by J. A. Ludwig
She pushes her magic into the lump, trying to see what it’s made of. She knows she doesn’t have much time, but rushing will only lead to a quicker death.
As far as her magic can tell her, the lump seems to be made of living tissue. She wonders what caused it, but pushes the thought away and encourages the tissue to disperse. It’s a strange feeling, her magic filling the lump and slowly eating it away.
Once it’s gone, the beating of the heart grows stronger. She feels the blood easily moving through the muscle and spreading throughout the woman’s body.
She searches where the lump grew and wonders if she should encourage the tissue in the wall to shed in case any more of the strange lump is still present. She doesn’t know how long the woman’s heart will stay this way. Could the lump grow back?
“By the Great Goddess!” one of the gathered slaves says in awe.
The sudden interruption snaps her from her questions, and she feels an icy coldness in her chest. I used my magic too long. Aya pulls it out of the woman and opens her eyes.
Her vision is blurry, and a sudden rush of light-headedness causes her to fall back. A hand catches her, and she falls against someone’s chest. She takes a deep breath, heart racing.
The stricken woman sits up, color returning to her cheeks. She touches her chest and turns to her sister, tears filling her eyes.
“Rava!” Her sister cries and wraps her arm around her.
“It’s gone,” she says in disbelief. “The illness is gone, Mava.”
The sisters hug tightly and those standing around them open the circle wider as all eyes fall on Aya. They speak words of praise, wonder, and fear. Mava and Rava stare at Aya with large smiles and bow their heads.
“Thank you. You are gifted by the Great Goddess,” Rava says, squeezing her sister tighter.
“They said your village held a talented magic user, but they never suggested you were a Life Healer,” Jaxon says in Aya’s ear. She looks up, realizing he’s the one holding her.
“Life Healer?” She tries to sit up. Her head is still woozy, and she feels drained.
“That healing you did is rare magic. You pulled that woman’s soul back from near death. You might even be able to bring someone all the way back from death one day.”
“And am I to be killed for such a power?”
Jaxon smiles, but his eyes fill with sadness. “You’re to be treated better than these lesser slaves. You’ll fetch me a very high price at the Arena. The people love slaves who wield such rare power.”
She wonders how on earth her powers will be put on display for death games.
He lifts her to her feet. Although she stumbles, he easily supports her weight. She raises a hand to her forehead, focusing on her breathing.
“Is that silk?” he asks, grabbing her wrist and stroking her bracelet.
Aya’s eyes widen and she tries to pull her wrist free, but his grip is too strong. “Why?”
“Good for trading.” He pulls the soft cloth from her wrist and it disappears into a pocket in his armor.
“No! Give that back,” she panics. She can’t let him take another thing from her. Especially not the only other gift from her parents. “Give it back!”
He takes her to the cage she’d been attached to and orders three of his men to empty the cage. Only then does she realize most of the men in armor had witnessed her healing the woman, Rava. They stare at her with new expressions; ones she never imagined would be aimed at her...as though she weren’t human.
“Did you not hear my order? Empty it,” Jaxon barks at the men still standing, their eyes locked on Aya.
They quickly unlock the door and force those inside out. Many cry in panic, some claiming to be too weak to walk the whole distance. The men ignore them and chain them to the back of the cages, hitting any who try to fight them.
Realizing what’s happening, Aya grabs Jaxon’s arm. “No, please. Don’t do this. Let them ride. They’re weaker than I.”
The slaves continue to plead as the men finish shackling the last of them. Jaxon forces Aya into the cage, throwing her roughly onto the metal floor. She immediately feels her magic cut off, adding to her panic. He slams the door shut behind her and locks it.
She quickly stands, having to lean over to keep her head from hitting the top, and runs to the door. She tries to force it open, but the metal is too thick, and the lock too well-made.
Leaning on the bars, Jaxon whistles. “You’re to be well-treated. They only pay more for rare ones if they’re healthy. They can put you in the games sooner.”
One of his men approaches, the archer who took the sheath from Aya many days ago, and awaits orders.
“At least allow the weakest ones to ride with me,” Aya protests.
Jaxon ignores her, whispering an order to the man before heading for his epir. “Everybody up! We leave now. We have a schedule to keep.” He meets Aya’s eyes once before mounting his epir and heading for the front of the caravan.
Aya inspects the cage. It’s much larger with only one person inside, but the bars feel like they’re closing in around her. She feels the eyes of those now forced to walk glaring at her.
The cage jerks forward as the groduns are forced to move. Aya falls to the floor, but instead of sitting up, she pulls her knees to her chest and rubs her wrist where her bracelet used to be. Tears roll down her cheeks.
Curse my magic. And curse me.
Chapter 12
The caravan leaves the valley well before sunrise. The valley shimmers dark blue in the scant light, and the slender trees now mix with thicker ones that block out most of the sky. Even after the sun rises, the forest is so dark that nocturnal animals continue their chorus.
Aya raises her head, watching the trees pass by. She moves to the front of the cage to escape the angry looks of those behind. The men patrolling the caravan pause to peer in at her. She avoids their gazes and peeks out at the new forest in awe.
The thick trees are darker in color with bark like fingers tracing long lines through the wood. The smell is new to her. She can almost feel the rough bark with each breath.
The rising sun finally reaches sufficient height for its rays to pierce the trees, revealing more of the forest floor. Strange plants cover the ground. Beautiful ferns grow vibrantly, tall fans of green. Oddly shaped flowers bloom at all heights from the earth or from the sides of the great trees. Sunlight is green, filtered by the leaves from above, giving the forest a dreamlike quality.
A bird lands inside the bars of the cage and casts curious glances at Aya with its golden eyes. Its sleek body is pitch-black, with a long tail curling up at the end. She reaches out her hand, and feathers rise on the bird’s head, displaying a beautiful shock of colors: red, blue, and green. As it flies away, she tries to follow its path but loses sight of it quickly.
Every hour provides strange new sights and sounds. Aya almost forgets she’s travelling to be sold as a slave until one of the men brings her daily bowl of water and pathetic amount of food.
Every day the same man comes, the archer who took the sheath from her those many days ago. She can reckon, now, that Jaxon ordered the man to keep an eye on her.
By the fourth day, the trees space farther apart again. With each passing hour they become fewer and the ground cover lowers. Eventually the trees end and a great plain of tall, brown grass stretches before them. Wind blows the tall blades, creating beautiful waves.
The forest fades behind, leaving only the plains in view. For two more days there is nothing but the brown waves of grass. The few wild animals Aya spots are long, lean beasts. Their fur or scaled bodies are warm colors of tan and brown, making them blend with the grass.
When Archer slams her usual bowl and plate on the floor of her moving cell, she’s forcibly reminded of the dozens of weaker slaves made to walk so she can ride. She observes the world passing by while they struggle to remain standing. Through the nights she cries for them and for herself, acutely aware of her growing loneliness. Bu
t not hopelessness. They haven’t taken hope from her. Not yet.
Green grass mixes with the brown on the morning of the fifth day. By the sixth day, the green grass completely overtakes the brown. Hills are lower and rarer. Solitary trees appear, separated by great distances. The tops are flat and the bark twists into amazing shapes.
Aya takes to watching those behind her cage. Noting the varying ages and sizes, she wonders how those without magic are chosen to be taken. Jaxon briefly mentioned the sisters refusing to be separated, but why had he only chosen one to begin with? Was there more to these people? Were they threats to the so-called Blood King? She still has so many questions, but unsure who—or how—to ask.
Immense herds of great beasts move slowly in the distance, appearing at first to be stains on the earth. As the herds move, individual beasts stop to graze on the lush grass or, for taller animals, leaves on the occasional trees. Birds pick at bugs that land on the beasts, and a few birds hop beneath the animals for more insects. One young animal hops around its parents, only to be knocked over when the mother turns her head suddenly.
Aya fights the excitement of all she’s seeing, guilty for enjoying it while others suffer around her. Her dreams of new lands and amazing beasts is coming to life around her, even if she must enjoy it from within a cage. She can’t keep the wide smile from her lips.
“Is it like you imagined?” Jaxon asks, surprising her. “I’m sure you’ve listened to many stories from travelers.” His eyes scan the great stretch of plains, stopping for a split second on each herd of beasts.
“Travelers rarely came to our village. It’s too far for many to risk the journey, as you said.” Aya erases the smile from her face and looks away from him and the sights around her. She rubs her wrist. “My parents weren’t from Oula Village, but they never spoke of their homeland. They were afraid I’d want to leave. But Elder Mircien shared stories her mother told her as a child. She spoke of many different kinds of lands, unimaginable beasts, sights that could only be described in dreams.”
Jaxon urges his epir closer to the cage. “Your valley is normal for you and a number of these slaves. But to my men it’s strange and beautiful. The way you see this land is how they first viewed your own. Where we come from trees are sparse and barren and the ground is dry and cracked.” He leans forward on his saddle. “It isn’t shameful to be awed by the new even during times of hardship. You don’t have to hide your excitement.”
“I don’t think it’s appropriate for me to smile while the ones walking behind me are dying.”
He glances behind. “Those who die are the lucky ones. They won’t have to face the Arena or its cruel practices. Don’t feel pity for them. Feel pity for the ones who survive this journey.”
Shaking her head, Aya’s brow furrows in confusion. “Do you feel nothing for those you capture?”
“If I did, I wouldn’t be very good at my work.”
“And this king of yours, does he feel nothing, too?”
Jaxon hesitates, a shadow crossing his face. “To him, those who do not honor him are not worth having a feeling for. They are simply to be used to tighten his reign.”
“You know him personally, then?”
“Personally, no. I’ve had my run-ins with him. Brief though they were, there’s no denying what that man’s motivations are. Hope you never meet him.” He kicks the side of his epir and returns to the front of the caravan.
Aya watches him until he’s out of sight, then faces those walking behind her cage. Their eyes are downcast. They don’t have the energy to look up and see the sights around them. Those few who do only enjoy it for a short time before the pain in their feet and bodies reminds them of their fate.
Chapter 13
These plains never end.
Three more days pass before any change comes to the terrain. Jaxon leads the caravan onto a small road appearing through waves of grass. The rough, stone road causes several slaves to fall to the ground. Men move their epirs close to those who’ve fallen and yell for them to get back on their feet.
The slaves struggle to reclaim their footing, but one, a teenage boy, remains on the ground. The pull of the chains drags him slowly. One of the armored men (Aya remembers his name is Vol) climbs down from his epir and forces the boy to his feet. Vol whispers a threat into the boy’s ear and the boy cries. The slave chained in front of the boy takes him by the arm, pulling him away from Vol, who climbs back onto his mount.
The other slave comforts the boy. She wonders if the two know each other, or if this is the first time they’ve interacted. The slave comforting the boy sneaks hidden food to him. Catching Aya watching, he flinches, but she smiles.
A bustling town along the road grows closer and Jaxon stops the caravan outside its borders. He orders five of his men to purchase or trade for supplies, then orders others to hand out food and water.
The slaves collapse in an agony of relief when they hear they will be fed. Some fall asleep, trying desperately to gather as much strength as possible. The slavers hand out bread and dried strips of meat as well as multiple buckets of water to be shared by every group of ten slaves. New life fills them. This meager offering is the most they’ve been given in weeks.
Archer brings Aya’s share. He places the larger plate and bowl through the bars, but she doesn’t fetch them. Instead she pushes them back towards the man.
“You should try to eat and drink. Our next stop isn’t for four days,” he says. His voice is cold, emotionless. The only reason he even cares about feeding her is because he’s ordered to do it. Aya laughs at the false interest in her wellbeing and lies down on the metal floor. “You need to at least have water.”
She remains silent, rolling onto her side so her back is to the man.
Jaxon walks up next to Archer. “What’s the matter?”
Archer steps back, making room. “She won’t eat or drink.”
“You won’t get another sip until we reach our next stop no matter how long it takes us,” Jaxon says to Aya’s back.
“The people walking need it more than I do. Give it to them,” she says, angrily. It’s a small gesture, she knows, but it’s the only thing she can do. She wishes she could trade places with all of them.
Jaxon nods his head to Archer. The other man grabs the water and food, taking it to those who still haven’t been fed. Jaxon leans through the bars to place his arms on the floor of the cage. “Starving yourself won’t change anything. We’ll force the food down your throat if we have to.”
“Or you won’t receive the highest price for me, right?”
“That’s right. You’ll learn quickly men will do anything to ensure they receive the payment they’re due.”
Rolling onto her back, Aya glares at him. “I’ll eat after the others have finished.”
He nods his head, his eyes smiling, but his lips neutral. “I’ll make sure of it.” He walks away and surveys the other slaves.
The last of the slaves eat and drink greedily, but not enough to keep all from receiving their fair share. Aya is amazed at how grace shines from these people who are starving. They have banded together to be certain all have enough.
While the men in armor collect empty buckets, Archer returns to Aya’s cage and places a smaller plate of food and bowl of water in front of her. He stands with his arms crossed and watches her, unblinking.
“You don’t have to watch me. I said I would eat.”
“Jaxon ordered me to make sure you eat every piece and drink every drop. If you don’t, I’m to force you.” He shakes the bangle of keys in his hand.
She hesitates before grabbing the plate, wondering if he would actually follow through. He definitely has the look of someone who would enjoy it, and probably hopes she’ll refuse. She eats the meager meal and drinks the water in two gulps. She makes sure to clean the bowl and plate with her tongue before throwing them to Archer. He takes them and leaves without a word.
When the group sent into town return with bags of supplies
, the slaves are roused from their rest. The caravan skirts the edge of the town and continues across the plains. As the hours pass, the hills of the plains flatten in front of the caravan. The sky seems to touch the earth and a strange, dark line appears on the horizon. As the line grows closer, great birds fly overhead. They gather in large flocks and move in swirling, dizzying patterns.
The smell of water floats through the air, but it’s a different smell from the river. Climbing to her knees, Aya can’t place the new scent. She crawls to the side of the cage and tries to catch sight of what’s ahead. A roaring sound echoes from in front of the caravan, reminding her of thunder, but there aren’t any storm clouds in sight.
The caravan turns to run parallel to what she realizes isn’t a line in the horizon, but a place where the plains abruptly fall away from tall cliffs bordering an endless stretch of water. The thunderous roars are the sound of giant waves crashing into rocks and boulders at the bottom of the cliff.
She remembers Mircien’s stories and a word comes to her. The sea. It’s the sea! She stares in awe at the sun’s reflection on the distant waves.
The large birds dive down the cliffs towards the water. Several pull up at the last moment to fly out to sea above the waves. Others dive into the water and emerge with fish in their beaks. Great sprays of white water threaten to wash over the cliffs to the caravan, but only light mists make it.
Aya tastes the water in the air, and realizes the scent of the sea is salt. Water on her skin and hair from the mists dry, leaving behind small salt crystals. After so long starving, it tastes amazing on her lips.
The cliffs level out revealing rocks battered by the merciless waves. On the second day travelling along these cliffs, large leathery beasts appear resting on long, flattened rocks. They roll onto their backs or stomachs, warming themselves with the sun. The waves crash over them, but they’re so large the water can’t move them, and great mists of air shoot from the snouts of the animals.
“If you only look one way, you’ll miss everything else,” Aldur tells her, pulling alongside on his mount.