The Last Dryad: The Complex

by Sarah M. Cradit

  Aerwen had always been the one to insist that she could bear what Tariq demanded of her as long as she had Wezlei. The truth had evolved over the past months, as her love of Wezlei had elicited something entirely unexpected: the dream of a future with him, unfettered from her bondage, free of worry and pain. She imagined meeting his mother, whom she pictured as short, like him, with a fuss of brown hair and a warm, inviting face. Always in an apron, always with food cooking.

  The possibility of this future was so real, so close, that it ripped the breath from her body whenever she stepped through the doors of her suite with Tariq. In the beginning, she could handle both worlds, if one was truly and wholly hers to choose. Happiness had cleared her mind of the selflessness that bordered on martyrdom. It was not only her own pain she saw when she thought of her nightly requirements, but it was also a sickening distaste of her own self. Even a glance in the mirror forced a wave of bile to the back of her throat.

  Who have you become that you would allow this wretched creature—a Dhampir, of all things—to wrest power from you! You, a Dryad of Arda, a powerful princess in your own right!

  Aerwen distantly recalled asking herself those very questions in the early days, but it hadn’t taken long for Tariq to break her. More than her own pain was at stake because the collective knowledge of what the Dhampir had done to her race caused her fire to dwindle until she found herself asking So what? What do I have to go back to?

  Now the answer alone resurfaced the question. With it, a great and powerful anger roiled through her. At Tariq, but more, at herself. She was Aerwen of Arda! This was her life to toss away or lead into a future of her choosing, but it was no one else’s to dictate, under any terms or circumstances!

  This newfound spirit was a blessing that came with a curse, though; for, no matter how Wezlei protested, she knew he didn’t have the power to save her from Tariq. There was no leaving the Complex, and they couldn’t hide for the next year and a half. Tariq and his cronies knew every corner of this place and would not relent until she was found. Her punishment would be all too familiar… but Wezlei’s would be far worse, and she would never allow him to fall into her captor’s hands.

  How the hell did a creature like Tariq even get accepted into the Complex? Wezlei asked her once, musing aloud.

  You mean you don’t know?

  I can’t imagine a good reason to let a known criminal and his friends in the door.

  Wezlei, for all his wisdom, had been sheltered from the universe. He didn’t understand in any firsthand way the hatred between Humans and Metas. So he genuinely didn’t get why the Ama Seldova had been forced to bribe criminals for their “experiment.” My dear, no one else would come.

  This was their world until they were released into the wider one. Aerwen had come by force. Wezlei, impulsively, to save her.

  He had saved her. But in doing so, she now saw fully the prison restraining her.

  The Incubus licked his lips. He narrowed down on his haunches, blue veins illuminated and pulsing as he fed off her fear and distaste.

  “Do you like what you see?” he hissed in a low, sharp tone.

  Lie to them. Tell them whatever they want to hear. Tell them anything to please them. Or else. Tariq’s advice, never practical, always more ways to hurt her.

  This particular creature wore the appearance of a handsome Human. No boyish seduction like Wezlei possessed, but instead a more rugged, traditional attractiveness that all females were drawn to. None of these visuals fooled her, nor would she, even under better circumstances, be charmed by him. Incubi were known for one thing: pulling you into their fold with powerful seduction, then destroying you in order to grow stronger from your pain.

  Which, as she thought about it, didn’t sound terribly different from Tariq.

  Many, many nights, she would have answered just as he wanted to hear. Oh, yes, I like it. I like it so bad I can’t stand it. But she was not that creature any longer, and the further she stepped into that realization, the more it became true.

  “No, I don’t like what I see,” Aerwen said, and the air went out of the room.

  “No?” the Incubus repeated.

  “No.” She pulled back, lengthening into her full height. Towering over him. “No, I don’t. Frankly, I’m repulsed, and I need you to leave.”

  The Incubus stepped forward in a near crawl, swaying as he approached. His eyes narrowed. “Tariq, am I to understand that your whore denies me a service I paid for?”

  Tariq turned a ghastly shade of white, even for him. Aerwen wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him truly speechless, but he was now, as he gripped the arms of his throne chair and gaped at them both with helpless anger.

  “You’ll get your money back,” Aerwen asserted. “Right, Tariq?”

  Even as she said it, she knew the answer. She was not in charge here. Tariq would never allow that, not even this once, and whatever happened next would be so much worse than anything that had occurred before now.

  Tariq rose slowly. “Varquin, you have my permission to take her against her will.”

  Varquin’s veins glowed brighter. He hissed in pleasure. “Do I have to pay extra for that?”

  “Not a single S-Co,” Tariq said. His eyes lasered on Aerwen. His unspoken words raged. He is going to do worse to you than any creature before him, and you’re not worth the extra charge.

  “Today is my most lucky day!” Varquin exclaimed and flew through the air. He knocked Aerwen into the wall with such force, her vision went grey and faded to black. She cried out in her mind, Wezlei! Arda! Aerwen went to both places simultaneously, escaping the assault she knew would leave her much changed. She had asked for it; all but dared Tariq to hurt her further and deeper than ever before.

  As Aerwen tuned out the rancid smells of the Incubus’ breath and the dull pain as he thrust into her, she knew, in an instant, why.

  Her hatred for Tariq would be the strength she needed to be free of him.

  Aerwen awoke in complete darkness. She strained to see but found no light, not even in the distance. When she tried to move, she grunted when something yanked her back into place.

  She pulled her other hand over, but it was heavy with an added weight. Feeling around in the dark, the cold metal enclosing her wrists brought forward a painful clarity.

  Aerwen shuffled her legs but couldn’t move them more than shoulder width apart.

  Shackles. She was restrained here.

  “I see you’re awake,” Tariq said, emerging from the blackness. “Good. I need my rest, but first I am going to say a few things, and you’re going to listen.”

  Aerwen’s pulse jumped as her mind searched for ways to escape her new prison. She said nothing and hardly heard him.

  “There are consequences for your actions, Aerwen,” he said. “I will not be humiliated in front of a client. And I will not abide a wife who does not listen.”

  “I am not your wife,” she whispered through clenched teeth. She didn’t care to protect her hatred from him any longer.

  “Call it what you want. You are my possession.” She couldn’t see him anymore, but the air changed as he stood. “And you will stay here for days. Weeks. Months. Who knows? Time will tell. Yes, I am even willing to forgo all the money you make me to illustrate how serious I am about restoring your obedience.”

  Tariq seemed to expect a reply. Several long moments of pained silence followed. When Aerwen offered no answer, he turned and left without another word.

  XI- Wezlei

  September 26, 4 AS

  Wezlei did his best to stay busy. Being active and focused had never been so hard for him in the past, but previously, he’d not had much competing for his attention. His mother often said she poured herself into her work to put distance between herself and her thoughts. He never understood the motivation because he’d never had worries of his own. None he couldn’t quickly solve anyway.

  He was out of hawthorn. Somehow Wezlei had overlooked his dwindling supply of digestion t
onic, and now a customer had a real need for it, something more serious than an upset stomach. A Human had come to him fresh from a diagnosis of heart disease. The guy didn’t want to go to a Meta, even though some of them could heal him on the spot. Too proud. Wanted something produced from one of his own.

  And Wezlei had to tell his client to come back tomorrow, though he was not at all sure he would have anything then, either. Shaking out the last of his half-empty jars, the ones with leftovers and clippings that never made it to the shelved products, he was forced to admit he was out, and it would take another season before he had more. The foxglove, which was his alternate for heart problems, had never survived in the soil here, which he found to be quite strange, given foxglove could thrive just about anywhere. Back home, his mother had to apply poisons to keep it from overtaking the other plants.

  The back of the store was in complete disarray. Bottles lying on their sides, his mortar and pestle caked with dried layers. Clippings had mixed with one another when he failed to properly separate them. Unless he could neatly re-separate them, they would all have to be thrown out. He couldn’t risk even a hint of belladonna or hemlock getting mixed into a wellness tonic.

  When Aerwen hadn’t returned the day after he’d last seen her, he tried to tell himself there was a perfectly reasonable explanation. He concocted all sorts of hypotheses. Maybe she thought she’d been followed and wanted to play it cool. Or perhaps the monster, Tariq, had tasked her with chores that kept her busy for the day. He could imagine plenty of reasons why she might not show up for a single day, many of them lacking in anything worrisome or malevolent, but he still hadn’t touched a bite of food or slept more than a few minutes at a time.

  One day turned into two. On the second day, worry turned his stomach, so it was a good thing he hadn’t eaten the day before. He held tight to the same logic he’d rolled over the day before. With another artificial day and night behind him, they didn’t provide near as much comfort. Wezlei played through every conversation they’d ever had, trying to recall if she ever mentioned anything that might explain this current absence. Nothing came to mind. There was no explanation.

  Two days turned into three. He managed to choke down some porridge after he caught himself in a sway from the weakness of not eating for two days, but he barely kept it down. Even if Aerwen were tasked with something for Tariq, she would have found a way to send word. Right? Maybe even popped her head in, briefly, to say, don’t worry, Wezlei, I’ll be back when I can.

  For someone who had never measured time with any meaning, he now had a full appreciation for what could happen to a man in several days.

  When three days turned into four, Wezlei finally remembered words Aerwen had said. She’d lain against his chest, both of them dewy with the sweat of lovemaking. It wasn’t: my silly, curious Human or my handsome, wonderful, kind Human. My heart. No, it was after those soft words.

  I don’t know what horrors Tariq has in store for me. They only grow worse. I don’t tell you this because I want you to act on it, but I tell you because I fear soon he will begin to work me during the days as well. He never has before, because he likes to watch, but if the monster does, and I don’t come one day, I don’t want you to worry about me.

  How the hell am I supposed to do that?

  You do it because I asked it of you, because I love you.

  And what if something worse has happened?

  She hadn’t replied for several moments. When she did, it hadn’t brought Wezlei much comfort, but it was the best he would get. Wait six days. He always rests me on my sixth day, not for my own good but because I need to restore my magic for clients. If I am gone for six days, then and only then should you assume my fate has taken a turn for the worse.

  Wezlei closed the shop on the fifth day. He sat in the back room, eye to the front window, watching for her, thinking of nothing else.

  By midmorning of the sixth day, he knew she was not coming back. He realized he’d known since day one but had not been able to reconcile the possibility that something terrible had happened, until now.

  Aerwen wouldn’t want him anywhere near Tariq or his men, but she wasn’t here to reason with him.

  As a Human, he had no magic to aid him. Wezlei’s mother’s botanist knife set would do very little for him in actual danger. He had his wits, which, in all the books he’d read, had won very few battles. Wezlei also had his courage, but that only brought him into the moment. What then?

  In the end, Wezlei decided the answer didn’t matter. Once he saw her, they would figure it out together. He believed because he’d seen it and felt it, they were stronger together.

  And if anything happened to Aerwen, something he couldn’t fix, then he wouldn’t leave that suite alive anyway.

  Wezlei entered the Forest Quarter shortly after one. The daylight was blinding, obscuring his vision of at least half the immense ring of door after door, towering into the sky. In the center, a lush rainforest that kept the air fresh and damp. Although Wezlei also lived in this Quarter, he often went about his business on autopilot and paid little attention to his surroundings. He seemed to realize for the first time how vast the housing area actually was.

  Beings of all races rushed past him, to and from their personal business. Humans nodded. Metas ignored him. Nothing unusual.

  Finding Tariq’s suite wasn’t challenging. Only the wealthiest were given access to the topmost ring, and their names were emblazoned on the doors as if they were celebrities.

  The trouble would be getting access to that level. Wezlei’s wrist computer was programmed only for what he needed. Wealthy residents had no need of the plebian blue collar workers stinking up their area.

  He waited. For what, he didn’t know, but he would when he saw it.

  He rode the elevator up and down for nearly three hours until his answer arrived. A group of twelve or so Humans boarded, heading for the suite level. Wezlei said nothing and willed himself to disappear so as not to draw attention to himself. He needn’t have worried; they were all pre-occupied in their conversations and didn’t even notice him.

  So he was able to slip off the elevator without ceremony when the double doors opened to the ring of suites, following them, blending in, for a hundred yards or so before breaking off. He read the names on the doors from his peripheral only because if he belonged here, he should already know where he was going.

  Wezlei was halfway around the massive ring when he spotted the name he sought. The suite in question was five doors away. Outside perched three bored-looking henchmen. He almost laughed and should have known this was Tariq’s without even seeing the name. Tariq was one of maybe three creatures bold enough to station a guard outside his door in the Complex.

  He was here, so now what? Wezlei ducked into a small alcove to collect his thoughts. He had no uniform, so pretending to be a service employee wasn’t going to work. Tariq would either be resting or working in the darker section of Main City at this time of day so he couldn’t feign business with him—and even then, what would he possibly say that they wouldn’t immediately see through? A diversion might work, but if there were three creatures outside the door, there had to be scores more inside.

  Aerwen, if you’re in there… if you can hear me…

  Wezlei never finished the thought. Words were replaced by stars when his body hit the solid wall behind him with a flying thud. Pain rocketed through him from the force of the connection. He raised his head to make sense of the sudden onslaught, but the light disappeared behind several towering figures.

  Blows rained from the sky. Fists, batons, other objects he couldn’t identify, their exact nature lost in the flurry of pain and confusion. Steel-toed boots connected with his ribs, his chest, his groin, over and over.

  I’m going to die here, Wezlei thought, followed by the realization he could do nothing to stop it.

  The attack stopped abruptly. His eyesight was obscured by swollen sockets and blood, but he didn’t need eyes. Their words ech
oed in his head.

  “You don’t belong up here, Human. Next time, we take you to Tariq. When that happens, you’ll remember what we did today as a mercy.”

  Night had fallen before Wezlei could muster the fortitude to pull his body from the tight coil he’d drawn himself in after the creatures left. They’d dropped him in a heap in the forested area. His skin was covered with a flurry of bugs. He didn’t know what species, but likely they were the kind who thought he was dying. Their hum was deafening.

  He couldn’t stay here.

  All he could think of was his bed, and pulling his feather comforter over his head and sleeping for days. Weeks.

  Instinct told him home wasn’t safe, though. As long as he was in the Forest Quarter, Tariq’s men undoubtedly had eyes on him. If they saw him enter his apartment, he would never again be safe in the Complex.

  That only left his shop. Realistically, the location was no more safe than home, but there he was surrounded by the public, at least, and could not be so easily dispatched.

  Wezlei limped along through the forest before entering the Main City. He attracted dozens of curious looks, but no one stopped to help or ask if he was okay. When at last he made it to Uni Flora Obscura, he barely had the energy or presence of mind to lock the door behind him.

  He collapsed in front of the counter and didn’t move for hours.

  A chorus of banging woke him. He heard it first resonating around his head, bouncing around like a ball with continuous momentum. It then morphed into focus, and the sound instead was all around the room. Wezlei strained to see out of the thinnest of slits because his eyes were swollen so tightly closed. The room wavered in and out of focus. A silhouette appeared in his vision in the shop window. He tried to rub his eyes and yelped from the pain.