by E G Stone
A town appeared on the horizon. At first, Ravenna thought she was hallucinating. It looked like the Aerial City, carved in stone, but on the ground and far less beautiful. After they grew closer, she saw that the town was, indeed, made of stone, but stone that rose up from the desert, not cliffs. The buildings were all sand coloured and ranged in size from small and squat to large, elaborate pieces with columns and wide balconies that would have been the ugliest of buildings in the Aerial City, but here, were likely the grandest buildings.
The other thing that surprised Ravenna was the abundant presence of life. Not human life, for she had determined those parasites could live anywhere, but plant life. The scrub bush that had been the only sign of life for days was giving way to trees with long thin leaves and gnarly branches. A short, green grass grew in a few places beneath the trees.
As they drew closer to town, Ravenna spotted more strange trees and lush plants sprouting from the ground and flowers growing in jewel tones that she had never seen. The air was no longer as dry or as terrible as it had been. There was moisture here, and it was almost beautiful. Almost.
The caravan stopped at a collection of tents and squat buildings some hundreds of feet from the edge of the town. Ravenna covered her nose; the smell of putridness was overwhelming. This was more than just human filth. This was rotting flesh and the smell that came from suffering. From blood.
“Welcome to the Slave Markets,” the old female said, shuffling her chains closer to Ravenna. “It’s not Hell, but it’s mighty close.”
Ravenna did not know what Hell was, but she had no doubt it was not good. The old woman and her chain of slaves was yanked away to a very large pen. Ravenna reached her hand out, hoping to touch the female once, expressing her gratitude. But the female continued on without a backwards glance, her back bent to her fate.
It was Ravenna’s turn next. The Captain opened the door to the cage so quickly Ravenna barely had time to flinch before the human was climbing inside and putting a manacle on Ravenna’s wrist.
“Don’t fight, Angel,” the female hissed, her eyes burning. “It will only be worse for you if I have to tear your wings off.”
Ravenna pulled her wings close and said nothing. The female got the message, though, because she nodded and pulled on the chains. Ravenna followed her out of the cage. When the bars fell away, Ravenna could almost taste freedom. She stretched her wings out to their full span for the first time in days. They ached and her muscles groaned in protest, but she was too relieved to be out of the enclosure to care.
“None of that!” the Captain snarled, yanking on Ravenna’s chain and pointing a dagger at her throat. Ravenna furled her wings slowly. She cast her eyes anywhere but the Captain and noted that she was already getting a good deal of attention. From other slaves, from other slavers, from people with clothes of greater finery than the linen, leather, and wool that most wore.
“How much for the Angel?” One human sidled up to the Captain, an eager gleam in his eyes. He licked his lips, jowls wobbling as he took in Ravenna. The Captain did not even answer, she just jabbed the human in his side with an elbow and pulled Ravenna forwards.
They entered a low building, most of which had been built into the ground. Inside, the air was cool and crisp and much cleaner than outside. Ravenna spotted a bubbling spring in the corner, the water gurgling quietly. This whole place was built on a system of springs, Ravenna decided. An oasis where human parasites could thrive. This particular spring was small enough that it would not have meant more than a few mouthfuls of water at a time. But it was obviously enough to be a sign of wealth and power to control it. And it was definitely controlled.
A female, enormous and clothed in loose, sheer clothing, the likes of which Ravenna had never seen, sat on a low couch near the spring. Her skin was a dark tan, though her hair was a bright yellow—a poor imitation of Desarra’s copper-gold. Her eyes were brown and sharp, though they were hidden in the roundness of her face. She wore jewellery of gold and gems around her neck, her wrists, her ankles, even rings on her fingers.
This obscene human was obviously powerful. And in a place like the Slave Markets, that could not be a good thing.
“What are you doing here? No one comes here without my express permission!” the female creeled.
The Captain curled her lip. She jerked on Ravenna’s chains, bringing the sylph fully into the room so that the reclining female could see Ravenna. “I thought you’d want first pick of this one, before I took her through the normal channels, Jazer.”
The female sat upright. It took her a moment, her flesh rippling as she did so. Ravenna swallowed, hoping the bread the Captain had given her wouldn’t decide to repeat on her. Jazer looked wide-eyed at Ravenna and her wings.
“An angel,” she breathed. “Where did you even…?”
“That’s not what I’m selling,” the Captain sneered. “I bring you the only angel in the world, and you want to know what backwater she was found in?”
Ravenna wanted to protest she was not the only angel, that she was not an angel at all, but she kept her mouth shut. They did not know about the others. They thought she was alone. An oddity. Her captors must have thought that the general emptiness of the island meant Ravenna was alone. Perhaps because she could not fly. Ravenna was used to being an oddity. It was enough to keep Tacitus and the others safe. So she would be the only angel.
“She is magnificent!” Jazer breathed. The female rose from her couch and staggered over to Ravenna. Her hands reached out, eager and greedy. The moment her fingers brushed Ravenna’s wings, she jerked back, flaring them out.
“Don’t touch them,” Ravenna hissed. Jazer’s eyes widened even more and a grin split her face.
“She can talk!”
“You can figure out all the tricks she can do later,” the Captain said. “If I take her through the markets the normal way, there’ll be riots for people trying to get their hands on her. Priests. Wealthy bastards. All of them.”
“So you came to me, the owner of the Pits. Yes, yes, you are no fool,” Jazer flapped her hand, still staring at Ravenna. “How much do you want for her?”
“Enough gold to get me back into the good graces of the Salusian Empire,” the Captain growled. Ravenna pulled her brows together. The Salusian Empire?
Jazer laughed. “Not even twenty angels could buy you that, but I will pay you five-hundred weight of gold.”
“Seven.”
“Five and a half.” Jazer rubbed her hands together, the rings clicking.
“Six.” The Captain lay her hand on her sword.
“You have a deal!” Jazer crowed, snatching Ravenna’s chains from the Captain. The Captain nodded, a smile touching her harsh features. She signed some papers that Jazer had on a small table, and the larger female handed over a slip of paper for the payment officers. Then, just like that, Ravenna’s captor turned from the room and was gone.
“So beautiful,” Jazer crooned, reaching out once more to touch Ravenna’s wings.
Ravenna jerked them back, pinning them tight to her back and snarled, “No.”
Jazer’s face twisted into something cruel and horrible. It was much worse than the disdain that Desarra would display, or the leering looks that the slavers had given her. This was a promise of pain and torture. Bloodletting without mercy. Jazer jerked the chains enough that Ravenna was forced to step closer to the human, breathing in her cloying scent.
“Listen to me, Angel,” Jazer snarled. “I don’t know what sort of place you came from, but I will tell you something about where you are now. Here, I am Master. I control every ounce of food and water you get. I control what you do. I am the Slave Master. I run the Pits. If I want to throw you to the desert lions to be eaten alive, I will. If I want to auction you off to the highest bidder to bear half-angel children, I will. And if I want to touch your beautiful wings, I WILL.”
Jazer reached out and spread her hand over Ravenna’s wings, the rough skin catching on some of the smooth barbs.
Ravenna shuddered at the violation. No sylph would ever presume to touch another’s wings, not unless they had a true reason. It was the most intimate of acts, to allow another to touch your wings, to preen you. And this human thought it was just a matter of possession. Ravenna bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying, from yelling curses at the Slave Master.
Jazer smiled, showing crooked bleached teeth with uneven streaks. “I can do what I please with you. You are mine, now. Do you understand? Or do I have to beat you into submission?”
Ravenna swallowed, her mouth dry. She closed her eyes, the feeling of someone, especially someone so vile, touching her wings replayed relentlessly in her mind. She could fight her way out, maybe. This female was large, but she would not be strong or fast. But once outside? Ravenna would be torn to pieces by the guards and buyers. Even if she did manage to get away, where would she go? She would not survive in the desert long enough to get back to the beach that would take her to Shinalea. She would die.
She was not going to give up just yet, though. Not when Tacitus had told her otherwise, all those years ago. Find a different way. Ravenna swallowed again, trying to drum up moisture in her mouth. She raised her icy eyes to Jazer’s cruel brown ones. “I understand,” Ravenna rasped.
“Good.” Jazer sashayed over to her low couch and sank into it, Ravenna’s chains still wrapped around her hand. She picked up a tiny silver bell and rang it, the sound tinkling and sweet in the air. What followed was not.
Two males with desert tan skin striped white and pink with old and recently acquired scars, wearing leather baldrics and loose linen trousers, a knife and sword at either hip, walked in and bowed to Jazer. “Master,” the larger one said, his voice twisted. Ravenna caught a glimpse of a split tongue and winced. Had it been self-inflicted? She doubted it.
“Take the Angel to be branded,” Jazer jerked her hand towards the male and handed over Ravenna’s chains. “Do it on her hip. I don’t want anything visible to be ruined. And when you’re done, feed her something. Those slaver’s rations wouldn’t fill a child’s belly, let alone keep her figure.”
“Yes, Master,” the taller said. The other bobbled his head in agreement. Mute, probably, Ravenna realised. Had his tongue been cut out where the other’s had been split? Ravenna kept her own mouth shut. “And where should we put her?”
Jazer narrowed her eyes, taking Ravenna in. Ravenna tried to keep the trembling from her feathers, but it was a battle. One she was losing. “She’s too valuable for the harem. Put her with the household slaves in the palace by the Pits. She will become my shadow.”
Ravenna did not get the chance to ask or even consider what that was. The unfamiliar words slid over her wings like grime and then her chains were jerked, forcing her to stumble forwards. She was dragged along, pulled back into the harsh daylight. Murmurs broke out at her appearance and a few shouts sounded, growing closer. Ravenna flared her wings defensively and tried to get her bearings. Had she come in that way? No, it was different. Maybe. This human nest looked so foreign, so wrong.
The soldiers, guards, slaves, whatever they were, pulled Ravenna over to a structure that was little more than a scrap of fabric stretched over top of a few wooden poles to shelter the inhabitants from the sun. The air under the shelter was even more stifling and hotter than the desert air. It did not take Ravenna long to figure out why.
A tiny scrap of a male stood before a fire made up of fiercely glowing coals. A variety of long metal shafts were being heated to a throbbing red. Ravenna pulled back, jerking on her chains as she flapped her wings desperately. The two humans were too strong for her, considering her weakened state.
The mute slammed a hand into the back of her neck and Ravenna fell to her knees. The other jerked her tunic up and her breeches down, revealing a patch of white skin on her left hip. This was worse than having her wings touched by Jazer. Ravenna beat her wings violently, throwing the human off for a moment. The other grabbed her wings and held them out of the way, bending a few feathers. Ravenna let out a low moan, tears already welling in her eyes.
“Jazer’s personal brand,” the larger male panted, holding Ravenna still. The small male nodded and pulled a brand out of the fire, a circle cut through with a jagged line. Ravenna didn’t have time to fight any further or to plead her case before the metal was pressed to her hip.
The scream that escaped her throat echoed throughout the slave markets. Some people knew it was nothing more than a branding. Some people, less used to the realities of the market, covered their ears. But an old female standing on the auction block, the bids for her pitifully small, knew that sound was an angel crying out in pain. She shivered.
Chapter Five
Ravenna had two days to acclimate to her new surroundings and recover from being branded before she was put to work. The first day was spent in a room with windows no bigger than her hand and hardly enough space to stretch her wings. Not that she would have noticed. That first day was little more than a feverish haze. Sweat shone on her brow and her skin looked wan and even more pale than usual. Her hip burned and throbbed where the brand had been pressed into the skin.
A figure appeared in the doorway, looking down on Ravenna with no expression. Yet somehow, this tiny female seemed to convey pity. She had the same dark skin as the slaver that had caught Ravenna, and her hair was long and wild. She held something in her hands, a pot that gave off a sour smell. Ravenna licked her lips, too exhausted to do much more than twitch her wings as they trembled at her side. She had vomited up any food and water into a small bucket, and even if her life or dignity was in danger, she was not certain she could fight it. Was not certain she wanted to.
“You hold still, now,” the female said, her voice melodious. Ravenna watched blankly as the female came closer, her bare feet brushing softly against the stone floor. The female crouched before Ravenna. She reached out to lift Ravenna’s worn tunic. The sylph flinched, her breath starting to come in shallow gasps.
“No, relax,” the female said. She put a cool hand on Ravenna’s arm then pulled back. “You’re burnin’ up. Not good. Jazer be angry at that.”
Ravenna thought she understood the words, but she was not certain. Had she been in the forests of Shinalea, she could have easily found the herbs she needed to treat her fever. She could have gone to Kratos for a poultice for her brand. She could have rested in bed, letting Tacitus bring her soothing, cool, water…
“What are you doing?” Tacitus asked, standing before Ravenna in a wavering image. Though his wings were spread, they did not block the harsh light that streamed through the window. Vaguely, Ravenna felt the human female prodding at her hip, making the brand burn sharper. The sharp stench of infection filled the air.
“I want to go home,” Ravenna told Tacitus. He frowned, wings lifting.
“And what home would that be? You are not yet a full Intellecti. You are not like the rest of the sylphs. And you managed to get captured by humans to be treated as an animal.”
“Not my fault,” Ravenna said. She flinched at the touch of the female but tried to keep her eyes focused on Tacitus. “I’ll find a way out of here. There has to be a way.”
Tacitus shook his head, disappointment etching itself into his features. Ravenna whimpered, though she did not know whether it was from the pain or the sight of her heart-father’s disapproval. “I told you not to be weak. I told you not to give up on yourself. To fight. To fly. And look at you now. Passively submitting to the touch of a human who intends to harm you. A slave to a monster. You submitted without question. You are no sylph. You are no daughter of mine…”
Somewhere in Ravenna’s mind, she knew that the fever from her infected wound was talking. Tacitus was not really there in the room with her. He would never say such things. But the words were truth. Ravenna had not fought the humans, except on Shinalea. One simple cut on her arm and she had submitted to their control. That had been her role in life for so long. And look where it had brought her. Ravenna allow
ed her eyes to flutter close as the black abyss of unconsciousness rose up to meet her. She did not know how to be any different.
The next day, Ravenna’s fever broke, though the brand was still flushed and raw. The female, Ravenna learned, had spread ash in the wound to make certain that it would heal with Jazer’s personal mark plain for all to see. Someone in the massive stone house had decided, though, that Ravenna had rested enough. She was bathed roughly, dressed in a quickly modified tunic that went to her knees and hung open on her back for her wings, then introduced to the other slaves that made up Jazer’s household. Then, Ravenna was shown her new life.
She learned that the Pits was the local name for a natural sinkhole that had opened up some generations before. Jazer’s palace, as she called it, overlooked the yawning hole. It was big enough to host fights in and the sides had been carved into stadium seating so the fights could be made into a spectacle for all to see. Jazer was the owner of the Pits, and she had a good number of fighters in her service. Occasionally, they would fight against creatures that the slavers captured—enormous lions native to the desert; the occasional giant lizard that looked like a wingless dragon; wolves and the like—but more often than not, they would fight against the fighters owned by other slavers.
It was a cruel blood-sport that supplied the entertainment and money for the sparsely-populated regions beyond the Pits. There was little else for days. Coming to the Pits to bet and fight was both lucrative and provided a much-needed distraction for the outcasts of the Salusian Empire.
Ravenna kept hearing the name, Salusian Empire, but no one would talk about it more than to give her a disdainful look and shake their heads at her ignorance. After a while, Ravenna stopped asking and just listened to what the others had to say about the house beside the arena. She learned to hold a tray and to duck her head at the sharp sound of rebuke. No one raised a hand against her, but a young slave had been beaten before her eyes for accidentally dropping a goblet of wine. The message was clear.
