Taken

by Quinn Blackbird

  “I’ll find us a few pots,” Nicole says. “You get the water.”

  “Fine.”

  I drop the basket to the dirt before I hike up the sloped glade to the cart, left abandoned. No one guards it.

  I throw a wary glance around at the glade. Most of the fae—those who aren’t guarding the clearing—are parked around growing fires, cleaning their blades and stripping down to the nude. They run damp cloths over their bodies to clean themselves, others read leather-bound books in the light of the fires. A few watch us humans go about our chores.

  Up ahead at the post, Caspan’s tent is fully pitched, and I watch as three human-captives carry in pieces of furniture from one of the carts; a sturdy leather armchair, a small table and chairs, a pile of felted plastic that I think is an air-mattress, and a copper-looking tub that I suspect is meant for bathing in. The things I would do for a bath...

  The General stands at a table perched near the post where the runner is still tied up with his dad’s corpse. Caspan and a blond-haired fae (the one who dragged me to the captive humans back in the village. I call him Cheekbones.) stand with a few others I don't recognise, and pore over a parchment map that’s spread out over the table. Probably figuring out which town to destroy next, and where the other fae armies might be.

  Letting out a low sigh, I trudge up to the rear of the cart where cases of cartoned water are stacked. I can only manage to carry one at a time. It takes four trips before I have enough plastic cartons by the fire pit. I chose the one closest to the tree line for some relief—being around this many people (and monsters) after so long of a small group living in silence ... it’s taking its toll on me. Already, a headache is blossoming at my temples, and I have to massage them every so often.

  Nicole comes back with a heavy metal pot before I have unwrapped all the plastic coverings from the water cartons. She heaves the pot onto the slight fire, then tucks stones around the base as if to protect the simmering flames. I hoist up a water carton and, balancing it on my hiked-up knee, pour the water into the pot. It starts to bubble before I’ve emptied all four cartons into it.

  “Help me set up the rope,” Nicole says.

  She brushes her hands on the knees of her jeans. Red lines mark her palms from the heavy pot handles, but she shrugs off the pain and instead unburies a thick, long rope from a sack at her feet.

  We each take an end and I follow her lead; we walk apart for a while until we both reach opposite ends of the glade. The rope makes a divide between the fae camp and the human camp.

  At the tree line, it’s clear that even though I’m this far from the camp, I can’t make a run for it. Revealed are the faces of guards who watch me intently. By the shimmer of their eyes in the dark, it’s clear they want me to run. They want me to give them an exciting few moments, chase me through the woods.

  I tie the rope around a thick tree trunk, and leverage it at the base of a few thick branches. Then I hit the rope to check it’s strength. It barely bounces. Satisfied, I head back to our little fire pit.

  Nicole makes it back before I do. The water is boiling violently, and she throws a few more rocks onto the flames to simmer them down.

  Without looking at me, she says, “Go collect the washing.”

  As I pull the wicker basket into my hands, I look around. Caspan has left the table with the map. I can’t see him in the crowd. At the mouth of his tent, two captives heave a pot of hot water that I suspect is meant for Caspan’s bath. He must be inside.

  “Do I wait by the tent?” I ask unsurely. It seems strange to just march around the higher fae area and demand their dirty clothes.

  Nicole lets out a tired breath, then straightens up and looks me in the eye. Her exhaustion of me is palpable. I don’t think she’ll ever forgive me for stealing her scarf.

  “Start at the General’s tent,” she tells me. “Wait for him to get in the tub, then collect his clothes and armour. Move onto the next tent, then the next until your basket is full. When we’re finished up with this load, we’ll go back for more.”

  “And if we don’t have the time to do all of it?” I ask as I take in the few dozen tents now erected at the head of the glade. Doubt gnaws at me. That’s a lot of washing to get done, if we’re cleaning the armour too. This job, I realise, isn’t a coveted one. There will be sparse time for us to rest.

  “We do what we can for however long we camp. We might leave tomorrow, or stay for a few days. When they tell us, that’s when we’ll know how much work we can get done.”

  “Days,” I snort. There is no such thing anymore.

  She throws me a scowl. “You know what I mean.”

  I match her scowl before I take the basket and march up the hill.

  No one stops me on the way to the large black tent. A few unkindly looks are tossed my way, but I’m mostly ignored.

  At the entrance, I hesitate and glance around. Dark fae lounge around the fire pits and I notice that some already have wooden bowls of hot soup and pasta mixed together. Meals are being served by a few humans making the rounds. At the closest fire, there’s a fae perched on a log; he uses a dust-cloth to wipe clean a flute-type instrument. Only, it’s thicker and longer than a flute and there are more holes dotted along it.

  The atmosphere is relaxed. But I’m not.

  It takes all my might to grip the basket tight in my hands and push through the tent flaps.

  Inside, the warmth hits me like a punch to the face. An iron fire pit stands near the entrance, beside the leather armchair I spotted earlier, and the flames burn hot. There’s no cool breeze to soothe the air.

  Behind the cosy sitting area, the blow-up mattress is coated with layers of fur skins and feathery pillows that I know weren’t looted from this world.

  In the far corner of the tent, the copper tub is filled with steaming water. The General stands there with his back to me. I wait silently as he strips off his armour, piece by piece.

  A small table and chairs are tucked to the left of the tent, where a man with greying hair and bushy brows sets out a dinner plate. The human finishes up, then, with a worried look my way, slips out of the tent.

  Hunger aches my stomach as I eye the spread. The General gets a wooden bowl of pasta and soup like all the other fae, but it’s accompanied by a plate layered with thin strips of meat that remind me of beef jerky. A stein of purple liquid punches the air with a strong wine smell that has my mouth watering.

  Just standing in this tent, I feel like I’ve been transported to another world. It’s otherworldly. Too earthly for human habitation. The light comes from the fire pit, but the small mason jars that line the grassy ground trap glowworms inside of them, and cast a strange white gleam over the dark colours. I’m reminded of fairy lights, then I chide myself before I can laugh at my unintentional joke.

  The glowworms’ light glitters off the side of the copper tub. The shine makes Caspan’s marble skin gleam like moonlight as he strips down to nothing and his clothes are left in a pile at his feet.

  I hold my breath as he steps into the tub, then turns to face my way. His inky black eyes hook onto me instantly.

  The tub is small. His knees peek out from the water, and he rests his arms along the edges. Traces of scars and bruises flicker in the light. He studies me in silence.

  Rooted to the spot, my hands fidget with the basket handles. Each second is a growing pain when all I want to do is rush out of this monster’s tent. All I want is to slip away and disappear.

  The clothes on the floor don’t help much. The stench of blood is overpowering.

  There’s a drip of water as he shifts in the tub and reclines. His hand lifts away from the edge as he leans his temple on his fist. Still watching me, his lashes lower and cast dark shadows down his face.

  I suspect he isn’t going to speak. I take a chance and step forward. His gaze follows me, but he doesn’t speak still.

  I swallow, hard, before I scurry for the pile of clothes by the tub. I’m scooping them into the bas
ket when he finally breaks the quiet.

  “Did you enjoy the show?” His voice is low and dark. The danger of it sends chills through my veins and my heart stops for a beat.

  Hugging the basket to my chest, I straighten up and force myself to meet his intense stare. For a moment, I waver on what to say. I could be honest and spill all that I think of him and his “show”. Or I could bite my tongue and live to see another dark, bleak day.

  Before I can speak, he apparently decides I’m not going to answer. “You did right,” he tells me, though there isn’t much pride or appreciation in his dangerous tone. I feel almost like he’s about to sentence me to the post. “And though it was mildly amusing to hear your understanding of choice, if you add your opinion again, I will whip your tongue until it falls off. Do you hear me, kuri?”

  Blood falls from my face and all I can manage is a faint nod.

  “Good.” He tilts his head to the side and lowers his hand to the tub. I see his fingers graze over the water slowly. “So this is your duty,” he speaks as though talking to himself, thinking aloud. I say nothing. I just stand here. “Washing my armour. Is your stomach weak, as the humans say?”

  I blink, confused for a moment. But then I rediscover the wicked scent of blood wafting up from the basket. I shake my head.

  “No,” he echoes, and his gaze flicks down to my bare arm, wrapped in scars. “Blood is a friend to you,” he says. “Tell me, kuri. Do you relish the pain of carving yourself?”

  Shame floods my cheeks and I look down at the basket in my hold. Yes. But the truth catches in my throat and swells there like a lodged pebble.

  His eyes rake over my arm like claws. After a long, tense moment he flicks his hand and droplets of water hit the grassy ground. “I mentioned a reward for confessing what you saw the defectors do. But you forfeited a reward by not coming forward without aid from your friend.” His tone has darkened like black stone. “Leave.”

  I take a step back.

  Before I can turn around, he adds, “See the healer in the white tent when you are finished your duties. He will attend to your wounds.”

  Instinctively, my hand itches to reach back and touch my head where he smacked my skull into a stone wall. My mouth sets into a grim line and I nod.

  A battle rages on inside of me. I ache to lunge at him and tear off his darkly beautiful face. But my muscles urge to run in the opposite direction.

  “Ok.” It’s all I can manage.

  With a nod his way, I turn my back on him and his steady gaze, then hurry out of the tent.

  The fresh air hits me like a cool knife across the face. I rush back to the rope-line that divides the camp from the human captives (or kuris, whatever that means), and find Nicole by the desolate fire pit. Most of the others are busying about their duties in the camp, and some have finished and lounge around the other fires, eating from wooden bowls.

  “Finally,” Nicole snaps as she sees me. “Took your time—” She chokes off as she notices my basket. “Where are all the uniforms?”

  “I only got the General’s,” I mumble.

  After being pinned by Caspan’s dangerous gaze and attention, I forgot all about the other tents. I just raced straight back here.

  “Sorry,” I add. “He took a while to strip.”

  It’s an easy lie that keeps me from explaining the General’s interest in me. And he does have an interest, I just don’t know what for, why, or what it means. All I can do is keep my head down, pretend I don’t exist, and hopefully his interest will flitter away like ash in the wind.

  Nicole lets out the most inconvenienced sound, then throws a stick to the ground. I notice that it’s one of those dish-washing sticks with a sponge on the end.

  “I’ll do it,” she bites at me. “You get started on that.”

  She takes off up the slope. I watch her march into the other side of camp before I empty the basket onto the ground. I start with his clothes and dunk them straight into the simmering pot of water.

  Guess that’s what I’m meant to do. Don’t quite know, I’m just winging it. But with the sponge-stick and some of the soap laid out on the stones, I make quick work of scrubbing Caspan’s clothes clean. The armour proves more stubborn.

  I’m halfway through scrubbing the chain-link armour vest when Nicole returns with a basket full of clothes and armour. She has a system, I realise. Each section is divided by the armour, and she works her way through the load one section at time.

  It’s gruelling work. I copy what Nicole does for the most part. But after a while, I end up on rope duty—hanging the clothes to dry.

  When all the clothes are on the line, Nicole sends spirals of relief through me as she kicks dirt onto the fire pit and heads up to the next fire; where the pots of food simmer. There’s barely any left, but we divide what we can, and scoff down our slight meals.

  By the time we’re finished eating, all the other humans are long done with their tasks, and there are two small beige tents set up by the fire pits.

  The fires start to die down all over the camp. Dark fae disappear into tents or fall asleep by simmering flames on cots or just on the hard packed dirt. I’m rinsing my bowl and stacking it with the pile when Adrianna finds me.

  “We sleep in there,” she tells me and points to the closest beige tent. “Women in one, men in the other. Best go in soon if you want to get any sleep. We’re woken up early.”

  I nod slowly but my gaze wanders the camp until it finds the slight white tent parked at the end of all the larger ones. “I have to go to the healer first.”

  Adrianna’s brows furrow as she traces my stare. “Why?”

  I make a grim, tired face. “Caspan told me to. Said I need my wounds looked over.”

  She stares at me with disbelief etched onto her slack face. “The General told you to go to the healer?”

  “Yeah.” I shrug. “Why?”

  “Uhh,” she starts with a tone that belittles me and heckles my stiffening spine. “We don’t go to the healer. Humans, I mean. If we’re hurt, we’re hurt,” she adds and gestured to her injured shoulder. It’s wrapped still in the dirty scarf. “We have Hassan for our injuries.”

  I wipe my sore, pruned hands on my leggings, then take a step up the hill. “I’m just doing what he told me.”

  Last thing I want to do is defy the General and piss him off.

  Adrianna follows me uphill. “Ok,” she says with an uneasy laugh. “If you’re sure.”

  I look over my shoulder at her. “You don’t have to come.”

  The smile she wears tells me she’s not as sweet as she seems. “I won’t miss this for anything.”

  5

  Adrianna shadows me up the hill.

  The camp is quiet now. A calm hush has fallen over the glade. Soft murmurs from the still-awake fae whisper up from the grass like the music of a light breeze. Distantly, the song of a sword being sharpened splits the serene air.

  “Do you think it’ll be quick?” I ask. “I need a good sleep.”

  She snorts, then rushes up to walk beside me. “Even if we went to sleep now, it wouldn’t be enough—they like to deprive us that way. Little sleep, little food. Enough to keep us going, but not enough to satisfy us.”

  I turn my gaze around the dark fae. Most of them are fast asleep by the fire pits. Even in sleep, they look as vicious as a fistful of blades. Their beauty is terrifying, not unlike that of a tiger or lion. Don’t get too close.

  A terrible thought comes to mind.

  I throw Adrianna a side-eye. “What do they want with the women?” I ask. “The fae. I mean, do they...”

  I let my implication hang in the air between us. It takes a moment for it to sink in and register on Adrianna’s face.

  She shakes her head. “Nothing like that—not that I know of. I don’t think they see us that way.”

  Relief doesn’t relax my muscles because still, I can’t get the General’s intense gaze out of my head. It might be some other thing that fascinates him abou
t me; my scars, maybe. My bad habit. But it fills me with unease that Adrianna doesn’t share my experience. If I’m the only one targeted by the dark fae—the bloody General of all things!—then that can’t mean anything good.

  She adds, “To them, we’re more like cattle with opposable thumbs.”

  “It’s more than that,” I decide. “Otherwise, why wouldn’t they have just killed us along with every other human they find? After they noticed my freckles—the same freckles we all have—they kept me alive.”

  “For slavery,” she insists with a bemused look on her freckled face. “Look around,” she says. “Don’t you see why they keep us alive? They need us to cook their meals, clean their clothes, tend to their fires, and care for their horses ... or whatever those ghastly things are.”

  “By why the freckles?” I press. “Why are they important? Why did they save us?”

  And they did, didn’t they? The marks on my skin are what saved my life. Yet, I might never know why.

  She shrugs with her good shoulder. “I find it’s best not to get hung up on the things that won’t matter in the end.” At my confused look, she adds, “They kill more of us than they let live. And when it comes down to the end of their mission, and the world is wiped out, we won’t be allowed to live anymore. We’re the last ones in line to be executed.”

  That harrowing thought carries with me to the white tent. I linger by the entrance for a beat before I decide to knock on the wooden post, rather than just slip inside. Best not to catch dark fae off guard.

  “Sikah.” The strange language of the fae answers me.

  I hesitate, and throw a sideways look at Adrianna. She just shrugs with that good shoulder and gestures for me to go inside. The sparkle in her eyes betrays her excitement. I wonder if she’s hoping I’ll be kicked out and hacked up for my boldness, that she thinks I’m lying and wasn’t ordered to come here.

  Her bubbly front is just that—a front. A mask. Maybe I can get along with her after all.

  I step inside the tent. Adrianna is close at my heels.