by J. A. Ludwig
An arm grabs her around the waist, lifting her off the ground. She kicks at the stunned innkeeper before she’s dragged away. Her feet miss him, but catch his hand holding the bag of coins. The bag falls to the ground, coins pouring onto the dirt.
She struggles to break free. Her magic swirls inside of her with her anger. She wants to hurt him. She wants him to feel the pain she’s feeling even, if it’s only physical.
The expression of horror and realization on the innkeeper’s face brings her little satisfaction, but the tears escaping his eyes give her pause. He finally meets her eyes and his lip quivers.
“It was you or my family.” The words are soft, barely a whisper. “I had no choice.” He leaves, retreating to his inn without the bag of coins on the ground.
The man holding Aya throws her onto the ground before casually grabbing the bag and collecting the loose coins. It’s the archer who took her sheath.
Jaxon glares at her, his hand dancing above his sword. “You pull that again, I’ll cut your feet off and make you walk on the stubs.”
Her anger returns and she gets back on her feet. “I’ll heal myself.”
A crooked smile forms on his lips. “Don’t encourage me to cut your hands off, too.” Jaxon grabs her and Aya’s magic reaches out. He quickly draws his knife and holds it to her throat. “You better control yourself. My men may not be able to feel your magic, but I can.”
She forces her magic back down deep inside her. Jaxon sheathes his knife and leads her around the side of the inn towards the back.
Men’s voices echo ahead of them and the group arrives at a makeshift camp built behind the inn. Several men are relaxing until they notice Jaxon approaching. Their eyes give Aya a once-over before they return to their tasks. One man pulls feathers off a dead fowl. Others sit in a circle, drinking and playing a game with bone dice. Others either sleep or throw stones at small animals hiding in the brush.
At the center of the gathering are two large cages on wheels full of people, more chained behind, sitting on the ground. Some of the men in armor walk by and snap at those on the ground or rattle sticks on the bars of the cages. Large boxes and barrels are tied to the roofs.
Four large animals are tied to trees at the outskirts of the camp, drinking greedily from oversized troughs. They’re thick creatures she’s never seen before, legs short but strong. Two horns jut forward from their overhanging brows. Another shorter horn is on their chin. As she watches, one of the beasts buries the horn in the ground, pulling and tearing roots from the earth. Twitching their short, stubby tails, they make low sounds, which rumble through their entire bodies.
Aya stares at the large beasts in awe. They’re the largest animals she’s ever seen. Some of Jaxon’s men throw large piles of grass and hay on either side of the troughs and their huge maws inhale great mouthfuls, except the one digging in the ground. It eats the roots it reveals using its horn, chewing on the thick wood.
“Stay far from those beasts. A grodun wouldn’t think twice about crushing you beneath its powerful legs. The epirs over there aren’t as bad,”
A whinnying from the other side of the camp catches Aya’s attention. Smaller animals tied on either side of two long fences attached to the inn drink from large troughs of water. They’re large enough for two men to ride, but there are enough animals for most of the men to ride alone. The epirs have long, lean legs. Strong muscles ripple under thick, furred skin Their necks stretch out with long, curly hair hanging down.
Jaxon leads Aya towards one of the cages. Those on the ground shrink away from him. Her eyes dart down to the dagger on his belt, the one he took from her.
Noticing her look, Jaxon twists his grip on her arm. “If you’re thinking of using your magic in some way to escape, stop. The metal of these chains and cages were made with magic. You can’t use your gift while bound.” He chains her wrists to the line of people behind the cage. “And I’ll say one last time, don’t try to run. The first time we’ll break your legs. The second time, we’ll kill you.”
“Kill the prize you strove so hard for?” She meets his eyes and straightens her back, not letting the weight of the metal on her wrists pull her down. “I have no intention of running.”
“Good choice. I’m afraid you’ll have to walk. We ran out of room in the cages several days ago.” He makes sure she hears what he says next. “Your village was a surprise stop, but the story that man told us was too tempting to dismiss. There are a few stops until we reach our destination. But if someone dies in the cage, you can take their place.”
“I would rather walk than be caged like an animal.”
“We’ll see how you feel after the first day.”
“How long is it going to take?”
He laughs. “Better you don’t know. It’ll make the journey seem shorter than it actually is. You should enjoy the scenery while you can still see clearly.”
A large man, larger than any of the others, walks up to Jaxon and speaks quietly in his ear.
“I’ll take care of it, Aldur,” Jaxon responds softly and the larger man nods. Aldur walks around the camp, ordering the men to clean up.
Jaxon takes a few steps away before stopping. He turns to her again. “Rest as much as you can. We leave as soon as I’ve finished dealing with a little issue.” He leaves, heading for the front of the inn.
Aya is alone with the other prisoners, who glance at their new companion briefly before returning their eyes to the ground. Several cling to one another, others stretch the chains to their full lengths to remain separate.
Glancing down the line, Aya discovers most are men or young boys, but the number of women is higher than she expects. Though she has no experience to judge by.
She sits down on the ground and stares at those in the cages. Several appear thin and sickly. They’re cramped close together and are as dirty as those forced to walk. By the hopelessness in their expressions, she guesses they were the first collected. They look defeated in spirit.
Little over an hour passes before the men in armor finish clearing the camp. They attach the groduns to the front of the cages and two men climb on top of each, holding the reins and long sticks to control the large beasts’ movements.
The rest of the men force Aya and the other slaves to their feet. The cages move forward away from the inn before stopping. The large man who spoke to Jaxon orders the men into formation and they untie the epirs. They move into position. One group behind the caravan, one group on either side, and a smaller group in front.
The larger man holds one epir, waiting for Jaxon.
Jaxon appears around the side of the inn, tying a small bag onto his belt. He climbs onto his epir and takes the reins. He nudges the animal forward to the front.
“Let’s move,” he orders.
He receives an answer in the form of hoots and hollers from his men and the caravan begins the long journey to the Arena.
Chapter 10
The caravan moves slowly through the forest, but the trees and thick bushes create obstacles for the groduns pulling the cages. Not used to being surrounded by trees, the beasts require extra urging and prodding from Jaxon’s men.
The sound of the long stick slapping the thick hides make Aya wince. She wonders if the large beasts feel pain or only annoyance. They bray with deep, rumbling sounds but continue moving forward.
The caravan passes other villages, too far away from Oula for Mircien to have taken Aya there when she was younger. The villagers don’t even give the group a passing glance. Perhaps they remember the slave traders and fear that if any take notice, the rough men will stop and enslave them, too.
The distance between each village grows until they enter a part of the forest with little evidence of human life. Ruins of abandoned villages blend among the trees and grass. All that remain are foundations and broken statues, with plant life slowly regaining its stronghold.
Jaxon’s words come back to her as her feet become sore and blisters form. Her shoes provide li
ttle comfort and the shackles around her wrists rub her skin raw. She’s tempted to test whether the metal truly keeps her from her magic. But as she watches the others walking in front of her, she realizes the pain she’s feeling is nothing compared to theirs.
Barely the first day and I’m already thinking of discomfort? Aya scolds herself.
Her stomach growls, reminding her she hasn’t eaten in two days. The almost constant rush of adrenaline and fear is finally ebbing, giving way to her other senses.
Aren’t they going to feed us? Aya eyes the other slaves and their tiny bellies. It isn’t looking very likely.
A call moves down the line as several men move down the line of slaves, offering a single ladle of water to each. It’s sloppily done, and more water slops to the ground than the parched, gaping mouths. They sound of the rushing river makes it even more torturous when full ladles are purposely dumped to the cage floor and the men laugh at the slaves trying to scoop muddy water into their mouths.
Aya drinks her share greedily, making sure to hold the ladle so the man serving her can’t spill it. She’s thankful for the cool feeling in her belly, but still wishes for food to stop the hunger pains.
Torches are lit as night darkens the forest around them. The sparse evening breeze does little to comfort those walking. Strange sounds in the trees frighten many of the slaves. Occasional screams echo down the line. The men respond with harsh orders, and the culprits are roughly silenced.
Aya tries to keep her mind from her painful feet by surveying the forest. She recognizes many of the strange sounds and laughs to herself. If they knew the things making those sounds are no bigger than my hand, they’d feel silly. She thinks of telling them this, but one look convinces her they may not welcome the knowledge. The night sounds and songs of the insects dredges up memories she’s not thought of in years.
Her parents sat behind their house when she still lived within the village. She sat on her father’s lap, listening to the noises of the forest. She remembers feeling fear, as some of the slaves do now. Her mother walked into the dark forest and returned with something in her hand. Aya clung tightly to her father as her mother held her hands out. Sitting in her palm was a small animal covered in dirt. It stared at Aya with wide, green eyes before making one of the sounds reverberating through the dark forest. The small animal shook in her mother’s hand, terrified for having been pulled from its earthen sanctuary. Her mother explained that sometimes the things that frighten us most are only scary because people choose to believe their imaginations instead of satisfying their curiosity. If they followed their curiosity, they’d find the scary thing is usually just as frightened of them.
I want to go home. I wish I were still in my soft bed. I wish I could eat dinner with Mircien and Iria one last time. Aya fights the tears in her eyes, her thoughts doing little to help. I wish my last words to Iria weren’t during a fight. I wasn’t even allowed to say goodbye or check on Iria. Is he going to be all right?
The following two days are the same: constant motion. They once again meet the river and follow it south. They stop only when fallen trees block the path or the dirt paths are flooded. These stops provide little rest and, occasionally, small amounts of food. But Aya realizes that, since she will not ride in the cages, they’re the only opportunities for her to sleep and nurse her feet until they reach the first planned rest stop.
None of the men speak to her when she asks how much longer they must walk. But she catches bits and pieces of conversations.
“Oi, Vol,” a man riding close to Aya says to another, “you ever notice he never sleeps?”
“Who?” Vol grumbles.
“Fearless leader.”
“Of course, he sleeps, Kit. You moron.”
“When have you ever seen him sleep?”
“I don’t know. It ain’t part of my job to watch him sleep.” He cuffs his friend and laughs.
A third man rides up to the two. “He’s awake all day and night. Even the guys who’ve been with him for years say he never sleeps.”
“I’m telling you...he doesn’t,” Kit affirms.
“Shut up. Both of you.” Vol glares at the two before riding his epir away from them.
Aya has seen many of the men catching naps on the back of their epirs while others hold the reins and lead. But Jaxon is always wide awake, alert to the forest around him.
On the fifth day, the caravan crosses a stone bridge over the river to head southwest. They’re near the end of the valley, a concept foreign to Aya. I knew the valley ended, but I never thought I would see it. Aya gapes in wonder at the end of the mountains in the distance.
After several more hours of travel, Jaxon orders the caravan to stop. His men build a camp and a scouting team moves off to hunt or take food from a nearby village, whichever they can find. The slaves are allowed to bathe in the river, small groups at a time.
Aya takes the moment to assess the damage to her feet. Large, ruptured blisters turn her skin red and she removes rocks that found their way into her shoes. She winces as the cold water rushes over the blisters. Her shoes are slowly falling apart, holes already worn in the soles. She dreads the possibility of walking barefoot the rest of the way, as many of the other slaves already are.
Jaxon’s men who remained in camp now hand out rations of dried food they keep in pouches. It’s not enough to satisfy her empty stomach, but more than the tiny scraps they were given over the past week. Water is passed more generously and carefully.
Sleep comes quickly and, much to Aya’s relief, she has no dreams.
Screams jar her from the blackness of sleep. She sits up. The moon, high in the sky, casts light through an opening in the trees. But it still takes a moment for her eyes to adjust.
The screams ring out again and she turns her attention to the second cage. Those chained to the back gather around two figures halfway down the line. Those in the cage glare through the bars.
Aya moves towards the huddled group, but her chains prevent her from moving too close. When she tries to move closer, the man she’s attached to roughly tugs back, nearly pulling her over.
The small huddled group opens a little, revealing one woman holding a second in her arms. She’s screaming and tears pour down her cheeks. The second woman’s eyes are empty, staring at nothing.
Aya doesn’t understand what’s happening, but she recognizes the look in the second woman’s eyes. It’s the same one her parents had before they died.
Chapter 11
“Her sister is sick,” Jaxon says.
Aya jumps.
He’s sitting against a tree close to her, watching. “She’s been ill since we picked them up. She wouldn’t let us take her sister unless we took her, too. There’s nothing to be done.”
She stares at the group huddled around the two women. “Why didn’t anyone heal her?”
“One so close to death? None of the magic users we’ve collected wield that kind of power.”
Her eyes meet the sister of the dying woman. Her eyes plead with Aya for help. How many times has she seen such expressions aimed at her? But those times had only been for a mild illness, a small cut or bruise...or Petri’s broken leg. She didn’t think she could do anything then, either.
But this woman is dying.
Those pleading eyes bore their way into her mind. Her magic dances within her, eager to please the desire rising inside her.
“Let me try,” she says, turning to Jaxon. “I’m a healer. Let me try.”
He leans forward. “She’ll be dead in a few minutes. You can do nothing.”
I’m sorry, Aya. There’s nothing to be done. The words Iria spoke to her so many years ago. The words he spoke the moment before her parents died.
She didn’t have her magic then, but she had it now.
“Please. I have to try. If I could save even one life....”
Jaxon’s blue eyes flash between Aya and the group. He stands and unchains her from the line of slaves. She waits for him to grab
her, but he only waves his hand towards the women. She hurries to the second line of slaves and forces her way to the two women. She swallows as she takes in the pale face of the dying woman.
“She’s dying,” the healthy sister says. “It’s my fault. She wouldn’t let me be taken alone. She had to come with me. This endless walking is killing her.”
Aya drops to her knees, looks into the healthy sister’s eyes, and gently strokes her cheek. “It’s not your fault. She knows it isn’t your fault.” She wipes several tears away and gives her a comforting smile.
Turning her attention to the dying sister, Aya places a hand on the woman’s forehead. Aya flinches. The woman is cold to the touch. Leaning down, she places her ear on the woman’s chest. Hidden beneath ragged breaths, Aya hears a very faint heartbeat.
Aya places both hands on the woman’s chest. She closes her eyes and takes a deep, calming breath. She’s never tried to bring someone so close to death back before. Without Iria or Mircien with her, there’s no one to help her should she need it.
Illnesses in children are simple, but this is something beyond her experience.
The familiar warmth grows inside her chest. But as she concentrates, she feels something else. She feels the woman’s warmth. It’s so faint, Aya isn’t sure she’s truly feeling it. She moves her magic down her arms and into the woman. A strange sound echoes in her head. It takes her a moment to realize what it is.
It’s her heartbeat, but it sounds strange. It doesn’t sound the way a heart should. The pattern is uneven.
The woman appears in Aya’s mind, just as though her eyes were open, and she imagines she can look right through the woman’s clothes and skin. She delves deep until the heart appears. There’s a strange lump disfiguring one side of the weakened muscle. She’s never seen anything like it before, but she knows it’s causing the illness.
If I know what it is, I can get rid of it.
