Survivors of Corrica

by Courtney Bowen

  “I told him there was a village nearby before I left, and he and the rest of the Corricans took it from there.” Fato said.

  “We didn’t know anything about this.” Marko told the villagers, concerned. “Corr told us about the talking falcon and Bahealfisaba, yes, but we didn’t believe it’d be true. It was an accident in a way that we met.”

  “Yes, an unfortunate accident.” Demetrius grimaced at the Fay and Corr. “You shouldn’t have meddled, or you should’ve helped us out now. We’re all suffering because of that.”

  “We’re sorry, but we couldn’t do anything.” Paracleus said.

  “Our parents--” Rhona started to say.

  “Parents?” Kiki said, tearing up again. Corr was heartbroken to hear the dullness in her voice, when she was too miserable for anything else.

  “How old are you Fay?” Huette asked, considering them. “Are you mature adults, or are you younger?”

  Fato, Rhona, and Paracleus gawked at her and at each other, while a growing sense of unease overcame Corr. “Does she have a point? What would you look like if you were human or humanoid?” Corr asked, turning to them.

  Rhona sighed. “Let’s show them our true selves.”

  The other two nodded, and the Fay animals transformed into their humanoid Fay versions, and they appeared to be not much older than or the same age as Corr and Kiki, young adults or adolescents. Everyone else gaped at them, shocked at the reveal, especially when Paracleus still had his foxlike hair, Rhona retained her purple eyes, and Fato’s hair was as brown as his feathers.

  Fato shrugged, staring at Corr. “This is what we really look like when we’re back at home, attending classes or facing our parents. I’m sorry, Corr, that I didn’t show you my real self before.”

  “It’s okay, Fato, but I trusted you. I thought you were…older, more experienced and knowledgeable than me about this world.” Corr said.

  “Technically we’re older than you at one hundred and fifty years, but it does take longer for us to mature.” Paracleus said. “We’re hapless in that way.”

  “We’ll go, if you want us to.” Rhona said.

  “That’s probably for the best.” Zeldos murmured, noticing the testiness radiating from the villagers.

  The Fay vanished soon after, waving good-bye to Corr and the others, leaving them alone in their sorrow and grief. They set to work then, transporting the wounded like Rowena to the Corrican settlement, where they told everyone else what was going on, and burying their dead like Kalino. The villagers and Corricans barely spoke to each other, though, beyond the bare minimum for the rest of the day, still processing what had happened to them and trying to figure out what they should do next.

  Chapter Fourteen:

  Partners in Crime

  Wilama regained consciousness in fits and stages. She seemed to be floating, lying flat on her back with her feet not touching the ground, but still moving with nothing to support her. She didn’t know where she was, only that she wasn’t in Bahealfisaba anymore.

  She glimpsed some houses, cruder and grungier than the ones in Bahealfisaba, slapdashedly made and not as well-maintained. She lifted her head and spotted some people, women and children mostly, staring at her from afar. They appeared to be in poor health and starving with ragged, mismatched clothes like they were castoffs.

  She’d seen such misery in the streets of the City of Elders in Corrica, but she thought that with the abundance of land and food she’d seen in this part of the world, such deprivation shouldn’t be possible. But perhaps she shouldn’t have assumed that when, from her experience, there were people who’d try to take advantage of others and take as much as they could, even if that meant stealing resources from those who needed it most.

  Then she noticed that she was surrounded by a platoon of guards, dressed in better quality, though rough fur and leather clothes, almost like uniforms, than the general Savorre populace. The warriors also appeared to be well-fed and stronger than their counterparts, and she frowned as she realized they weren’t just stealing from their neighbors, but from their own people, too.

  Someone must’ve noticed she was awake, for suddenly she was dropped down from the cloud of shades that had been carrying her along. She landed on her feet and then she was forced to walk along, butted on by a spear. Wilama attempted to summon her powers and destroy this miscreant before she escaped, but she couldn’t even feel her magic.

  Perhaps they’d found a way to dampen or cut off mages from the elemental forces so that they couldn’t rebel and oppose their abductors. Wilama had only known she was capable of such feats for a couple of mouths now, and almost all of that time she’d spent training and sharpening her skills so that she could be one of the best mages.

  Now she was powerless and she missed her abilities more than she thought possible. Miserable, she turned around and kept walking like her captors commanded. There were more villagers from Bahealfisaba trailing along behind them, she noticed, escorted by even more warriors, and Wilama attempted to calculate how many people had been snatched.

  There were probably dozens of them, including a couple of mages, some Corrican sailors, and a few of the blacksmiths that Lapida had trained. Some cried and wept, a few shouted and yelled at the Savorre, but most were quiet in their despair or gritting their teeth. She didn’t see Anya or Wintha among them, which relieved her a bit, though she feared what her own fate might be.

  She’d heard a little of the Vanahatora or Blood Drinkers, and she knew she might be a target for them now after the fight she’d put up, dealing so swiftly and brutally with their combatants. She didn’t have a choice in the matter, though, when she had to defend herself and the others from being taken. If that meant ensuring her foes wouldn’t get up again, unless they were under her duress, then so be it.

  However, she hadn’t counted on one warlock in particular, she grasped as she eyed the other woman in the distance, striding along with a firm step and no fear or regret in her gaze, outmaneuvering and undermining her. Now Wilama was facing death, of a slow and lingering kind, and wondered if she might have the courage and fortitude to outsmart and even survive this hopeless situation.

  The captives were being paraded through the street of this community, shown off as spoils of war, just like the milites did sometimes with the slaves they’d captured back in Corrica. They were heading for a large façade, one of the better built buildings in this area. However, it was difficult for her and the other prisoners to appreciate it when it was decorated with rotting, decaying skulls and bones of humans and other animals.

  She suspected it was a temple or sanctuary of some kind for the Savorre, as it had that air of mystery and sanctity about it that she recognized from her own foray as a priestess. The Savorre, even the cutthroat warriors amongst them, approached the temple with respect, while the captives trembled in fear.

  Wilama attempted to raise her head and match the other woman who snatched her, but she couldn’t help feeling that once she went in, she’d never get out of this building again until she was one of the cadavers ornamenting its walls. The doors opened and they were forced inside and separated into groups.

  The mages received some special treatment, herded off to the side into cages, but only because the warlocks wanted to feast on their powers. Ordinary people who showed no magical aptitude were sent into a pit, to be brought up later for their blood. A couple blacksmiths were grabbed, however, and dragged away out of the building.

  Wilama wondered if the Savorre knew they might possess the secret of iron-forging, and force them to confess it. If the blacksmiths shared such knowledge, the Savorre could only gain more power and a greater advantage from it. Before Wilama could be dispensed with, though, the other woman who had seized her charged forward.

  She shouted out a command Wilama couldn’t comprehend as she realized the Savorre were speaking another language, different from the villagers in Bahealfisaba, despite how close their territories were. Apparently things were a lot more di
vided than they had suspected in this part of the world, including culture and communication. However, Wilama had learned the translation spell from the villagers, but could she use it here and now when her powers were blocked off?

  Before she could attempt it, though, the guards shoved her along as they followed after the other woman, who strode off without looking back. Apparently the other woman had laid some kind of claim on Wilama, maybe for apprehending her, and now she was taking Wilama away to be her own private snack? This couldn’t get any worse, Wilama thought to herself, as she was led not outside, but deeper into the temple, to some underground lair full of ropes and a bloody altar, like a torture chamber.

  Okay, it got worse, Wilama gulped as she was bound up by the guards before the other woman ordered them to leave. As they departed, Wilama faced her foe, who glared at her, an intimidating woman to say the least with red paint, possibly blood, still covering her face.

  “Look, I’m not certain just what you want, but whatever it is, I’m not the one to give it to you.” Wilama tried to implore, knowing it was no use, but she had to do something now.

  The other woman chanted something Wilama half recognized and then she understood that she was saying, “…I hear you as you hear me, you speak with me as I speak with you, in a speech that we both share.”

  “Oh, thank the gods,” Wilama said, glad the other woman was at least willing to use the translation spell so that they could communicate and comprehend each other.

  “There aren’t any gods here now.” The other woman said, smirking at Wilama. “I’m Yagidehama, though, if you want to pray to me instead.”

  “My name’s Wilama. Listen, I don’t know what you want, but I won’t give it to you.”

  “I’m sure you will, Wilama. You’ll beg for me to release you and you’ll surrender everything you have onto me.” Yagidehama said before she turned around to prepare the altar.

  “No, I won’t surrender, because I’m going to escape or be rescued!”

  Yagidehama laughed. “No one’s ever escaped or bested the Savorre yet.”

  “You don’t know me and you don’t know my people, the Corricans. We’re stronger and braver than you. We don’t steal from others, we befriend them. We have allies and weapons you haven’t seen yet. We’re going to destroy all of you.”

  “I highly doubt that.” Yagidehama said.

  Once everything was ready on the altar to her satisfaction, she grabbed Wilama and dragged her up there. Wilama struggled and attempted to escape the rope binds, but Yagidehama pinned her down and summoned her shadows, swirling around them. She started chanting, beginning the ritual to drain Wilama of her powers.

  “Gorbana, we call upon you to help us in our hour of need,” Yagidehama said.

  “Oh gods of Corrica and Bahealfisaba, help me in my hour of need.” Wilama said.

  “What’re you doing?” Yagidehama asked, staring at her.

  “I was a priestess once. I can call upon my own forces too.” Wilama said.

  “A priestess of what god?” Yagidehama asked.

  “A priestess of Loqwuano, god of devotion and determination.” Wilama said. “If there’s any god that exists, he’s the one that can get me out of this mess.”

  “Oh, that’s preposterous.” Yagidehama scoffed and shook her head. “No wonder you were captured if you believed in such a thing.”

  “To be honest, I’ve doubted a lot these days. I’ve wondered if the gods do exist, but right now, I’m willing to try anything.”

  “Good luck with that.” Yagidehama said, and she continued chanting as Wilama joined in with her refrain. “It’s hard to concentrate with you blathering on like that.” Yagidehama muttered at her.

  “I can blather on all I want to.” Wilama said.

  “Why don’t I gag you?” Yagidehama asked.

  “Why’d you use the translation spell so that you could understand what I was saying?” Wilama asked.

  “It’s always nice to hear and understand what others are saying as you torture them.” Yagidehama said. “Makes the time pass much quicker, and I get a lot of useful information out of it.”

  “If you say so. You’re the one who wanted to hear this.” Wilama said, and she continued chanting.

  “I’m getting sick of this. I should just go ahead--” Yagidehama started to say, calling upon her shadows, but suddenly her arm was wrenched behind her back. She cried out in pain, shocked, and looked down at Wilama, smiling up at her. “Impossible. You can’t wield magic here!” Yagidehama shouted.

  “Watch me.” Wilama said. “I broke through your barriers!”

  Wilama twisted and broke through the ropes binding her, her bones stronger and more flexible than before, as she tried to attack and break Yagidehama’s bones. Yagidehama hurled shades at Wilama, trying to overwhelm her with nightmares and demons and avoid her assault. They battled for a couple of minutes, almost evenly matched as Wilama cornered and wounded Yagidehama, but the shades had almost choked off Wilama, too.

  Finally Yagidehama had to call for help, sending off a shade to bring more warlocks running to her side to defend her. As they pummeled, punished, and corralled Wilama, Yagidehama stood up, barely able to move, and laughed to herself as she wiped off blood, sweat, and tears.

  “You made me cry.” Yagidehama said, gazing at Wilama. “No one has done that to me in years.”

  “What’re you going to do then? Kill me?” Wilama hissed when it hurt to speak. “Are you going to get your cronies to hold me down now?”

  “No.” Yagidehama said, studying her intently. “It seems like a waste. It might be a bad idea when I should probably drain you here and now, sap you of your powers and then drink your blood for what you’ve done to me. But I’m not going to do that. I’m going to convert you.”

  “What?” Wilama said, gaping up at Yagidehama.

  “You heard me. I’m going to turn you into one of us.” Yagidehama smiled at her. “It’ll be ever so much fun. You’ll be a warlock, maybe a Vanahatora, too, and you’ll race into battle with us against the Corricans.”

  “No, I’m never going to join you all!” Wilama shouted. “I’m never going to turn against my people or be like you.”

  “I don’t know, it’s just something to think about. I want to try it out anyway, just to see what happens.” Yagidehama said, and slammed Wilama with another shade, knocking her out. “Pleasant dreams.” Yagidehama grinned at the unconscious Wilama.

  ℜℜℜ

  Fato, Paracleus, and Rhona returned to P’hula, where they moped, mourned, and mulled over everything that had happened in Bahealfisaba. They tried to return to their everyday tasks, studying at school, hanging out with their friends, or working on their chores, but they couldn’t settle down as they remembered what happened, tried to figure out what went wrong, and wondered what they could do to make up for their mistakes.

  Fato in particular was troubled, recalling the stricken look on Corr’s face and how the others suffered as he tried to sleep at night. Finally, after another restless slumber, he couldn’t stand it anymore. There had to be something they could do to aid the Corricans and the villagers against the Savorre, but what could they possibly offer them, except…maybe some magic?

  Fato froze as the thought crossed his mind and then he practically leapt out of his bed. He snuck out of his parents’ house, and crept over to Paracleus’s house, to his bedroom window. He hurled rocks up at the window until Paracleus woke up and came over to check out the disturbance.

  “What’re you doing here, Fato?” Paracleus asked.

  “I need to talk to you about a plan I’ve got.” Fato told him.

  “What plan?” Paracleus asked.

  “To steal some magic to give to the Corricans and Bahealfisaba.” Fato said.

  “What? Come up here so we can talk about this treason in private.” Paracleus said.

  Fato climbed up, when that was less conspicuous than turning into a bird to fly up there, and Paracleus pulled him into his r
oom. The two young men, or Fay, fell onto the floor and straightened themselves up, not wanting to get caught meeting like this.

  Paracleus glanced at his bedroom door, knowing his father Rolanbar would disapprove of a boy coming up here, even if Fato was just a friend. Paracleus wished he was old enough to move out of his father’s house and live on his own, however he wanted to, and his father Rolanbar probably felt the same way.

  But for now, it might be a couple of decades before Paracleus was technically old enough to acquire his own residence on the island. Being Fay was sort of harsh, Paracleus felt, when it took them longer to grow up and mature, and they were restricted by all these rules and regulations.

  “You want to steal some magic?” Paracleus asked Fato after a moment when he was certain his father hadn’t heard anything.

  “Yes, from those vaults under the council chamber.” Fato said, recovering from his climb. “Jari showed me around down there, remember? They’ve got more magical energy than they know what to do with, all of the magical elements. What I wouldn’t give to go down there, steal some, just a few drops, and give them to the Corricans and villagers so that they can fight back against those Savorre warlocks.”

  Paracleus shook his head. “It sounds like an idea, but how’re you going to get back down there? How’re you going to steal that magic without getting caught? And what do you do with it? How’re you going to convert those drops of raw magical energy into something humans can use?”

  “I don’t know, I’m still working out my plan.” Fato said. “I need to get close with Jari again. Maybe I can convince her to let me help out around the council hall, to do some chores with her, and then I can go back down there eventually.”

  “It might take some time to build up that trust with Jari. Then you’ve got to work out the extraction, find out the best time when the vaults are deserted, steal enough magic without setting off an alarm, and get that energy out of there without anyone else finding out. It’s tricky to say the least.” Paracleus frowned to himself. “I might be interested in helping you out, but I think we’re going to have to get someone else involved if we’re going to have any chance of getting this plan to work.”