by Anna Logan
How comforting. He wasn’t much taller than her, but probably a hundred pounds heavier, most of it muscle. Those dark eyes peered at her from beneath thick black brows that contrasted his white skin, as if he were assessing every detail about her and making a long list of faults. Should she say something? What would she say?
Captain Lerrip saved her the trouble of deciding. “Farve, here,” he gestured to one of the other men in the room, speaking with the same accent she’d noticed during her last encounter with his race, “was among those who met your group a few days ago. He claims to have witnessed you perform witchcraft.”
“Witchcraft?” her brow wrinkled. They thought she was a witch? That couldn’t be good. The Canadise people made a point of drowning suspected witches. What did the Asyjgon do with them?
“Yes.” He brushed off one of his sleeves, though as far as she could tell there was nothing to brush off. “Do you have a different name for it?”
She opened her mouth, paused, closed it. Should she deny the whole thing altogether? Maybe she could convince them that Farve was mistaken.
No. Most likely, she couldn’t. If they had gone to the trouble of kidnapping her and bringing her here, they obviously believed him. Besides, if what they wanted her for was the lightning, wouldn’t they just kill her if they thought she didn’t have it? “Well it’s not witchcraft. It’s just a...it’s an ability I have.”
His expression suggested that her list of faults was growing longer. “An ability. That you just have.” He tilted his head slightly in a slow, drawn-out nod. “Interesting.” There was a fleeting moment for the shiver to run down her spine. For fear to take hold. For her to realize what was about to happen before it did.
Lerrip’s hand snaked out to encircle her neck as his massive form lunged forward. The pressure of his grip brought a dull, constricted ache to her throat. She jerked away, but he only squeezed harder. Panic flared in her chest, bringing a mad urge to escape. Writhing, struggling, none of it helped. No scream would come. Her vision was fading, her thoughts filling with fog. The pain became sharp and throbbing, incessantly demanding release. The more she gasped for the breath, the more her lungs burned. Air. She needed air! Everything around her throbbed in tempo with her heart, pulsing in and out of clarity. Vaguely she heard him shout something at her. Vaguely felt her knees buckle.
Lerrip threw her aside. Her back hit the stone wall with a thud and a crack. Fiery pain erupted in her ribcage. She crumpled to the ground, chest heaving. Air hit her lungs again and again, increasing the torment, but she couldn’t stop it. Instead of the cry that wanted to escape her lips, a wheezing groan.
“You think I believe you just have such an ability, girl?!” Lerrip stood over her, like a bear about to slaughter its prey. His voice made her recoil, gasping and clutching her aching side. “Look at me!”
Talea did.
“Tell me how you can create the lightning.”
She tried to answer. She tried to speak. All that came out was a hoarse, squeaky croak.
Another man, observing, rolled his eyes. “You fool, Lerrip. Now she’s mute.”
Captain Lerrip’s glower became a scowl as he paced away from her. “She could talk perfectly well a minute ago. She’s only—”
“Before you strangled her, imbecile! You know perfectly well that can cause someone to lose their voice.”
“Temporarily,” he muttered. The other men just glared at him. He relented with a frustrated snarl. “So she can’t talk for a few days, so what?” He turned back toward her, making her curl into a tighter ball. “She can be useful in other ways.” His heavy footsteps came toward her. Those massive hands reaching, the terrifying glint in his eyes.
She only managed to scramble a couple feet away before he grabbed her shoulders. Pulling her upright, he stepped down on her ankles, pinning them to the floor. Bone and rock were compressed painfully, neither able to give. “Show us this ability of yours. Demonstrate. Though if you try anything…” his other hand grabbed her hair and pulled, jerking her head down. The flash of pain it brought to her neck made her catch her breath. “I will kill you in the most unpleasant way I can conjure up.”
His tone made it impossible not to believe him. If all he wanted was to see the lightning…Her hands were shaking uncontrollably, and she had to concentrate to find the energy within and bring it out in a sphere for the Asyjgon to see.
Lerrip nodded with satisfaction. Only for a moment, before he spoke again. “Good. You defended yourself with it against my men. Let’s see that. Show us how you could fight with it.”
Fight? Did they want her as an advantage in a battle? She could never do that. She remembered perfectly the sickening weight in the pit of her stomach after she’d used her lightning on those Asyjgon bandits who attacked the group earlier...That had been self-defense, and she still couldn’t bear the thought of doing it again. Even if she was willing to go along with their demands to buy herself enough time, she didn’t think she had it in her to fight—to kill—anyone. How long could she pretend to play along before they expected her to actually do it? What if...what if they wanted her to help them fight her own friends and family? Even if it wasn’t them...it didn’t matter...it couldn’t. She couldn’t do it, no matter who was the target.
Fear had seized her body, her muscles twitching with tension, hands quivering. She could never fight for them…but she could pretend she would, to buy time for an escape or rescue. They watched eagerly as she demonstrated a few forms the electricity could take. She tried to appear increasingly tired with each display. If they thought using it wore her out quickly, it might make her appear less useful.
Lerrip didn’t notice or didn’t care. “Excellent. Now what does it…do to a person? Obviously it can be lethal, since you killed two of our men. But only in certain forms? How much of it does it take?”
She touched her throat, trying to remind him she couldn’t speak. If only she could—she would tell him that yes, only certain forms, and only a great deal of it, which exhausted her, and she could only manage it in desperation. Anything to lessen the idea that she would be an asset to them. As it was, she couldn’t squeeze anything past her aching, swollen throat.
But then…if they didn’t think her useful…would they just kill her?
With an impatient curse, Lerrip stepped away and conferred quietly with one of the other men. Then a guard, finishing with what appeared to be a dismissive wave of his hand. The guard left, and she looked again to Lerrip for further demands, but he seemed to be waiting. She put her head down and waited too, discreetly eyeing the room. Could she make an escape? It wasn’t a large room, leaving little space to maneuver—it would be easy for them to block the exit and corner her if she made a move. The only chance would be if she used the lightning. The sick feeling came back at the thought. Could she do it without killing them? Could she live with herself if she did kill them? This time, it wouldn’t be an accident. She would have to choose to do it.
The guard returned, towing what appeared to be a slave with him. An old, thin man with sunken eyes. He didn’t even glance up as he was brought in, he simply stumbled along with his head down and shoulders stooped. She felt a twinge of pain in her chest at the sight of him.
She hadn’t noticed Lerrip approaching, and jumped when he grabbed her arm, pulling her closer to the old man. “Here, now you can demonstrate.”
Talea recoiled from him in horror. She’d thought she’d have more time, before a real example of her ability was required…it was too soon! What now? She couldn’t do it…of course she couldn’t do it…what if she refused? Her heart was beating wildly, as she imagined what consequences there might be.
Lerrip’s fingers tightened around her arm. “He doesn’t have much life ahead of him anyway. Kill him quickly, if you prefer.” His tone held a threat. There would indeed be consequences if she didn’t obey.
Finally, the old man raised his gaze and met hers. He didn’t seem to care. If anything, he looked exhausted
, and ready for an end.
Tears were rising in her throat, making it hard to breathe. It wasn’t a choice…there was only one option…She turned to Lerrip and shook her head.
With an inarticulate growl, he grasped both shoulders and hauled her to her feet, then off her feet, and shook her. A stabbing pain in her skull increased with each jolt. He put her back on her feet, reeling back his arm. The flash of understanding that told her to duck wasn’t quick enough to save her from his fist slamming against her cheek. White flashed in her vision as she staggered backward, pain spreading through her jaw, gripping muscle and bone like talons.
When her senses returned, she was crumpled on the cold floor. Eyes squeezed shut, tears damp on her swollen cheek, body trembling.
“That’s enough, Lerrip!” one of the Asyjgon snapped. “Take her back to her cell.”
The man that had brought her in picked her up under one arm and carried her from the room, back into the dark hall. She didn’t care. In fact, she relished the empty corridors, the empty cell she was returned to. Away from Lerrip. Here, for now, she was safe. Safe, in pain, alone. So alone.
~♦~
“You fool.” Commander Uvlaer glared at him.
Lerrip’s lip curled in distaste. “Did you want to win her over by hospitality? Benevolence? We need her to obey us, and therefore to fear us. Now, she fears us.”
“But did it work?” Uvlaer crossed his arms. “All we have now is a mute, injured wench. I thought you were smarter than that.” He muttered something inaudible under his breath, no doubt some form of swearing directed at Lerrip.
His cheeks flushed with heat. It would have satisfied him to no end to slug the man then and there. That, however, would be nigh on suicidal. “My apologies, Commander. What would you like me to do?” The words tasted bitter on his tongue. Someday, our roles will be reversed, and you will regret your insolence.
“Well, the intelligent thing would have been to bring one of her companions too. If we can’t torture her into submission, we could have tortured them until she gives in.”
Made sense. The girl was probably one of those disgusting noble types. Utterly repulsive, yet easy to manipulate, if one just knew how. “Then we threaten her with them. Tell her we’ll go back and kill them if she won’t listen.”
Uvlaer frowned. “Needs to be better than that. She could call our bluff, since there’s no way I’m actually spending enough men to follow through with it. You said the ten you attacked the man on watch with weren’t able to kill him. I don’t think she’d believe it.”
“Then…” Lerrip took a couple steps in a random direction, thinking. “Then one of the slave children. She’d be the type to want to protect an ‘innocent child’. We use one of them.”
Now the commander smiled. “Now you’re showing some brains, Captain. Excellent. Let the girl recover a day or two, until she can hopefully speak. Minimal rations. Pick one of the slaves, a young, pathetic sort. And next time, bring them both. Understood?”
He dipped his head. “Yes, sir.”
~♦~
Yhkon took slow, ambling steps toward the tree. There, he rotated, and took slow, ambling steps away from it. Back. Again. Pacing. Always pacing. Never able to really do something.
He glanced to his right. A way off, Naylen was also pacing. Seles was sitting on a rock staring at the ground, not moving. Brenly sat beside her.
To his left, the twins were gathering firewood. They didn’t wear their usual grins, crack their usual jokes, or laugh.
And then there was Wylan. He’d been off hunting, or something, but now he was a stone’s throw away, just looking at Yhkon.
Yhkon spun back around and continued his pacing, ignoring his observer. Footsteps approached—a quiet tread—someone good at keeping a low profile from years of practice. The only person around, other than himself, who fit that description was Wylan. “What is it.”
Based off the sound, Wylan had stopped a few yards away and didn’t say a word.
He turned to face him. “What?”
“I’m sorry,” the teenager said, looking him in the eye.
“You already said that,” he returned to pacing.
“It’s still true.”
Yhkon stopped, crossed his arms, and faced him again. “And it’s still true that I don’t hold it against you.”
Wylan didn’t respond to the statement, instead moving on. “Any idea when they’ll be back?”
He relaxed his posture, slightly. If they were going to have a rational, useful conversation, maybe that would be preferable to pacing. “Any time. It shouldn’t take much longer to pick the trail back up.” Shouldn’t. That was the key. They’d been following the trail since yesterday afternoon, but it had randomly dropped off. Another of the many unlikeable things about Asyjgon—they were good at covering up their tracks. Staying with the wards and Anduls while his fellow Wardens sought it out hadn’t been doing his restlessness any favors.
“How far away do you suppose they might have taken her?”
“Probably not more than two- or three-day’s journey. But with how well they cover their tracks, it could take us twice as long to cover the same distance.”
Wylan nodded. “And…you think they took her to try and convince her to fight for them, with the lightning.”
Or maybe it would have to be pacing and a rational conversation. Yhkon went back to the ten-foot section of grass he’d already flattened and kept going. “Yes. They serve their supposed warrior god, Vyngem, so that’s why they’re an aggressive race that’s always looking for a fight. The way they probably see it, Talea’s ability is a gift from Vyngem to make them more powerful. Or they just think it’s witchcraft, but still useful for the same reason.”
“So you don’t think they’ll kill her.”
“No.” He took a couple more strides and stopped. “Not yet, anyway.”
Hoofbeats drew their attention west. The three Wardens rode into view at a trot, Grrake at the lead. Yhkon and Wylan waited for them wordlessly, the twins and the Anduls and Brenly gathering as they approached and dismounted. “Find it?”
Grrake nodded. “Not far from here. Ready to keep going?”
In minutes everything was gathered up and they were on their way. Yhkon let Grrake take the lead until they arrived at where the trail picked up, then he took the front with Grrake at his side. And so it continued. Following tracks. Wondering how long before they found her. If they would be able to free her when they did. What they might be doing to her. Hating himself for letting it happen.
Grrake gave his arm a friendly nudge. “Try not to worry so much. We’ll get her back. I promise.”
“You promise?” he flashed a glare at him. “Because you’re in a position to be making that sort of promise? You know no better than me if and when we’ll get her.”
The older man gave him a meaningful look, which he did his best to ignore. “Yes, I do. Because I—”
“Don’t pull the faith card on me, Grrake. Just don’t.” His gait became heavier, muscles on edge with anger. “Narone this, Narone that, I don’t care. You know that. So would you stop suffocating me with it?”
Grrake’s step faltered, putting him a little bit behind Yhkon instead of beside him. He didn’t say anything.
Good. Better to just drop it. Grrake was his friend—his only friend, sometimes—and he didn’t want to argue with him. If the man would just leave him alone, there would be nothing to argue about.
They traveled all through the day, not stopping until it was too dark to see the trail. Camp was set, a meal was eaten, Yhkon assigned watches, they went to sleep. Or in his case, they went to their tents. Sleep had never been one of his talents. He was better at lying there on his back, staring up at the tarp that served as a ceiling, and thinking. Talea’s abduction by the Asyjgon just added to the problem, it didn’t start it. How many years had it been since he’d had three nights of good, uninterrupted sleep in a row? Perhaps a better question was, would he ever again?
So, that’s what he did. Lay there and ruminate. Roll his eyes when Tarol got up hours later to take his shift and accidentally stepped on his leg in the process. Doze off into a fitful sleep, wake up, stay that way.
Morning came slowly, as it always did. He could never decide if he hated mornings or was grateful for them. On the one hand, they were an end to the nights that seemed unending. On the other hand, they were the beginning of another day. The beginning of the repetition of the monotony, of the slow procession of his existence. Another day and whatever miseries it held.
Towards the afternoon of their continued search, after two instances of losing the trail and having to find it again, a San Quawr scout met them.
“Eun was captured?!” he looked at Yhkon with horror.
As if she were something special to you. What did he have to be horrified about? He hadn’t let his ward be taken hostage by Asyjgon. He hadn’t lost the girl he’d spent the last seven years of his life training to protect. He hadn’t failed. “Yes. Which is why we need help. Why haven’t there been Elikwai about? We haven’t seen any, and we need some.”
“Oh,” the scout blinked, as if adjusting himself to a business-focused exchange. “I’m sorry sir, I don’t know. I’ve been deployed for some time now, so I don’t know of any new developments from home.”
Great, as useless as the last one. “Fine, then I need you to find some and send them to us.”
“Of course.” He spun away to return to his celith, only to spin back, simultaneously pulling an envelope from his pocket. “Oh, I almost forgot. I met another scout who had this message, to be delivered to you.”
Yhkon did his best not to display too much irritation with the man, who he assumed was new to being a scout, as he took the envelope and began opening it. “Well why didn’t you ask him why there aren’t any Elikwai?”
“I’m sorry, I would have, but he was quite a rush and we really didn’t talk long. Truly, a few moments.”
Frowning, Yhkon turned his attention to the note. His frown gradually deepened. “Seles.”
