had little doubt it was the two who’d stood over her the previous night. She looked back to see the other cart following them, and the man and woman who hadn’t stood over her were seated on that one.
The carts were on the move, headed east, rolling across the sands toward the rising sun at a leisurely pace. As Emily looked in that direction, she could see the faint outlines of small buildings ahead.
“Close to what?” she asked.
“The slave market!” the woman leading the cart said cheerfully, almost singing the words. “You’re going to make us some coin today!”
The man laughed, and the couple leading the back cart smiled as well. Emily felt her stomach clench and roll, and she knew it wasn’t just because she was still thirsty. She was hungry, too, but somehow didn’t feel the need to eat. The viking and the strange creature were still staring at her, and she looked back at them.
“What’s going to happen to us?” Emily asked.
Neither the viking nor the half-human answered. They broke eye contact with her, and she felt her heart sink.
“Okay then, what are you?” she asked.
“Me?” the half-human gasped, clearly offended. “You can’t be serious! You’ve never seen a satyr? Hmf, well I’ll be damned. The name is Proctus Simonides, and under different circumstances, I’d be pleased to meet you. I was a traveling bard before these fine folks captured me.”
Emily looked Proctus over. Although he was sitting down, Emily guessed him to be just slightly shorter than her, but he was also a bit rotund around the midsection. He wore no clothing other than a loincloth but didn’t appear disturbed or embarrassed about this. From his waist down, he looked like a minotaur: completely covered in short, brown fur and with hooved feat. From his waist up, he looked like a really hairy human. His chest and armpits curled with hair, though he had a very well-groomed beard. He even had curly hair on his head, and from his forehead protruded two tiny horns that were no longer than Emily’s thumb.
“A satyr?” Emily tested the word. “I’ve never even heard of that.”
“Ack,” Proctus scoffed. “Well, what in the world are you, huh? I’ve never seen anyone who dresses like you either. Freak!”
“She’s an amazon,” the viking budged in. “I’ve seen them in Lucifan occasionally. However, I’ve never seen one alone, especially in Savara, unarmed and dying of thirst. That’d be a first for me, and I’ve seen a lot, trust me. Not that any of that matters now, I guess.”
Emily looked the viking over next. He was unsurprisingly big, both tall and strong, which was how Emily knew he was a viking in the first place. He was older, perhaps a tad older than Emily’s parents, yet his hair was still long and golden in color. His eyes were a deep green, like hers, and he was missing more than a few teeth. His left ear was mangled and missing the bottom lobe, and he had what appeared to be a rope burn around his neck. His clothes were a patchwork of leather and furs, which had likely been stripped of all value. Emily wondered what weapons the viking had carried before he was captured.
“Lucifan?” Proctus cocked an eyebrow. “And you’ve never heard of a satyr? You must not have spent much time in a tavern. We satyrs are famous for our skills with the lute and our fabled storytelling.”
His chest swelled with pride, but Emily paid him no mind. She was looking at the viking. She wanted to know more about him.
“We’re getting close to the slave market, you said?” she asked. “You don’t look like any slave I’ve ever seen.”
“I wasn’t,” the viking scoffed. “I got trapped just like Proctus. My crew was attacked by a hydra off the coast south of here. The beast took all my mates to Valhalla that day, but I slew her before she could take me, too. Now I think I should have just let the wretched creature kill me.
“I washed up on the shore and traveled inland until I found these peoples’ home. They welcomed me inside, gave me food and drink, only the drink was laced with something strong, and it knocked me out cold. I woke up in a cage with Proctus here.”
The couple leading the cart started to snicker.
“You fell like a sack of stones, too,” the man laughed. “Almost broke our table.”
They laughed loudly, and the viking snarled at their backs.
“What’s your name?” Emily asked.
“Kollskegg Ludinson,” the viking said, tilting his chin up, “or Koll the Sturdy. You’ve probably heard of me.”
Emily shook her head.
“No?” Koll retracted in shock. “You haven’t heard of satyrs or Koll the Sturdy? Were you born under a mountain? Are you a dwarf in disguise? Bah! You’re probably just too young. I have children older than you.”
“Don’t feel bad,” Proctus assured her. “I haven’t heard of him either. What’s your name?”
“Emily Stout,” she said.
“Well Emily, I’d try to smile more. You’ll sell for more that way, and you likely sell to a better master because of it.”
The woman slaver gasped and turned around to look at Emily.
“Oh yes! Please do!”
* * *
The town they entered wasn’t much of one in Emily’s opinion. Then again, she’d only seen two places of large, permanent civilization in her life, but this town in Savara was nothing compared to them. It was more like a structuralized version of the elven village or the werewolf camp she’d seen in the Forest of Angor. It only had three, maybe four roads lined with no more than a few structures that appeared to have been made out of dirt or mud. The tops were wooden, though, and rarely did any building have more than one story. Many of the local residents had hung sheets supported by poles out over the entrances to their homes, providing some slight shelter from the harsh sun. It also appeared that nearly everyone was outside washing, cooking, or doing whatever else they had to do for the day. Hardly a soul wanted to be indoors in this heat, which was easily comprehendible. In Emily’s eyes, she saw not a trading hub but, instead, a place of neutrality. She wondered at why this place would be a trading hub for slaves, because despite everything she saw of this poor place, there was quite a bit of activity in the center of town.
Emily’s slavers were only one of the many groups who’d come to sell or buy living stock. Many oth
er slaves, most of which looked like poor, native individuals, were being lead in chains toward the center of town. Iron shackles ate at their ankles and caked their feet in layers of blood. Few were old, most were young, but nearly all appeared broken and distraught. The townsfolk appeared disinterested and unattached to the situation. The masters smiled wickedly, the buyers nodded with professionalism, but not a single person looked surprised like Emily felt.
This was something she’d barely been aware of.
Back on the Great Plains, Lucifan was the only established city, and the angels that had once ruled there had never allowed slavery to exist. They’d abolished it long ago when they’d first created the city, and through extension of that decree, slavery wasn’t found on the Great Plains either. It was known to exist elsewhere in the world, and Emily’s mother had used that information more than a few times to try and discourage the adventurous tendencies of her children, but never had Emily actually taken the time to imagine such a thing.
Yet here now before her was the very essence of cruelty: the capitalization of people’s lives.
She shuddered despite the heat.
The slavers lead them toward a large, open platform around which a crowd had gathered. A tall, slender man was standing on top. He had a long, grey beard, which swung widely as he turned to face each section of the crowd in turn.
“Thank you, sir! Please, do enjoy the lady! Now, next up!” the man yelled.
From behind the stage, up a set of stairs, came two men in chains followed by another man wielding a club. He pushed the slaves up onto the platform and then stood next to them, bouncing the club off his hands casually. The club was speckled with blood that had turned brown and black with dirt and age.
“Here we have two fine young men,” the announcer started, “brothers, according to the owner. Fine stock, not too bruised either, but he swears they’re disciplined. He’ll sell them either together or separately.”