Emily's Saga

by Travis Bughi

  Proctus whimpered and nodded. Jabbar shook his head in disgust.

  “If you’re right, Takeo, this won’t take long,” the rakshasa muttered.

  The slavers reached down and unshackled Emily and Proctus. Koll lifted his arms to be unshackled next, but he was ignored. As Emily and Proctus were dragged away, Koll looked offended that he’d been left out. They threw Emily and Proctus next to each other on a flat patch of sand and then formed a wide circle around the pair.

  “Listen,” Jabbar said, his voice sounding like it rose from a dark abyss. “I only need one of you two, preferably the strongest. People are only worth the time it takes to kill them, so let us see which of you is worth the most.”

  Jabbar then nodded to Ossim, and the older man pulled out two pesh-kabz and tossed them to the ground before Emily and Proctus.

  “Make it quick,” Jabbar muttered, “but also entertaining.”

  The other slavers chuckled, except Ossim who scowled and Takeo who said nothing. Emily looked to Proctus and saw in his eyes the hesitation she felt. She didn’t reach for the dagger, and neither did he.

  “Hey,” Lufti yelled, “you got sand in your ears? Fight to the death!”

  The slavers chuckled again, but Emily still didn’t reach for the dagger. Proctus watched her with careful eyes and did the same.

  “Why?” Emily demanded.

  “You insolent little slave! You dare question us?” Lufti snarled and took a step forward.

  Takeo reached out a hand and placed it on Lufti’s shoulder. Lufti stopped, the look of murder replaced by one of surprise. He turned his head, saw the hand, and knocked it off. He stopped advancing, though, and Takeo didn’t appear offended.

  “Jabbar only purchased all three of you so he could talk the seller down in price,” Takeo explained calmly. “We don’t have the water or food to continue supporting more than two before we reach the next town. The desert is a harsh place, so one of you has to go. This is the way of it.”

  Proctus whimpered again, and Emily felt her throat clench. She felt sick, her stomach wrenched into knots, and her anger flared.

  “And what if we refuse?” she asked.

  “Then I will consume you both,” Jabbar answered, smiling, “starting with the satyr.”

  Proctus whimpered once more, and his eyes dripped tiny tears down his cheek. They dropped off his hairy, short beard and were swallowed by the waiting sand. Emily felt his pain, but she didn’t know what to do. She desperately tried to think of a way out, something she could say or do, but nothing came to her before she saw Proctus slowly reaching his hand toward the dagger.

  “Proctus,” Emily begged. “Don’t do it.”

  Proctus’ hands wrapped around the dagger’s handle. As his finger felt the sun-warmed metal, the tears stopped dropping from his eyes. His breathing deepened, and he stopped shaking.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  “Proctus—” Emily started again.

  The satyr leapt from the ground to slash at her with his pesh-kabz. Emily grabbed her own knife and jumped back, avoiding the strike with ease. The slavers cheered as the fighting started and hurled insults and jokes freely.

  “About time,” Lufti cackled.

  “Good try, satyr. Go on, get her!” Bari encouraged.

  “Not a chance, Bari,” Eisa laughed. “Your coin is as good as mine! ‘Atta girl! Stick that man-beast good!”

  Proctus yelled out as he charged Emily, flailing his dagger wildly. Emily deflected the blow, grabbed Proctus by the wrist, and then kicked him in the shin, sending him crashing to the ground. She backed up toward the edge of the circle, noting how the sand impeded her movements as she did so. This ground was so unfamiliar to her, and she made a mental note not to try and roll on it. Her feet told her that such an endeavor would not pan out well.

  Proctus recovered from his fall, but his tears had returned. He stared at Emily with sadness as well as fury, and she could see him trying to make her into an enemy.

  “Proctus, stop!” she begged.

  “Get in there, damn it!” Bari screamed from behind the satyr. “Don’t make me lose this bet!”

  The slaver lifted up a foot and kicked Proctus in the back. Emily felt a similar thrust from a hand behind her, and the two were flung toward each other. Proctus flailed his knife at her again, lashing out in wide arcs from side to side. He wept tears as he did so, baring signs of unimaginable guilt at the gruesome task he was bent on completing. Emily deflected and dodged, keeping calm the way she’d learned to do and waiting for an opening to present itself.

  And it did. As Proctus took another swing, he overstepped and nearly tripped. Emily grappled the satyr, whirled him around on his still shifting weight, and kicked him behind the knee. The satyr fell to the ground again, this time with his dagger beneath him, and Emily placed her foot on his back. She leaned forward, pinning him into the sand and holding her pesh-kabz over him.

  “Stop!” she commanded.

  Lufti and Eisa cheered, Jabbar smiled, Bari sighed, Ossim scowled, and Takeo remained placid with his arms crossed. They all waited patiently, expecting Emily to strike any moment, but she held steady, glaring at them each in turn.

  “What are you waiting for?” Takeo asked. “Finish him.”

  Emily looked at Takeo, then back at Proctus. He had stopped crying when she’d pinned him; the shock of losing so thoroughly was settling in slowly. After Takeo spoke, though, Emily could see fresh water forming in the satyr’s eyes.

  “No,” Emily replied. “I won’t.”

  Takeo’s arms fell to his sides. For once, his face began to change. Small signs of agitation formed around his eyes as they narrowed.

  “Kill him, Emily,” he commanded.

  “No,” she replied, more defiantly. “I won’t.”

  “Do it!” Takeo yelled.

  Emily’s heart leapt to her throat. She’d never heard Takeo yell before, and apparently neither had the slavers. They stared at Takeo with a mixture of shock and interest. A silence fell over the group that was only interrupted by the subtle sound of the breeze sweeping over them in the fading light.

  “If you don’t end him, I will,” Takeo warned.

  Emily didn’t move. She kept her foot on Proctus’ back to stop him from attempting anything foolish, despite the soft cries that told her he had no fight left in him. She held Takeo’s gaze, letting defiance stain her face. Takeo stared back, his body thinly restrained. His lips were parted, just barely, but Emily could see his teeth clenching.

  Wait, she thought. Is that fear?

  The thought confused her, and she felt some of her defiance slip away to apprehension. Then Takeo stepped forward and drew his sword, and Emily barely resisted the urge to step back. Her stance over Proctus changed from dominating to protecting, and she brought up her knife. It was more a gut reaction than anything else. She knew she stood no chance against the samurai.

  “Stop,” Jabbar spoke up.

  Takeo stopped.

  “It’s fine. She doesn’t have to kill him,” the rakshasa explained. “It is enough that she won.”

  “The satyr lost,” Takeo pressed. “He should die for that. It will be quick. I promise.”

  Takeo stepped forward again. Jabbar’s light mood changed suddenly, and he let out a deep growl. Takeo froze.

  “I said to leave him.”

  Takeo was still looking at Emily. He was giving her a meaningful stare, but she couldn’t seem to pick up on it. Then the moment passed, and Takeo sheathed his scimitar. The other slavers broke the circle and moved in. They took the daggers back, restrained Emily again, and dragged her back to sit next to Koll. As for Proctus, they gathered around him with wicked grins on their faces. Jabbar was smiling, too, drooling even.

  “Watch the slaves, Takeo,” he said. “I’m going to eat satyr tonight.”

  He licked his lips with a long, wide tongue, and Proctus began to weep and cry out.

  “No, please!” he begged. “I won’t e
at or drink anything, I swear! You can sell me at the next town! Please! I won’t be any trouble. How about another fight? You’d love another fight wouldn’t you? I’ll do anything! Please, please, DON’T EAT ME!”

  Emily watched the slavers gather around Proctus and pull out their pesh-kabz. They laughed at the satyr’s cries, and Emily watched with her mouth open in horror.

  Then Takeo walked in front of her, blocking her view. She looked up at him, and he looked back. He was angry, his eyes alight with fury. Emily felt a sharp pain stab her heart.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t know. I’m—”

  “Just close your eyes and look away,” he commanded.

  She did so, and as Proctus began to scream, she felt warm tears drip down her cheeks only to be swallowed by the hungry sand.

  Chapter 18

  Emily didn’t think she’d be able to sleep that night. Her body said otherwise.

  Sometime after Proctus went silent, she drifted into unconsciousness. She had expected nightmares would plague and torture her in her sleep, but that wasn’t what happened that first night. Her mind sought sanctuary from the guilt that assailed her soul. Out of all places, it seemed to find this sanctuary on the Great Plains, for just like when she had almost drowned, she dreamed of flowing grass. In her dream, the sun beat down on her back, now mercifully faint in comparison to the monstrosity that it was in Savara, and she watched the dancing grass from high above, waving in the wind. She wondered what it meant, to dream of the place she’d been so eager to leave. Even in her dream she contemplated it, because for some reason, she was able to think clearly. Nothing came to her though, except idle thoughts of a time when her mistakes didn’t mean death for others.

  And then morning came, and the nightmare returned.

  Emily tried desperately not to look at Proctus’ remains. Jabbar and his slavers had not been kind or considerate. They’d left his carcass on the sands, open to whatever fate may come. The nearly insatiable soil had finally quenched its thirst on satyr blood, and the tiniest of pools had formed, only to evaporate as the first rays of light and heat fell over them. Even Koll could hardly bear to look, though he seemed to be having an easier time stomaching the reality of what had happened than Emily.

  Takeo still wouldn’t look at Emily. As he packed, he did so with even more discipline and rigidity than normal. She tried to catch his eye to show him with a meaningful stare that she was sorry, but he never gave her the chance.

  They pushed on. Another day passed, then another—always due east, from dusk to dawn. The scenery changed, but only a few times. They passed a mountain range that seemed to jut out of the landscape for no reason. Emily was relieved to see it was blessedly devoid of any rocs. Also, to Emily’s complete and utter shock, they passed water.

  Towards the end of the second day after Proctus’ end, they came across a large pond surrounded by the same strange trees with which the roc had made its nest. She thought she was dreaming at first when she saw the first shimmer of green leaves in the distance. The heat was so intense that it warped the very sight of things, and so she didn’t believe it until they got closer and the slavers commented on it.

  “Oasis up ahead,” Eisa smiled. “We’re on track.”

  “Yes, I can see that,” Jabbar said.

  As they got closer, Emily saw that the trees were growing quite thickly together. She could barely see the other side. Also, there was grass—bright, green grass and weeds that grew everywhere. She was so stunned that she stared at it with her mouth open, which she regretted with the next gust of sand-filled wind.

  “We’re upwind,” Jabbar said. “I can’t smell anything. Draw your swords.”

  The slavers did as instructed. They drew up tighter together with their bodies aimed slightly outwards and went silent, even Eisa, as Jabbar led the way into the underbrush.

  The reeds and grass crunched and swayed as they were forcibly parted by the intruders. Under her feet, Emily felt the long-lost sensation of moisture seeping into her sandals. She nearly swooned at the touch of water to her dried and cracked feet, and after so long suffering under the desert sun, the liquid’s lukewarm temperature sent an icy chill shuddering up her spine.

  Through the brush, Emily saw horrendous holes in the ground. The dirt was wrenched apart, like one of the trees had been yanked out of the ground. An instant later, Emily realized that this was exactly what had happened. This was one of the places rocs came to get the material for their nests. The thought made her wary, and her ears perked up, listening intently for any whooshing that might signal her day was about to get worse.

  When they finally passed through the trees, the group reached a shallow but wide circle of water. It was clear and calm, like glass in its serenity. The slavers scanned the area thoroughly but detected nothing and so sheathed their weapons.

  “Drink,” Eisa commanded Emily and Koll.

  Emily leaned forward hurriedly but stopped when Koll spoke up.

  “You think I’m stupid?” the viking scoffed. “You test if it’s poisoned.”

  Eisa drew his scimitar and placed it on the back of Koll’s neck.

  “Drink it,” he demanded through clenched teeth, and then looked at Emily. “One of you, now.”

  Emily paused, not sure what to do next. Koll looked at her and then shook his head.

  “I’ll do it, lass,” he sighed. “No need for the young to die while the old still live.”

  Koll got down on his knees, letting them dig into the mud. He cupped his hands and brought the liquid to his lips, slurping it down while the excess dripped into his beard and down his ragged clothes.

  He sighed. He sat. He waited.

  “Yep, it’s poisonous,” he nodded. “You boys should probably run.”

  Lufti laughed, but Eisa bashed Koll over the head with his sword’s pommel. Koll hardly seemed to register the strike.

  “And you still hit like a wee girl,” the viking smiled.

  “Shut it!” Eisa yelled.

  He yanked back his arm to strike Koll again but stopped when Jabbar gave a shallow growl. Eisa froze in place like the scared wee girl Koll had called him.

  “Let it go,” Jabbar commanded. “We still need him to walk.”

  Eisa took a few short breaths but then calmly lowered his arm, sheathed his sword, and stared at Koll, looking like he was about to burst.

  Koll just leaned down and took another drink of water.

  Eisa clenched his teeth and forcibly walked away, finding his own access to the water a clear distance between himself and the viking. He leaned down, drank, and then opened up his water skins to fill them.

  The other slavers came to the water, too, drinking and filling up their containers. One always waited over Emily and Koll, though, ready to strike them down if they tried anything while the others were distracted. Not that Emily could have tried anything in her current state anyway, not against five armed men and one beast. She fell to the ground and buried her face into the pool of water, slurping down vast quantities of something she’d always taken for granted. She splashed the water on her face, dumped her hair in it, and tossed handfuls of it onto her reddened skin and bloodied ankles.

  She also, carefully, reached her hands into her hair, and slipped out her lockpicking pins. They’d still been twirled up in her hair, buried and tangled too deep to be seen unless one was looking for them, but the water helped to lubricate and free them. As gracefully as she could, she slipped them into the upper part of her vest—a place she’d be able to reach much quicker when the opportunity to use them arose.

  In the meantime, though, Emily sighed in the relief the water gave her. She could scarcely remember being so overwhelmed by such a small comfort, not even on the Great Plains when the food stores had run low. Back then, she and Nicholas had thought they might starve to death, but now Emily realized how naïve she’d been. That wasn’t hungry, having to ration food while a storehouse still waited comfortably and reliably. This was much w
orse.

  “Jabbar,” Ossim spoke up.

  Every head snapped to attention. Her heart beat double at thought that her sleight of hand had been seen. Ossim rarely spoke, and there was a tone of urgency in the man’s voice. His eyes were on Jabbar, and once Jabbar looked back, the old man looked across the pond and raised his chin.

  Emily sighed thankfully and looked across the pond along with everyone else. They all saw through the underbrush a few of those black, scaly, four-legged animals waiting on the other side of the trees. They were the same creatures that she’d seen others use as both livestock and beasts of burden.

  “Karkadann,” Bari smiled.

  “What do you say, Jabbar?” Lufti asked. “Feeling hungry?”

  “No,” the rakshasa replied flatly. “I still have satyr meat left.”

  Bari, Lufti, and Eisa laughed. Jabbar smirked.

  “Besides,” he went on, “we’ll pass a town soon. I’m tired of skirting these pathetic villages. We’ll pick up supplies then. Phoenix Temple won’t be long after that.”

  “I hope not,” Eisa scoffed. “I’m getting sick and tired of hauling these two around. I say we send in the viking first. Actually, why don’t we catch one or two of those Karkadann? We could ride them, give our legs a break. I know you prefer to walk, Jabbar, but—”

  “Shut it, Eisa,” Jabbar growled.

  Eisa’s jaw snapped shut.

  * * *

  They reached the town Jabbar spoke of on the next day, just after midday. They stopped just a short distance out from the place, when it was nothing more than a dark spec of short blocks on the horizon. Jabbar squinted and then, shockingly, asked Eisa a question.

  “Eisa, at the slave market, what did you find out about this place since the last time we were here?”

  The rakshasa folded his arms across his broad chest. Eisa was almost giddy when Jabbar asked him for information.

  “Well,” Eisa cleared his throat, “not as much as I’d have liked, but enough not to worry. I did as well as I could, of course, you know that, it’s just that those villagers and traders back there weren’t much help. Luckily, a few of them had come this way recently, and I was able to gather some information from one of the slaves. Her owner tried to charge me for it, but a quick flash of my scimitar and the man forgot all about it. I have to say, Jabbar, I’m getting better at this but—”