The Story of Sorrel

by Joseph R. Lallo

  She shrank away from him a bit. “I’ll talk,” she said.

  “Why did you disguise yourself?”

  “We didn’t. We were hiding. We covered ourselves so we could hide in the sand.”

  “You did not hide from us well enough.”

  “We weren’t hiding from you,” Reyna said. “We were hiding from Mama.”

  The chieftain tipped his head. “You hide from your mother?”

  “It’s the game. Don’t you play the game?”

  “Game,” he repeated, as though he was completely unfamiliar with the word. “This does not matter. You are forest malthropes. You are Reds. You know you can’t come here.”

  “We didn’t even know where here was!”

  “The Fennecs and the Reds have been here for generations. We know the lines. We do not cross the lines unless we mean to make war.” He jabbed a finger at her shoulder. “You disguise yourself. You come to our place. You mean to make war. People who make war become prisoners. But never have there been whelps who make war.”

  “We aren’t making war! We come from across the ocean.”

  “Across the ocean.” The chieftain mined through his memories until the words found meanings. “In boats. You come from the place of death.”

  “Mama just called it Tressor. Except the part north of Tressor. She called it a bunch of names. But I don’t remember them. Mama says we don’t need to know about that place, because we aren’t ever going back there.”

  “The place across the ocean is not a place that people come from. It is a place of death. Malthropes who went there never returned.”

  “Yeah. It was a bad place. Lots of people who wanted us dead.”

  “Same as here,” Wren mumbled through tightly clenched teeth.

  The chieftain turned aside. He chittered something to the Elder.

  He turned back. “You say you come from across the sea. This could be a lie. But you do not smell as the Reds do. And you do not dress as they do. You are outsiders. Newcomers. And you speak the dragon language.”

  Reyna shook her head. “No. This isn’t a dragon language. It’s Crich. It’s a language from over the ocean. Mama’s first language. But we speak the Tresson language too. Some of the elves speak that. Mama made sure we knew as much as we could. Varden, too. But no one speaks that here.”

  The chieftain narrowed his eyes and thought. He had a word with the Elder. It was mostly in his own language, but here and there the twins caught words. Most were some combination of “great,” “dragon,” and “precious.”

  They came to an agreement, and the chieftain turned to them. “You speak of your mother. She is a Red like you, yes.”

  Reyna’s eyes brightened and she hopped in place. “Yes! Yes, have you seen her?” she said.

  The chieftain leaned close and sampled her scent. “We have. And she is a problem.” He glared at Wren. “She bites as well.”

  “That’s her!” Reyna trilled. “Is she safe? Is she hurt? Take us to her, please!”

  “Follow. And behave.”

  The chieftain marched forward, heading for one of the many burrows that had been uncovered when the villagers emerged. The guards kept close, leading Reyna and Wren along by ropes tied to their wrist bindings. They left little slack, particularly in the case of Wren, but they weren’t otherwise unkind.

  Inside the burrow, the roof was low. If they had been full-grown, the twins would have had to crawl. As it was, they were able to creep along awkwardly by crouching. The Fennecs moved in the same way, but they did so with an ease and grace that betrayed a lifetime of navigating such tight spaces. The farther inside they crawled, the dimmer it got. Much of the tunnel was completely dark, but the way forward was straight, and the sound of motion echoing up and down the tunnel led the way easily enough. They did not see light again until they’d entered a larger chamber buried deep in the hill. A warm red smolder of something that looked like the charred remains of a campfire lit the place from two large bowls in the room. It left the chamber a bit warm and gave the air a sharp sting, but the acrid smell wasn’t enough to hide a very familiar scent.

  “Mama!” Reyna cried.

  Her enthusiasm got the better of her, and she charged forward. Her personal guard yanked at the rope to hold her back.

  “Behave,” the chieftain repeated.

  Now that all were able to stand, they moved more comfortably forward. Sections of the walls had been burrowed a bit deeper and lined with bars of the mottled red metal. This was a prison. Only the cell farthest from the entrance was in use. Two guards stood with spears ready. And trapped inside the cell was Sorrel.

  They had plainly had some difficulty with her, and had reacted accordingly. The heaps of Sorrel’s colorful clothing had been largely stripped away, along with the many things she hid among the layers. She was left in a ragged dress, the lowest layer of her outfit. Her hands and feet were wrapped in tightly tied sacks to keep her from clawing at the guards or attempting to unfasten the clasp of the cage. A far sturdier muzzle kept her jaws shut tight. She had her share of bumps and bruises from repeated attempts to subdue her, but the guards were in far worse shape, with fresh slashes in their fur and bandages stained with fresh blood.

  It had not been easy keeping her captive.

  Sorrel gazed out of the cell, eyes locked on Reyna and Wren as they approached. She wasn’t struggling, but the intensity in her eyes was such that Reyna was astounded she’d not killed her captors with the power of her gaze alone.

  “We have found your young,” the chieftain said.

  Sorrel’s breath hissed furiously through her nostrils.

  “Like you, they speak the dragon language. Like you, they are outsiders. Like you, they are Reds. Three Reds within our borders in a single day. And two more at the fringe, attempting to retrieve them. It is nothing short of a declaration of war. But they claim you are not of the Reds to the north.”

  She did not attempt to answer.

  “They too claim you come from across the sea. It is a tale I hesitate to believe. And so you shall be treated as other captured Reds. In two days, we must make the offering. We have the wealth…” He leaned closer. “The wealth the Reds try so hard to steal… But we cannot spare the food this time. We do not have enough for ourselves and for the offering. So you shall be our token. We shall present you to your kind. We return you in exchange for enough food to make up the shortfall.”

  He turned and marched away from the cell. “But never before have we had to deal with children. It is a terrible thing to send your children into battle to do your bidding.”

  “We didn’t! We weren’t fighting, we were hiding!” Reyna objected.

  “Behave!” the chieftain repeated. “I should treat them as other soldiers are treated. But I have a greater heart and a purer soul than the fiends who sent them. So I make an offer. You go willingly. You make no more trouble. And we will see to it that your children are not harmed.”

  He chattered to the two guards. “We shall remove your muzzle. Remember that we have your children. Act accordingly.”

  He motioned. The guards cautiously lowered their spears and reached through the bars. She moved forward and allowed them to unfasten the ties securing her mouth restraint.

  “Now. Will you—” the chieftain began.

  “You remove that muzzle from my boy,” Sorrel seethed.

  “First you agree to do as we say.”

  “You remove that muzzle from my boy, or I will tear out your throat, even if I have to do it after I’m dead.” She clasped the bars with her bound hands. “I do not answer a question or do a thing you tell me until you take that muzzle from my boy.”

  She spoke Crich, her native language, and thus spoke with a fluidity and clarity that had been missing as she taught her children Tresson.

  “He bites,” the chieftain said.

  “Of course he bites! You tied him up. You pulled him underground. You would bite too.” She looked to Wren. “Wren, they will take off th
e muzzle. When they do, do not bite. It is better to behave and have some freedom than to snap and have none.”

  He nodded and muttered through the muzzle, “Yes, Mama.”

  “I did not agree,” the chieftain said.

  “You do not agree, then I do not agree.” Sorrel turned her head aside. “I will not do what you say. I will fight you every time you give me the chance. You have to choose which you want. A muzzle on my boy and an enemy of me, or no muzzle on my boy and a chance to speak calmly.”

  The chieftain grinned. “She makes orders and demands, even behind bars. The Reds do have spirit. Take the muzzle from the boy.”

  Wren’s guard pulled at the ties, and the muzzle fell away.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t keep Reyna safe, Mama,” Wren said.

  “Don’t apologize for that, Wren. That was never up to you. Reyna learned the same lessons you did. She can care for herself just as well as you can.” Sorrel’s expression hardened. “You should be sorry you got caught. And the same goes for her. And for me as well.” She crossed her arms. “It is like I’ve said. There is always someone faster or smarter.”

  “Let us speak, Red,” the chieftain said. “Will you do as I say if I promise that your children will be safe?”

  “Say what you wish to say, and I will answer honestly, but I will not promise to do a thing that I cannot be sure I can do. Not with the safety of my children at stake.”

  “I plan to take you to the offering. I ask that you behave yourself until then. I ask that you speak to your people on the day of the offering and request that they share their bounty in exchange for you and your children being returned to them.”

  “They are not my people.”

  “You are a Red.”

  “I am a malthrope. And yes I am red. But they are not kin. I matter no more to them than I matter to you.”

  “You speak the dragon language. That means you have value. Do not lie to me.”

  “I do not lie. Why would I lie? You will meet them soon and learn the truth.” She turned her head haughtily. “You will not trick me into saying something you can punish me and my children for. I am not a fool.”

  “Do you really value your children so little that you would maintain this falsehood even knowing what hangs in the balance?”

  She thumped the bars with her bound hands. “Listen to me. You have me, yes? You have them. You asked for the truth. I am giving you the truth. If you want me to tell you the lie you already believe, then I will tell it, but you did not ask for that. You asked for the truth. I will do as you’ve asked. I will talk to these malthropes who look like me. But I will do it only if you promise that my young ones will be safe even if they do not listen to me. Because whether you believe me or not, I am an outsider. To them as well as you.”

  The chieftain considered her words. “You are a riddle. But I accept what you propose. You behave and you do what we ask to ensure the safety of the village. In return, you have our word that your children will be cared for and watched after as if they were our own for as long as they are in our charge.”

  Sorrel nodded. “Then we have a deal. Bring to me my children, please.”

  The chieftain nodded. Reyna and Wren were led forward. They leaned their heads against the bars, trying to rub their faces upon their imprisoned mother. She reached her bound hands between the bars and stroked their heads.

  “You do what these people say,” she said quietly. “You do not try to run. You do not try to fight. You do not do anything that is not safe.”

  “But what will happen?” Wren said.

  “We do not know. We do not always know what will happen. But if there is a way for us to be together, we will be together.” She nudged them. “Now go. Do not do anything that will make them change their minds unless they already changed their minds. And remember the game.”

  They nodded.

  “We won the game, Mama,” Wren said.

  She smiled wryly. “Yes. You won the game, and I lost. When this is done, I promise you a very long story, and a very big meal. Go.”

  #

  A few minutes later, Reyna and Wren were once again led into the cool night air. The chieftain delivered some chattered orders to the Elder who had first spoken to them, then slipped into one of the burrows.

  “Your mother is trouble, but she is wise,” the Elder said.

  “She’s the fastest and the strongest and the smartest, and you’d better not do something bad to her, or she’ll teach you a lesson. And we will too,” Wren warned, tears in his eyes.

  “Be calm. In two days, if the Reds are as wise and reasonable as she, you will be together in their village, and we’ll all be safe until the next offering.”

  “What happens until then? What happens now?” Reyna asked.

  “There are many children without parents. You will stay with them. One guard will watch you. And you will stay tied,” the Elder explained.

  He hobbled along with the twins in tow and slipped into yet another of the burrows. Every hill in this place seemed to be home to a burrow. This one had a longer tunnel than most, leading deeper into the ground. Eventually, it opened into a chamber not so very different than the prison that held their mother. Fine gravel made up the floor, and a dozen or so Fennec children slept there. The Fennec young were tiny, barely larger than Wren and Reyna shortly after they were born. They wore no clothes, and as tended to be the case with malthrope young, it took a trained eye or a sensitive nose to tell them apart from a normal desert fox. The little fox kits were in a mound, piled atop each other and blissfully sleeping.

  Small stakes around the edge of the room held up a short net that ringed a bed of sorts.

  “Stand beside a stake. Each at a different one, if you please.”

  “Why?” Wren demanded.

  “You will be tethered to the stake for tonight. We will untie your paws and fashion a harness. If you do not misbehave, we will see about allowing you to be without such restraint tomorrow. Hold still.”

  The twins looked to each other, then nodded. They held out their paws, and the guard made short work of freeing their wrists. With chatters and broad gestures, he made it clear he wanted them to turn their backs to him. Loops of rope were pulled tight around shoulders and thighs, then a rope was tied to the point where the loops met behind their backs. The guard tied a rope to each of the stakes they’d chosen. When he was through, he trudged to the edge of the room and looked upon them vigilantly.

  “Sleep now. Tomorrow you will be fed, and you will join the rest of the children for their studies.”

  “But—” Wren objected.

  Reyna held up a paw to him. He reluctantly held his tongue. The Elder nodded and took his leave.

  Wren stared at the guard with a vicious gaze for a full minute before he turned to Reyna again. She was tugging gently at the rope that tied her, testing its strength.

  “We need to find a way out of here,” Wren said in Tresson.

  “Do you think they’ll get angry if we keep speaking in a language they don’t know?” Reyna replied quietly.

  “I don’t care. If I don’t say what I’m thinking, I’ll never last.” He looked to the armed Fennec at the door. “The guard is a rotten old fool who looks as ugly as he smells.”

  With ears like his, even if Wren had whispered it, there was no doubt he would have heard. The insult failed to produce any reaction, but it made Wren smirk.

  “You should try it,” he said, crawling over to her until he ran out of slack. “It makes you feel a little better.”

  Reyna crawled toward Wren as well, and at the very end of each of their ropes they were just near enough to touch one another. She used this freedom to give him a slap in the back of the head.

  “That was a dangerous thing to do!” she said. “Even if he can’t understand. That’s misbehaving. We are supposed to behave, or they will hurt Mama.”

  He gritted his teeth and rubbed his head. “They are going to hurt Mama anyway. It’s like she says
: if someone can hurt a malthrope, they will hurt a malthrope. So we must make sure they can’t.”

  “But these are malthropes. If we can’t trust them, who can we trust?”

  “We can’t trust anybody. Mama says that too!” He sniffed and looked to the guard. “He doesn’t look so tough. But they’re sure fast. Even if we could get loose, I don’t know if we could beat him without one of us getting hit with that sword.”

  “And we’d still be in this place, surrounded by them. And they’d still have Mama. I think we have to wait. At least until morning. We should learn more. Maybe we’ll learn something we can use.”

  He nodded sullenly and flopped onto the ground to curl up for the night.

  “Why is it always thinking and watching and learning?” he pouted. “Hunting and fighting are so much simpler.”

  “We don’t get simple things,” Reyna said, curling up against him as best she could. “That’s what makes us stronger than the ones who do get simple things.”

  Though it may have been the first time in their lives that Reyna and Wren slept among their own, in the midst of a city and with a roof over their heads, it was the coldest, loneliest moment of their lives. Never before had they been forced to endure an entire night away from their mother. It was chilling, a sour and hollow feeling. They may as well have lost a part of themselves. If not for exhaustion, they might not have slept at all. But they’d not had a proper meal that day and they’d been awake from dawn to nearly dawn again. Their little bodies simply gave out, slipping into a fitful slumber.

  Chapter 5

  After what felt like moments, a voice caused Reyna to sluggishly blink awake. At some point during the night the Fennec kits had discovered there were newcomers. They’d made their way over and curled atop and around the twins, adding them to the sleep pile. She flicked her ears and slowly rose to a crouch, sending the three kits who had clamored atop her sliding irritably to the bedding.

  She blinked more sleep from her eyes and looked in the coal-lit chamber toward the source of the voice. It was the Elder, looking as weary as she did. He was speaking in the complex chatter that formed the village’s language. One by one, the kits yawned and tottered toward him to sit in a half circle before him.