by M. L. Greye
No. Not partnered.
Panic flooded through him as his mind finally recalled the last few moments before he’d been robbed of his consciousness. He’d been captured! By someone who knew how his patrol used whistles as signals. All those disappearances at his garrison … Declan was now one of them.
Where. Was. He.
Declan swiped the mud from his face with a filthy hand. He just needed to be able to see. He needed to know where he was – where they’d taken him. He squinted through the grime, blinking furiously.
He could make out the shape of two women beside him on the ground. One was really not much more than a girl, dressed in nothing but a soiled nightgown. Soiled from the mud she now sat in. The other woman was probably around his own age. She wore a thick tunic over leggings and canvas shoes, her hair shorn to her shoulders and plastered to one side of her head. A fellow Anexian, then.
“So good to see you all awake,” a voice sneered from above Declan. No, not just any voice – Kearns.
The Anexian woman beside him loosed a sob as Declan twisted to glimpse Kearns. Here, in the light of day, the scar through her upper lip was more pronounced. Her nose was a little too small for her face, her eyes barely too far set apart, and her mouse brown hair fell in a simple braid on one side of her neck. She wasn’t tall – maybe came up to his shoulder. She was probably the same height as Quinn. But where Quinn had been soft and tone, Kearns was wiry and stick-thin. In the dark, she might had been pretty, but in daylight, she resembled a malnourished whelp. A whelp who’d singlehandedly frozen him in place. She was unlike any Ruby he’d met.
“Welcome to the finest camp in Quirl,” Kearns rasped out. “You are now property of the crown.”
“Quirl?” Declan blurted. He hadn’t meant to say the word out loud. It’d slipped out too fast. He was just stunned he’d been taken out of his country.
Kearns grinned down at him. “Surprise.”
He held back a wince under her gaze. The girl in the nightgown drew away Kearns’s attention, when she asked in a much calmer voice than Declan would have expected from her, “What do you want with us?”
“To make you into the strongest warriors this world has ever seen.” The look in Kearns’s eyes turned sinister – hungry even. “Which is why you will fight. Now. Up with you.”
Strong hands beneath his arms heaved him upward. He hadn’t even realized anyone had been behind him. Two other men lifted up the women beside him, bringing them to their feet. Kearns pointed one hand at Declan and then at the girl in the nightgown. “You two come forward.”
Declan’s legs were shaking. How long had he been out? Still, he took a step forward. The girl hesitated only a moment before doing the same.
“Good,” Kearns preened. “Face each other and begin.”
“Begin what?” Declan asked frowning. The girl in the nightgown was a Bronze. He was finally close enough to make out her eye color.
“Make the other bleed,” Kearns told him, as if it were the obvious answer. “First blood gets a hot meal tonight.”
At that moment, Declan’s stomach grumbled, reminding him it’d most likely been hours since the last time he’d eaten. It distracted him enough to not notice the girl in front of him shift from human to wolf, just before she pounced at him. Her teeth dug into his left forearm, drawing blood.
The stinging from her bite didn’t even register for the first few seconds. He could only stare down at the girl – the shards of her tattered nightgown now hanging over her dark gray fur.
Her fur. She’d turned into a wolf. He hadn’t known a Bronze could do that. He thought all they could do was talk with animals, not actually become them.
“Enough!” Kearns shouted.
The wolf-girl released his arm and stepped back, Declan’s blood dripped from her mouth. He just stared at her, still hardly noticing the pain in his arm.
Kearns grinned down at the wolf and tossed her the cloak she’d had around her own shoulders a moment before. “Very nice. Shift back. You can have this.”
As the girl’s fur shortened, like it was being sucked into her skin, Declan averted his eyes. He realized a half second too late she’d completely ruined her nightgown, leaving her with essentially nothing on.
“You,” Kearns sneered at him. “You didn’t even try.”
He wanted to point out that he’d never seen someone become an animal – it had thrown him off – but before he could utter a word, he felt his insides crack. Somewhere along his left side, he was sure he’d been stabbed, except he wasn’t bleeding. He cried out in pain and hunched over, clutching his side.
“Don’t make too many sudden movements,” Kearns warned. “I’ve fractured two of your ribs.”
“Why?” Declan croaked out, glancing up at her. Panic once again rose up within him – at what she’d done, at what she could do without even touching him, at him not being able to stop it.
“In this camp,” she replied, “You will do as I say or as any of the other Backwards Rubys here say. Your training is under our care, and we will not have lazy or weak warriors. Next time I tell you to fight, you fight.”
Backwards Ruby. That was what Kearns was.
The detail clicked into place. Her abilities made so much more sense now. Her kind were illegal in Enlennd. Or rather, their training was. In order for a ruby-eyed to become a Backwards Ruby, he or she had to be taught. They weren’t illegal everywhere. In Heerth and Quirl, Backwards Rubys were used as soldiers and assassins. Or in this case, as taskmasters.
When Declan didn’t respond, Kearns turned to the wolf girl and the Anexian woman as well. “Here, you will be given opportunities to win your shelter. Until then, you can sleep on the ground, or pay for accommodations with some of your fellow trainees through … other means.” Kearns ran her eyes over the length of Declan with another hungry grin. He tried not to gag as her words settled into him – the look she gave him leaving no room for confusion in her meaning. She went on, “You will be given one meal a day, unless you are awarded otherwise. As for today, you’ve already missed it. You’ll just have to wait for tomorrow.”
Declan’s stomach clenched. He was starving. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever gone this long without food. It’d been at least a day since he’d last eaten, maybe more depending on how long Kearns had kept him unconscious, depending on how far into Quirl he’d been carried.
He tried to ignore the disgust that threatened to overwhelm him at being taken so far without his permission. At the absolute violation of his agency.
Kearns motioned to someone behind him with one hand. “Fix the Teal then send him off to find someplace warm for the night.”
Another Ruby – this one the same height as Declan – appeared at his side. It took a great deal of control for Declan not to flinch at the man’s arrival. As Kearns ordered the wolf girl and Anexian away, telling them they could bathe in the river, the new Ruby began healing Declan’s ribs.
Kearns didn’t give Declan so much as a glance back before she walked off. She didn’t tell anyone to tie him or the other two women up. She didn’t say they’d be locked in a cell. Yet, Declan knew he was a prisoner.
He lifted his gaze to take in his surroundings. To see more of this camp. His prison.
From what he could see of it from where he stood on its outskirts, the camp was made of three sections. There were tents on one side, making up about two-thirds of the structures, arranged haphazardly with small fires scattered in between.
In the center, there were two substantial buildings of red brick with thatched roofs and glass windows. Beside those buildings, there were a handful of round, raised platforms, all made of hardened red clay. Practice rounds, for fighting. Declan had seen them used by Kruths. Beside the rounds were racks with different sizes of wooden staffs.
On the opposite side of the buildings from the tents were a collection of A-frames – structures all resembling an upside-down V. Their roofs were angled and made entirely from wood. Each only had one wind
ow placed in one of the triangle walls, while a door was set into the opposite wall. These simple structures made up the remaining third of the camp’s buildings.
To the right of the camp, there were mountains. Mountains! Declan stared.
There was only one portion of Quirl that Declan knew touched mountains, and that was in North Quirl. Declan’s garrison had been along the middle of Quirl, almost South Quirl, which meant that Kearns and her hired muscle had kept him unconscious for days, maybe even a full week. No wonder he was so hungry and had felt weak. How was he even still alive? Had they forced him to eat or drink while he was out of it? Declan felt suddenly ill at the thought of what they could have forced on him.
“Almost done,” the Ruby said from his side.
Declan didn’t respond. He only gawked at those mountains. The backside of the Kruth Mountains.
A creek snaked down from them to one side of the camp, cradling all the way around it until it made a giant U. The creek was more like a small river – an offshoot of water composed of snowmelt from the mountains. This must be the river Kearns had mentioned.
The tents were closest to the mountain, on the right side of the camp. The A-frames were off on the left, toward the grass plains. Tall, green grass grew as far as he could see in every direction except toward the mountain. In the distance, there were random outcropping of tree clusters. But not in the camp. No, beside the rounds, in the camp there was only muddy soil and flattened scraps of green – grass or weeds that had been trampled repetitively.
“All done.” The Ruby straightened at Declan’s side and took a step back. “You can go.”
“Go where?” Declan frowned. His side felt marginally better but not completely back to normal.
“Find a place to sleep for the night,” the Ruby replied, waving a hand toward the tents. “The sun will be setting soon.”
“Already?” Declan tilted his head upward.
Overhead, thick, gray clouds hovered. It was gloomy, blocking out the rays of sun. He couldn’t see any sort of orange or yellow tint to the sky – the clouds were too thick.
The Ruby only nodded. “It’ll be dark in less than thirty minutes.”
Declan raised an eyebrow, but the man was done with him. Without another word, he headed off, toward the two large brick buildings. Declan watched him go with a frown before turning to the tents. He wasn’t looking forward to finding somewhere to sleep. He was still covered in mud.
He decided to wash his face and hands first. He was still in his own clothes – his patrol uniform and his own coat. Even though it was caked in dirt and one arm of his coat now had holes in it, his clothes gave him some small comfort that at least these were his. As he moved to the edge of the river and crouched down beside it, he fought the urge to run.
Every fiber of his being was screaming at him to get as far away from this place as possible. He would have given in immediately had he not recalled the words of that man in the forest to Kearns – that she killed her Teals when they ran off.
Panic and fear coursed through him, throbbing with each beat of his heart. His hands shook at his side. Declan clenched them into fists as he struggled to calm his mind – forced himself to think clearly.
This camp would require stratagem. If he wished to survive, to escape, he would need to first observe. Figure out the camp’s schedule. Find the weaknesses. Learn how much control Kearns actually had over him.
It would probably take him a few days. Right now he needed to keep his head – tamp down on the panic. He would have to be clever.
Once the mud on his hands and face was gone, Declan rose to his feet. His clothes could have used a jump in the river, but the temperature would drop once the sun went down. He had no desire to be up all night shivering, or worse, catch hypothermia. Tonight he could deal with his dirty clothes. He’d go for a swim in the morning.
Declan wandered the edge of the camp. It wasn’t quiet, but it wasn’t loud either. There was no laughter or smiles. The men and women he passed didn’t give him a second look, but some spoke with each other in hushed tones. They were all young – in their early twenties or late teens. They had skin in all shades from pale to dark, same with their hair.
It meant they were from all three countries on the continent. That surprised Declan. He’d thought only Anexia had been plagued with disappearances. But there were clearly Heerths, Quirls, and Enlennds.
The camp was a mixing ground of those on the continent. It didn’t make him feel any better.
It took him about ten minutes to find a place to spend the night. Between two tents along the outskirts of the camp, there was a lone bush. It was short – reaching just above his knee – but it was something to put his back against. It’d help him feel less exposed to the elements. Declan wrapped his coat tightly around him and sank onto the cold ground. At least over here it wasn’t muddy.
True to the Ruby’s words, the sky became dark not much later. The cloud cover impeded him from glimpsing any of the stars or the moon. Instead, flickers of lightning, soundless and bright, illuminated the camp. They stretched through the clouds turning them shades of yellow and white and orange. They were never-ending and silent. There was no thunder – even though as soon as one began another would immediately follow.
It felt wrong – like these weren’t natural. They most likely weren’t, he realized. They were probably made by a Gray – someone within this camp. When Declan shut his eyes, he could still see the flashes.
He’d been right about the temperature. It had turned cold – as if the air from the mountains had swept down to them – chilling the air so his breath puffed in front of him. It was early fall – the nights were going to be somewhat frosty. Although, this did feel a little more frigid than he’d expected.
Declan didn’t understand this place. There should have been a stench – in a camp of mud and tents. There should have been illness in a place this cold. But no one coughed. Some had shabby clothing, while others looked freshly bathed. Declan guessed that was thanks to the river. No one appeared to be on the last dregs of life. Declan had a feeling he knew why.
The Rubys kept the occupants alive to become warriors for Quirl. This wasn’t a camp to die in – it was a prison to never be escaped. Not even by death.
Terror and dread welled up within him once more. He focused on his breathing. In and out. Out and in. Over and over.
He refused to think of his father, of his sisters, of his mother. He’d see them again. This would be a brief incarceration. He’d find a way out. He just needed to be smart about it. He could do it.
Still, as he drifted off to sleep, alone and trembling, he told himself it was from the cold and hunger – not because he was petrified.
:::::
The next morning Declan woke to a massive thunderclap – the first he’d heard since arriving. It brought him upright with a start. He was shaking – from the cold – and starving. The horror of the day before came crashing back to him, but Declan was too frozen to let his mind dwell on it.
Other camp occupants were emerging from their tents. Some shuffled toward the brick buildings in the center.
A few, to Declan’s surprise, were diving into the river in nothing but their skin. Men and women. The water had to be frigid. Declan gawked for about half a second before turning away.
Those in the water and on the river’s bank, barely gave each other any sort of recognition. They’d gone in just to wash away their grime and were now quickly putting their clothes back on, ignoring everyone else around them.
Declan had to relieve himself. He had no idea if there was a toilet in this place. His ears felt numb and his muscles were tight from being curled up all night on the hard ground. But he needed to get up – to move his body, to try to bring back some warmth to his extremities.
Slowly, Declan rolled onto his knees and pushed himself to his feet. He nearly collapsed – his legs were tingling as if they both had fallen asleep. He wouldn’t be able to move for a few minutes,
but he felt like a second more and he’d wet himself. Cursing in his head – unable to utter anything between his chattering teeth – he turned his back to the camp and loosed himself there on the outskirts. Not on the bush, though, as he would most likely be spending more nights beside it.
“We do have toilets,” Kearns rasped from behind him. “We’re not animals.”
He flinched at her voice, but he refused to turn until he was finished. A moment later, with his face the only part of him now warm, he spun around.
Kearns wasn’t alone. She stood between the two fresh captives from the night before. The wolf girl looked unkempt with purple circles under her eyes – he hadn’t noticed those the evening before. The Anexian wouldn’t lift her eyes from the ground. She looked a little more rested than he felt. He wondered if she’d ended up joining someone in one of the tents. Declan didn’t want to know what it had cost her to have some semblance of shelter for the night.
“All done?” Kearns quirked a surprisingly well-shaped eyebrow. When Declan didn’t respond, she said, “It’s time to see how useless you are. Come.” The woman spun around, taking off to the center of camp with brisk, long strides. The two other women fell into line behind her, and Declan followed after them.
They approached the rounds. On one of them was a dark-haired, olive-skinned man in black leather. He was a Gray, but neither him nor his Purple opponent were using their abilities. They both had a set of straight, serrated blades in their hands. Enlennd blades, or rather Quirl.
The way the Gray moved … he was almost as fast as a Teal – spinning, parrying, attacking. Declan gaped. He’d never seen any Gray move like that.
His opponent was substantially worse. The Gray kept nicking her with his blades – nothing deep, just enough to draw blood. He was toying with her. He twisted to his left and brought his blade up the entire right side of the Purple.