by Traci Loudin
The Wizard leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Who?”
Gryid shook his head. “Scream all you want, I don’t know. Neither does Kaia.” He buried his face in his hands.
A few years ago, back when Caetl had thought the pendant a magical talisman, he’d come to the Wizard for help. He stayed because the Wizard had promised to figure out how to remove the artifact, but lately the Wizard seemed more interested in coercing others to put one on. Perhaps Gryid or one of the others he’d mentioned held the answer to the riddle of how to get rid of the necklace, Caetl mused.
The Wizard dropped the amplifier back onto his lap. When Caetl tapped him, he sensed the Wizard’s mental exhaustion. He wasn’t equipped to deal with mystic powers, especially not amplified ones.
“Ehhh… Listen, Gryid, we’re going to have to be partners here. I need to know whatever you know. If we join our technology together, our tribes will be stronger, better able to protect us from whoever is doing this. And if you can get Kaia on our side…”
Gryid sighed in resignation. “Don’t you remember anything about the Catastrophe? The Prophet said technology must be kept from the hands of those who would misuse it.” He motioned to the cell around him and lifted the artifact from his chest. “Surely you realize that’s what you’re doing, Liang.”
“If you don’t help me willingly—”
“I can’t help you. What you want, none of us have. The world is just as dangerous as it always has been. All the technology in the world will never change that.”
The amplifier was back in the Wizard’s hand, but he spoke aloud. “I won’t accept that answer.” The Wizard stabbed at his wristlet, and the exterior doorway’s force field flickered out.
“You’re the one…” Gryid moaned. “You’re going to kill me just like you killed Rollick and the others, aren’t you?”
Caetl dared not make a mental connection with the poor Changeling, not now, with Gryid’s mental resilience weakened by the Wizard’s abuse. So when the Wizard turned away, Caetl shook his head, trying to signal Gryid that the Wizard wasn’t the murderer. Despite his other offenses, the Wizard wasn’t guilty of that crime. Gryid gave no indication he understood Caetl’s gesture.
The Wizard’s face scrunched in concentration, and Caetl barely restrained himself from striking him to divert his attention, to stop him. Pressure built and built in Caetl’s head.
To distract himself from the pain, Caetl watched Gryid collapse to the floor, hands pulling at his red hair. The veins in Gryid’s temples stood out as he screamed. His ineffective attempts at aging to diffuse the pain made it clear that an Ageless could shake off physical pain more easily than mental agony.
The pressure in Caetl’s head abruptly ceased when the Wizard pocketed the amplifier. Caetl let himself recover a little before tapping the Wizard, whose thoughts centered on how he refused to kill any of his fellow Ageless unless he had to. He couldn’t rule Gryid out as Rollick’s murderer, so for now, the Wizard would keep him locked up.
“He didn’t kill your friend,” Caetl said.
The Wizard rubbed his brows, unconvinced. “Even if he didn’t, there are other matters Gryid can help me with.”
The Wizard aimed to learn where Kaia had holed up over the past few decades. He planned to send his collared pawns to retrieve and interrogate her, but Caetl doubted either Dalan or Nyr would be so easily manipulated into doing the Wizard’s bidding.
“Get out.” The Wizard sat down at one of the tables in his lab. “I have things to do.”
Caetl took one last look at Gryid. The red-haired man might be Caetl’s best shot at finding a way to destroy the artifacts the Wizard had turned into slave collars.
Assuming Gryid could withstand what the Wizard planned for him.
Chapter 5
Loaded down with meat and water, barefoot, and chained to Jorrim, Korreth’s footsteps grew steadily slower behind their new Changeling mistress. Though his spirits dipped, he focused on their path, which ran northeast of the borderlands where she’d first found them.
“We’re going to find a way,” Jorrim said, loud enough that Korreth knew Soledad could hear. He elbowed Jorrim, who said, “What? She knows we’re going to try again.”
Korreth nodded. “Otherwise, who will warn our tribes?”
Over the years, the commanders of the Badlands Army had forged their new recruits into hardened warriors capable of using their Changeling powers against bows, guns, and any other weapons a Purebreed might wield against them. They could march north anytime.
Korreth glanced over at Soledad. If they could escape dozens of Changeling masters, surely escaping this one wouldn’t prove so difficult.
He raised a hand, intending to silently question Jorrim’s foresight about Soledad, but as he wiped away the sweat on his forehead with his other hand, he noticed something ahead.
The outline of a small village broke the monotony of the horizon, where the borderlands gave way to taller vegetation. He twitched, jerking his chin toward the settlement. Jorrim nodded, his expression serious.
Their mistress stopped, letting them catch up to her. “We’ll get supplies from the village ahead. Clothing for you two. Shoes. Whatever else we need. Perhaps shelter for the night, if we’re lucky.”
“Oh? I suppose you’re hiding something worth trading under those furs, then?” Jorrim demanded.
“Perhaps the furs themselves,” she said. “Then, too, there’s the meat you so kindly harvested.”
One of the larger bladders held more meat than the three of them could possibly eat before it rotted. Harvesting the meat had been difficult with their chains getting in the way. Soledad had provided the knife, then confiscated it the moment they completed their task, returning the blade to the depths of her furs.
The corners of her eyes crinkled. “And if things get interesting… Well, I know you can fight.”
Jorrim glowered. “I wonder what happened to your last slaves…”
Soledad said nothing, but Korreth’s opinion aligned with Jorrim’s. Intruding on an unfamiliar village might get them killed, especially since they didn’t know whether the settlement belonged to a tribe of Changelings or something less threatening.
They followed their mistress, her confident stride leading them ever closer. Korreth spotted the sentries on the rooftops gesturing at each other.
Several two- and three-storied structures rose from the bleached grasses, and burned husks marked where others once stood. Korreth was surprised so many people could survive together without being nomadic. More vegetation advanced on the town from the far side; perhaps they farmed even in this inhospitable region.
“Be ready to follow my lead,” Soledad said as they reached the outskirts of the town.
The people coming toward them appeared to be humans. Their weapons told Korreth they weren’t Changelings: some sported knives and swords, but a few others held tools originally meant for torture, now used to warn off outsiders.
Soledad seemed to agree, whispering, “Spiritless, then.”
“We prefer to be called Purebreeds,” Jorrim said from between his teeth. Korreth tugged on the chains between them, reminding his friend not to provoke her.
Soledad gave no indication she’d heard his quibble. As soon as the villagers came within hearing distance, their mistress cried, “Merciful spirits! Please, good people, help us, we beg you.”
She stumbled and nearly fell to the dusty ground before recovering herself. “My companions and I were accosted by the most evil of Changelings in the drylands. They stole my friends’ clothes and all of our supplies… and did…” her voice caught, “awful things to us.”
Korreth and Jorrim shared a glance. The villagers shuffled their feet, mumbling amongst themselves.
Jorrim nudged Korreth and said under his breath, “I think I recognize this place.”
Korreth shook his head and murmured, “You sure? This place is devastated… like invaders came through here looking for plunder.”
“It couldn’t have been the Badlands Army,” Jorrim said, as though guessing Korreth’s thoughts. “They’re still years away from marching.”
“We can hope, but I thought they might march anytime.”
“Maybe.” Jorrim rubbed a hand up his arm. “But even if they marched the moment we left, they wouldn’t have made it here yet.”
“True.” As much as he hated Changelings, Korreth hoped the Badlands Army might encounter a Changeling tribe powerful enough to stop them before they reached his tribe, Zhouri. If they conquered that far north, they would soon reach Jorrim’s tribe, Rozle, as well.
After conversing with the others, a man with long, dark hair stepped forward, pointing his sword at the three of them. “If what she says is true, then why the chains, huh?”
“We only escaped with our lives. And that—” Soledad’s voice caught again, and her next words barely came out above a whisper, “That was because I offered myself to them… even the disfigured Brute. They chained my friends together and… they made them watch.”
“You mean for us to believe none of those Changelings took your water? Even Changelings need to drink.”
Soledad glanced back, revealing an age younger than the two of them, but old enough to be considered a woman. “They left us alive, but when they were done,” she let out a small sob, “they wandered off toward an oasis that way—”
She waved back in the direction they’d come. Her voice grew stronger. “My friends said they couldn’t leave them alive, not with what they’d done. So when night fell, we ambushed them. Took everything they had, even their lives.”
She raised her chin, her eyes scanning the villagers as if daring them to protest. “It was well within our right, considering.”
The long-haired man stepped closer, giving them a menacing stare. “Why your men near naked? If you killed them all, you could’ve taken some of their clothes, surely.” As he sized them up, Korreth noticed his eyes lingered on Jorrim.
The breeze tickled Korreth’s chest hair, reminding him to play along. Neither of them could guess the full extent of her powers. He twitched the chains to alert Jorrim, and then inserted himself between Soledad and the man.
“You stay away from her.” Korreth did his best to sound threatening to the man yet protective of his “friend.”
He tilted his head toward Jorrim and said, “They destroyed our clothes while they were… taking turns.” His stomach churned just imagining the made-up tale. “But we refuse to call the wrath of ghosts upon ourselves by wearing their clothes. We grabbed some leaves, took all their supplies, and left in case they had any other friends around.”
The story sounded flimsy to him, but another of the villagers stepped forward, putting his hand on the suspicious man’s elbow. “Come, Lor. Can’t you see the woman has had enough violence for one lifetime?” He squinted at Korreth. “You Purebred?”
Jorrim and Korreth both nodded. Jorrim pushed the sweaty blond hair off his forehead and spoke up. “We don’t mean your village harm. Trust me, nobody’s following us. Maybe did you a favor, ridding the area of some bandits. As you can see, we just need some supplies. We have extra meat to trade, at least.”
“Not no human meat?” one of the women asked.
“No, definitely not!” Soledad said in a horrified voice. Phantom fingers tickled their way down Korreth’s spine. They didn’t know Soledad’s plan, and she didn’t know these people might recognize Jorrim. Korreth bent his knees slightly, shifting his weight more toward the balls of his feet, ready for a fight.
One of the men swung a crossbow in his direction, his eyes squinted. Korreth heard a few mumbling about how they couldn’t be Changelings, or they surely could’ve broken free of their bonds. Not accurate, but if the villagers believed such a thing, all the better.
The crossbowman’s eyes flicked from Korreth to Jorrim twice before his gaze locked on Jorrim. “Ain’t I seen you before?”
Soledad turned, her expression unreadable.
“Uh,” Jorrim said. “I’m Jorrim, from Rozle. I came through here once. A friend of mine needed healed.”
“Rozle! That’s right. A Purebred tribe to the north, weren’t it?”
Soledad nodded. “Yes, that’s right.”
Jorrim’s face reddened in anger. Korreth took a deep breath and put a hand on his shoulder, reminding him not to do anything stupid. Soledad’s lies were too deep, and they’d all suffer the repercussions if the villagers suspected them now.
The villagers muttered amongst themselves before facing the newcomers.
“You’re just in time for dinner. My name’s Olix, and this here’s Farlen.” Olix motioned to the man with the crossbow.
Despite their suspicion, Purebred people tended to help each other. They understood that Purebreed survival in a world of Changelings and Joeys required cooperation. Korreth wondered how many times they’d mistakenly sheltered Changelings who could pass for Purebreeds, as Soledad did.
A pale-skinned woman stepped forward, her wispy hair swaying in the barest breeze. “I’m Verra. Come with us. We’re willing to trade.”
In the twilight, she led them past the taller perimeter buildings. An iron globe dominated the center of the village, towering over the soot of nearby buildings. Supported by a ring around its equator, which attached to four charred pillars, the lifeless bronzed relic reminded Korreth of a bygone era.
Jorrim whispered, “This is Mapleton… or what’s left of it.” His eyes wandered up the gigantic iron sphere.
“You think the Ancients built that?” Korreth muttered to Jorrim.
Jorrim nodded, keeping silent. They’d developed the shorthand code using their chains, but now Jorrim tapped on Korreth’s forearm instead of the chains. They sacrifice animals to it.
“So that’s why the worst fire damage is near it,” Korreth whispered, scuffing his foot through the charred remains.
Before Jorrim could answer, a man in an apron said, “Boy, I can’t imagine how you two musta got yourselves in such a bind.”
Verra introduced them to the blacksmith. “You can follow me,” she said to Soledad, and headed back toward the taller buildings. By the light from his coals, the blacksmith scrutinized their green loincloths, but wasted no time getting to work. Instead of breaking the chains between their wrists, he took the time to break open the manacles. When he finished, night had fallen.
“Thank you, sir,” Jorrim said as the chains fell at their feet.
Korreth sighed in pleasure. With their wrists and ankles lightened, they both stretched. Korreth glanced at Jorrim’s guarded expression as the blacksmith returned to attending his coals. According to their story, they’d only been chained up for a few hours, so they couldn’t afford to appear overly pleased.
“Our…” Korreth’s tongue stumbled when he tried to say “friend,” so he rephrased in a hurry. “We negotiated a trade for meat. I hope the others make sure you get your share.”
“Of course,” the blacksmith said gruffly. He waved some young men over.
The teenagers escorted Korreth and Jorrim past a few window-less, two-story wooden buildings. Torches blazed the way, perched on metal holders within easy reach. Perhaps the fire had been an accident. Korreth wondered if the kept the torches to scare off animals, or something more dangerous.
“Now we just need to figure out how to get outta here,” Jorrim said under his breath.
Korreth’s stomach twinged. “Not this time. I at least want some clothes and food first.” They hadn’t eaten since long before they’d escaped their last masters.
The teenagers kept looking over their shoulders, but said nothing. Korreth glanced around, checking to see if anyone was in earshot before whispering, “We need to talk. How did they recognize you?”
Jorrim tipped his head, but before he could reply, their escorts stopped in front of one of the larger buildings near the perimeter of the village. The young men entered and gestured them in. Korreth would’ve liked to stay
outside, far from prying ears, but the ever-suspicious Lor came up behind them.
Jorrim frowned and said, “Soon,” before entering.
Their mistress occupied a chair in the corner, her feet folded up under her, lost under her furs. “Thank you for helping my friends get free of those abominable chains,” she said to the teenagers. She went on about it for a moment, but the young men kept quiet.
After a few awkward minutes, some of the adults came inside. The rest of the evening blurred by as their mistress negotiated clothing, shoes, and some other foods, trading the lion’s share of the meat. Lor inspected everything on both sides of the trade.
Finally, the villagers handed over two bags for each of their guests. Then they ushered Korreth and Jorrim into a first-floor room with two cots, and escorted Soledad farther down the hall.
Inside his bag, Korreth discovered undergarments, pants, a shirt, and a brimmed hat, which he set atop the other bag of clothing on one of the cots. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jorrim do the same.
Korreth untied the loincloth from his hips, suddenly noticing the cold of the night. He pulled on the undergarments and the nearly skintight pants. Perfect for drylands travel, the long-sleeved shirt came down past his waist, so he buckled a belt over it. It would come in handy, since they carried most of the canteens and bags. He pulled on the desert shoes and found them close enough to his size, though he might wrap his feet later.
Korreth whispered to Jorrim, “And you still haven’t told me how you knew she was Ageless.”
A knock intervened before Jorrim could respond. He approached the door and signaled Korreth, who bent his knees and shifted to the balls of his feet in preparation. Jorrim fiddled with the door knob until he figured out the latch.
In the hall stood Soledad, still the same young woman as before.
Her gray-green outfit, made of a different material than their own, covered everything up to her chin. Except for giving a greater indication of her curves, her new clothes revealed no more than her furs. A heavy tan shawl draped from her shoulders down to her waist.
