Strayborn

by E E Rawls

  The scrape of the gang’s footsteps drew closer...then halted.

  Cyrus glanced to see why.

  The boys stood motionless, the whites of their eyes showing and their jaws hanging slack.

  She followed their stare to where her left hand was gripping the iron pole.

  Strips of iron had peeled away—liquefying, elongating, reaching out like fingers with knives for nails. Then the knives flung free, heading for the boys.

  They shrieked, ducking and diving aside.

  “She’s got freak powers like them!”

  “Quick, call the Argos!”

  The gang split and sprinted off in different directions before Cyrus could react.

  The Argos? No, nonono, not them! They’d kill her. They’d sentence her to a death-cage!

  Where could she run—where could she hide? None of this was supposed to be happening!

  ‘What should I do, Lord God?’

  Tears stung her eyes.

  “Girl!”

  Cyrus jumped at the husky voice at her back, and half-turned toward the cage, lifting her chin to meet the vempar’s intense gaze. He wasn’t speaking in human Néos, but Inglish, the common tongue she’d been learning in school.

  “Girl, set me free and I can take you away from here.” His words came out parched, but life gleamed behind his eyes.

  Away how? The Argos Corps would track her down! And could she really trust this person?

  Despite the doubts, Cyrus imagined the cage’s bars bending out. Eyes shut, and right hand splayed against the pole, she felt through the pole’s metal up to the cage’s metal, and willed it to bend.

  Brrreeee—K!

  The black silver bent outward, enough for the man to wriggle out and drop down, landing on bare, starved-thin feet.

  “That’s quite an Ability ya got, able t’ bend black silver.” The gaunt vempar stumbled from having gone who-knew-how-long without using his legs. His vempar Healing kicked in though, rejuvenating his body—an average person would have collapsed in agony.

  “I thought your Healing wasn’t working?” Cyrus asked.

  “I’ve been savin’ the last bit of it up for an escape,” he replied.

  Cyrus gawked, wishing she’d inherited that from Mother. “You sure you can run?”

  He waved her concern aside. “I can handle myself without essence for now, missy.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her down the nearest alley, ducking into the shadows. He spoke low, “You know this town better than I do. Guide me to the edge, and I’ll take matters from there.”

  A chill ran up Cyrus’s spine. She was speaking to a vempar, and he was gripping her arm. This was all happening too fast. When she woke this morning, she didn’t think it’d be her last day in Elvenstone. That she’d be running for her life and leave everything familiar behind. But she had to, or the Argos would kill her.

  Cyrus gave a small nod and took the lead, making sure to keep to narrow, dim alleys and pathways through town as they fled. There was one place she had to stop by first, though. If she really was leaving Elvenstone for good, then there were important items she had to bring with her.

  Stopping in the shadowed space between two houses, she requested, “Wait here, please?” before climbing a short oak tree to reach her bedroom window. It was cracked open to let in air, easy to lift and squeeze through. Below, the vempar gave a surprised, frustrated grunt and paced back and forth.

  Cyrus didn’t waste time: quick grabbing a backpack and throwing on a hooded cloak over her T-shirt.

  She picked up the old stuffed-animal bunny on her nightstand. Its cheerful face smiled up at her, just like it always had—the first and only thing Mother had made for her. The only thing she had, besides a ruby pendant necklace, to remember Mother by.

  She stuffed both securely in the backpack before shouldering it. Heily’s laugh sounded from the adjacent room suddenly, and Cyrus hesitated. Was she really doing this? Leaving forever?

  “You’re such a good daughter, Heily,” spoke Narcissa’s voice. Cyrus pressed her ear to the wall and listened. “I don’t know how you put up with having that tainted half-blood for a sister.”

  “It’s the right thing to do, Mama.” Heily sounded pleased. “Show kindness to her, just as we would any stray. And besides, if things become too scary, I know we can trust Dad to take care of it. He can contact the Argos Corps anytime.”

  Cyrus pulled her ear back, shoulders sagged.

  She didn’t belong here. She never had.

  Resolve hardening in her gut, she climbed back out and down to the waiting vempar.

  As they hurried down the next alley, she couldn’t help but glance back at the house, murmuring one silent goodbye to the life and family inside.

  Shouts echoed off the whitewashed walls they passed, seeming to come from every direction at once—the Argos Corps were searching for them. They ducked behind a parked cargo carrier while it was delivering produce. Cyrus’s dry throat couldn’t swallow.

  Heart thumping like a frantic rabbit’s foot, she ran in a crouch across the last street, with the vempar close behind. The low wall that encircled the town lay ahead, just ten yards away. “There!” she nodded her chin. The vempar gained a new burst of speed and pulled her by the elbow.

  As soon as they approached the wall’s stone face, shouts rang behind them, fervent in a race to stop the criminals’ escape.

  “We’re spotted!” Cyrus yelped, and darted a look back. Humans in olive uniforms were filing through the streets and scaling rooftops; belts holstering weapons, thick-tread boots—the Argos Corps.

  Those on the roofs were taking aim with the barrels of their gunswords.

  “Move!” the vempar growled at her side. And before she could react, he picked her up and tossed her with great strength onto the walltop.

  She caught her balance and gathered herself together, then turned to reach and help him climb up as bullets chipped the stone, barely missing him. Chut-chut-chut! Kk-pm-pm!

  He didn’t need much help, digging his bare toes into the wall and lunging upward, catching the edge and hoisting himself onto the walltop.

  They barely had time to duck and fall over to the other side before a volley of bullets passed where their heads had been.

  Landing on cushioning grass, Cyrus and the vempar made a dash for the treeline, ducking low, sprinting across the stretch of ground between them and the shelter of the woods.

  Two bullets grazed past, nicking red across her companion’s upper arm, but no more came. The Argos would pursue on foot now.

  “Don’t stop!” The vempar panted, gripping her hand tight in his and practically dragging her to keep up with him.

  Don’t stop? As if she didn’t know that! For a starved, lanky person, he sure was fast. A gust of warm air whipped her bangs across her vision, and a sudden burst of excitement rose within her. Running wild and free without bounds across the green expanse toward freedom—a new life—sent a thrill. She was really leaving Elvenstone behind. Leaving the past and pain behind to rush forward into an unknown future, which beckoned like a reaching hand.

  She was free.

  And then the hum of engines came.

  Chapter 3

  Argos bladecycles pierced through the woods, veering around trees trunks and tall ferns, gliding over the ground via twin sets of tilted, ducted fans in place of wheels. Cyrus heard their humming engines as the vempar kept her running in a low crouch.

  “I suppose we can’t outrun the darn things,” he muttered. “Wait here,” he told her.

  She crouched under a fern, and watched as he inched his way toward a trunk and straightened his back, hiding behind it. She was about to question what he was doing, when a bladecycle zipped past the trunk and he launched himself at the driver—knocking the human unconscious and off in one swift shove.

  The vempar plopped onto the bladecycle’s seat, grabbed the handles and clumsily steered the V-tilted fans in Cyrus’s direction. She hopped onboard, wrapping both arms around
him from behind, and the engine rushed them forward through the foliage.

  A shout rang out as they were spotted, and the hum of more bladecycles came in pursuit. The vempar steered them into the thick of the ferns. Fronds slapped at them; he grunted against the whip-like stings and Cyrus hid her face behind his back.

  The plants grew taller the farther they went, arching over their heads and hiding them from the Argos’ sight. Cyrus wasn’t sure how long it was before the hum of bladecycles diminished and they finally lost their pursuers. The vempar didn’t pause but drove on for as long as he could.

  When they did stop for a break, Cyrus’s arms peeled off stiffly from around him, and he flexed his aching hands.

  “Name’s Gandif,” he said after a moment of rest, and held out a hand. “Thanks for helpin’ me out, ‘n sorry ya had to runaway like this.” His odd Inglish accent wasn’t consistent.

  She shook the hand. “I’m Cyrus. And don’t worry, it was time for me to leave anyway.”

  “Oh?”

  She turned her face away, not wanting to talk about it.

  “You speak perfect Inglish for being so young. I’ve gotten rusty with my human Néos.”

  She shrugged. “We learn early. Everybody’s supposed to know the common tongue.”

  “Welp!” Gandif rose and stretched. “We can spend the night here, or keep goin’. What do ya think?”

  “Keep going,” she said firmly.

  He glanced down at her, then shrugged.

  Several more hours passed riding through the trees, leaving Elvenstone farther behind. Gandif kept the speed steady enough so he didn’t have to keep both hands firmly on the handles.

  They kept to the fringes of the thick, mysterious Majic Forest, where it was safer and easier for travelers to navigate—or ragtag runaways. The Argos would give up tracking them, now that they’d left human territory. And night soon came, like an enveloping cloak turning the forest into a world of glowing fungus, blinking fireflies, and nocturnal calls.

  “I’m headin’ back to my home city. Yer welcome t’ join me, missy, but you don’t have to,” Gandif told her, once they’d stopped for the night, stretching first his arms then his bony legs.

  Cyrus looked sidelong up at his scruffy chin. Now that she was free of Elvenstone, she didn’t know what to do. The thought of venturing into the Vemparic Kingdom chilled her to the bone; but if she didn’t stick with this guy, she’d be left here on her own—and she had nowhere to go and zero navigational skills. “What city is it?” she asked.

  “Draethvyle, the capital itself.”

  Cyrus poked at a glowing mushroom. Draethvyle was where she’d heard her mother was from. “I’ll come with you a bit longer.”

  “Do whatever fancies ya, missy.” Gandif shrugged without concern.

  Cyrus let her weary head rest against a patch of cushioning moss, its green glow warm on her cheek, and her body sank fast into sleep. The vempar kept half alert, resting back on a tree stump.

  SWIRLS OF FOG FINGERED the surrounding birch trees, which stood white and silent as ghosts. Someone, somewhere, was shrieking.

  Cyrus lifted her head out of the dirt tunnel and saw the encircling trees, the silent ghosts. Something was slumped on the ground, something that had red hair like her mother’s.

  ‘Who is that?’ she thought.

  A charcoal hand materialized from the fog, and she shrank back. A mouth opened wide, black and bottomless, dripping blood.

  Swannn!

  Cyrus woke, sweat dripping off her. It was the same nightmare, again. She rubbed her temples and calmed her chest. Gray dawn had arrived, and too soon for Cyrus’s aching head and empty stomach. Gandif was already awake. They rode on through the dim haze as it lit up the trees. And when they stopped to search out berries and clean water, the light got snuffed out by rain clouds.

  She rinsed off the dirt still clinging to her in a clear pond. Gandif had to strip to his underwear before he could clean off the stink and grime of death-cages. She kept behind a mossy boulder meanwhile, not looking, munching orange colored berries and some lemony leaves he said were edible.

  Once finished, he searched about and went over to a boulder that had a massive dent in its side. She watched as he crouched down and yanked something out from underneath: clothes.

  When he saw her staring, he shrugged. “Never know when ya might need clothes. I like t’ keep a few things buried around, just in case.”

  She didn’t have the nerve to ask what sort of person keeps spare clothes buried about the woods.

  He finished shouldering on a trench coat, and donned boots, belt, and a wide-brimmed hat—a gold chain from his pocket he laced around the hat’s base. She watched curiously, but didn’t ask.

  “We’d best go on foot from here,” said Gandif. “Wouldn’t want people t’ get the wrong idea, us ridin’ a human-style bladecycle.”

  She nodded, and he stuffed the bladecycle against the same boulder, piling leaves and branches over it along with his dirty clothes.

  They left the forest, coming into woods, which soon thinned to white birch trees as she followed Gandif onward, the white bark summoning thoughts of the nightmare which she pushed away. The trees fell away and the ground sloped down into an expanse of grassland, far as the eye could see. Cyrus paused at the edge, taking in the view. Gray clouds swirled patterns across the sky, drizzle rain speckled the open land and her cloak.

  She blinked away droplets condensed on her eyelashes, and raised her hood, in case there were any watchful eyes about.

  Beside her Gandif turned, his hollow-from-hunger eyes emitting a green-leaf glow in the gray light. “So, yer a fellow hybrid, eh?” he said.

  “Fellow? You’re half-human too?”

  “Meh, only a fraction. Not as much as you.”

  True, he could Heal and he looked nothing like a human. Life must have been easier for him, being able to blend in with his own kind, instead of wondering which half of himself he belonged to.

  “How did you get caught?” She’d been meaning to ask, but hadn’t been brave enough to talk about personal problems.

  “Ohhh.” He combed through his long, curly hair. “Fell into a trap, ya could say.” Fear clouded his brow suddenly. “Clover’s gonna have my hide when she finds out I ended up in another death-cage...”

  Cyrus almost asked what he meant by another, but instead asked, “Who?”

  “My wife. I can hear her lecture now, callin’ me all manner of impolite names.” Gandif hunched his shoulders and shook his shaggy head. “Anywho,” his chin tipped her way, “I won’t even begin t’ wonder how-under-the-sun you could happen in Elvenstone. A vempar and a human livin’ in a town full of Argos? Pah!” His hands perched on his hips. “What confuses me most, though, is how you’ve inherited Elemental Manipulation Ability.” His expression narrowed and he leaned closer. “You ought t’ be trained to use that Ability right, missy.”

  She shied away.

  “Only a Draev Guardian can teach ya. And, well, seeing as you’ve got no home or place to go...”

  She swallowed, knowing what he was getting at.

  “...Draethvyle could be a great place for you,” he said. His head tilted with a lopsided grin, as if this were a special opportunity and not some death trap. “There’s a school there that teaches Ability users. You’d fit right in!”

  Cyrus’s eyes widened. “Fit right in with vempars? Live in a whole city full of them?”

  How could she possibly— It was crazy, suicidal! The first vempar she met would either enslave her or consume all of her essence until she was a crusted corpse. That wasn’t on her Survival To-Do List!

  “Listen, kid.” The ragged man brushed a handful of curls back from his temple. “Without a home or place to belong, you’re easy prey for anybody—and I don’t just mean vempars. Any outlaw lookin’ to make fast cash would be more than happy t’ sell you into slavery, or worse.” He twirled a finger. “Harsh truth.”

  Cyrus’s chin sunk. He was
right. She couldn’t take care of herself. And not just anyone would accept a stray Ability user in their home. Her options were limited.

  ‘You’re not a little girl anymore, Cyrus Sole. Toughen up!’ she thought to herself and slapped her cheeks, even though a grown woman would faint at the mere thought of such a foolhardy plan.

  The Vemparic Kingdom—the place where humans were hated, where humans were viewed as slaves and a source of food. And the place where she could start a new life, discover the gray area that was her vempar half... Was this really what Lord God had planned for her?

  “A tad afraid?” Gandif gave a toothy smile.

  She pouted sideways.

  “I can understand if y’ are. I wasn’t exactly happy myself when I was taken by humans.” He moved down the grassy slope in long strides, toward the stretch of open, endless green.

  She scurried after him.

  “Listen, Cyrus lass,” he said once she caught up. “If you’re nervous, you can hide yer identity n’ pretend to be a vempar. All you’ll need is a pair of fake fangs, and keep those human ears hidden behind that bushy hair. The fact you’ve got Ability should, in itself, be enough proof t’ fool anybody.”

  “But...” she bit her lip, “if someone does find out...”

  Gandif quirked an eyebrow down at her. “Ya don’t have t’ come, missy. The forest faeryn might take you in; they’re mostly nice...though they’d dislike yer Ability.”

  She watched the damp grasses bending underfoot.

  “Nothing ’ll come of yer power that way, though, and what a wasteful shame that’d be!” He grunted, scratching at the stubble along his jawline. “There are too few with Ability nowadays.”

  Was he trying to make her feel obligated to train?

  Maybe living with the faeryn wouldn’t be so bad. But if another incident with metal happened...

  “I guess I could give it a try,” Cyrus said, and her stomach flipped on the verge of nausea. “But I’ll have to escape if things get—you know—dangerous.”

  If she’d be able to escape, that is. Could a human outrun a vempar?

  Despite the danger, mastering her Ability could prove useful. Maybe Mother had trained there; maybe this was her chance to learn about the world she had come from?