The Gift of Fear

[lumpenproletariat]

Well done, Tralla.

 

Look forward to more...

[Degenero Angelus]

I love you. God you rock

[Regel]

Powerful storytelling Tralla. Take what ever time you need to continue. The quality of the work has made us all impatient for more.

[Tralla]

The children were sent to their beds very quickly after that, with appropriately dire warnings from Domas of the consequences of speaking to anyone about that night. Loki lay curled in the dark of their cell, weeping uncontrollably, with Zee and Kaolin huddled protectively around her; she knew full well how close she had come to being snared by the Lady High Mage.

 

“Will she come back, Zee?” Loki whimpered. A steady whine of fear clawed emanated from her, and her eyes were unnaturally wide in a tortured combination of terror, desperation, and despair.

 

“Felamorrell is watching her now,” Zee replied softly. She stroked Loki’s hair with a trembling hand, and tears threatened to spill out onto her cheeks. She knew as well as Loki did that that was no guarantee of safety. Once a High Mage spotted you and knew what you were, there was no safety anywhere, ever again. Some ran, but did not make it very far – the Mages, in their ever-insatiable greed for more of the Gift, hunted the luckless wretches down wherever they fled. Loki didn’t have even that impossible hope for salvation – she was already trapped in the Home. She was doomed.

 

~ ~ ~

 

The High Mage Zermaterix moved swiftly. Only two nights later, Javick was urgently shaking Zee awake, then moving on to do the same to Kaolin and Loki.

 

“A bunch of men just showed up at the main gates, demanding to see ol’ Fallik,” Javick hissed, scuttling back to peer out the doorway cautiously. “Armed to the teeth, ‘cept one. Guess who the Mage sent to collect for her.”

 

Loki started breathing in heavy, gulping sobs, her eyes scanning the walls frantically for some nonexistent chance of escape. Her gaze unfocused as her curse overrode her senses, and after a tense moment of watching whatever it was she saw, Loki gave a little shriek and collapsed, moaning and weeping. Zee felt her stomach sink. The girl looked so… defeated.

 

“They’re coming,” Loki whispered brokenly. “There’s no escape.” She turned haunted eyes on Zee. Her next statement was barely audible. “They’ll take Kaolin, too.”

 

“No!” The cry of denial burst not from Zee, but from Javick. “No,” he repeated grimly. “They will not take her.” An object appeared in his hand suddenly, small but sharp and deadly dangerous. He turned it in the dim light to be sure Zee saw.

 

“That’s…” A mage slayer, Zee finished silently. One of the most potently poisoned and, of course, highly illegal, weapons in all the Mage-held lands. Few were left after years of intense hunting – the High Mages hunted them almost as obsessively as the Gifted. They had good reason, since the barest nick could completely paralyze a Mage for several hours, stripping of them all ability to use any sort of Gift at all. A solid blow could kill, even if the wound would otherwise have been survivable. No one knew where they had come from, and Zee had no idea how Javick could ever have gotten his hands on one. She had a feeling she didn’t want to know.

 

“I promised Eli I’d keep her safe,” Javick stated simply. The blade disappeared, and that was that. He peered out into the hallway again. “We have to get Loki out of here. Damn! I didn’t expect her to move this quick!”

 

“They’ll have men at all th’ exits.”

 

“I know. If we could just-”

 

“The roof,” Kaolin blurted out abruptly. Zee glanced over at her, almost forgotten in her silence and the shadows surrounding her. The tiny girl’s vivid green eyes were fixed on a point on the ceiling, unblinking, and they seemed to almost glow in the darkness.

 

“Good idea,” Javick said. “There won’t be as many people patrolling the exits to the roof, if any at all.” Checking outside once more, he waved for them to follow, then disappeared into the still-silent hallway.

 

“C’mon, Loki,” Zee urged, tugging at the girl’s limp arm. “We gotta go.”

 

“No hope. No hope. No escape…”

 

“Shut up! Get up!”

 

“I saw it, Zee! There’s no use!”

 

“We’ve never tried t’ prevent what you see before. How d’ you know it’s th’ unavoid’ble future you see?”

 

“I know.”

 

“Would Kern’ve wanted you t’ just lay down an’ wait t’ die?”

 

Loki glared up at her. “Dirty.”

 

“I’ll do whatev’r I’ve got to t’ keep you alive! Come ON!” Zee hauled the girl forcefully to her feet and shoved her towards the door. Loki gave herself a little shake and darted for the exit, seeming to realize just then that they actually had a way to get her free of the Home. If she were out, she’d have a chance. She had to have a chance. She had to.

 

Javick and Kaolin were already waiting in the hallway outside, and Rhib had joined up with them at some point. Seeing the girls emerge finally, Javick motioned them forward, and they needed no urging to move quickly but silently; heavy booted feet could be heard, marching down the hall from the main entrance.

 

Javick led them forward as quickly as he dared, through a confusing series of hallways, supposedly locked doors, hidden side passages, and long-unused narrow stairwells. Up and up they climbed, pausing only to allow Javick or Zee to check ahead for nasty surprises. They encountered no one, although a couple times they had to veer away when they heard a Guardian’s heaving footsteps approaching. After what seemed like an entire lifetime of eternities, they stood before one of the tiny, heavily bolted, and almost completely forgotten doors that gave access onto the roofs of the Home complex. It took the combined efforts of Javick and Zee to force the rusted deadbolts open. They grated loudly as they grudgingly gave way, and Javick winced as the sounds seemed to echo and reverberate and amplify on their way down the empty hallway. Surely somebody had heard that. They’d have to move quickly.

 

They bullied the door open – the hinges were rusted as well, and squealed in animalistic pain as they were forced to serve their purpose after so many years of inactivity. The children waited apprehensively, huddled just inside the exit, scanning the seemingly uninhabited roof cautiously. Zee signaled that she’d go out first, then oozed her way over the threshold, clinging to the shadows and slinking along in a way that suddenly made Javick realize how Zee had stayed free so long before coming to the Home. After a few feet, he couldn’t even see her anymore.

 

They waited. Time slowed, taking sadistic pleasure in stretching seconds into minutes and minutes into hours while the children clustered in the doorway, shivering slightly from the bite of cold in the night air. They waited longer, listening tensely and hearing nothing. The moon slid mysteriously out from behind the clouds, and Zee was illuminated where she perched perhaps fifteen or twenty feet from the exit. Smiling, she waved for them to come out, and Loki sidled slowly out into the moonlight.

 

Smiling... The little hairs on Javick’s neck prickled, and he glanced behind him, back down the hallway, suspiciously. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

 

Smiling. Zee didn’t smile. She grinned.

 

A shrill, unnatural scream tore from Kaolin’s little body, and Javick whipped his head around, to watch what would haunt his nightmares for years to come; the Lady High Mage herself materializing out of empty air, seizing Loki in both claws, and starting to fade almost instantly out of sight again, along with the illusion of Zee still perched on the rooftop beyond.

 

“Zeeee!” Loki wailed, struggling hysterically in the Mage’s unyielding grip. “Zeeeeee!”

 

Zee soared through the air in a last-minute desperate action, tackling the High Mage less than a breath before they all disappeared, together. The clouds rolled back in, swallowing the traitorous moon, and the three were gone, as if they had never been.

 

Javick stared at the spot where they had been. He was numb. How could they be gone? Zee. Loki. How could she have taken them both? He’d been so certain he was leading them to a place where they could escape! He’d led them right into the Mage’s clutches!

 

The roof, Kaolin had said. Could she have known…?

 

Kaolin.

 

Kaolin was still screaming, and Rhib was shaking his shoulder urgently, trying to say something, but Javick couldn’t hear, wouldn’t hear… Zee can’t be gone. Loki. By all the Gods, Loki. I’m sorry.

 

What Rhib was saying finally penetrating, as did the sound of heavy footfalls racing closer, alerted by Kaolin’s cries. Javick clapped a hand over her mouth to silence her, and struggled to close the door with Rhib’s hurried assistance. How had things gone so wrong?

 

“They’re almost here, Javick!” Rhib hissed. “Loki said they’d take Kaolin, too!”

 

“Never,” Javick snarled. Grabbing the girl’s hand, he took off at a run, Rhib scooping up her other hand and racing along beside them. The warriors – the clatter of weapons suggested them, instead of the Guardians – somehow kept pace behind them, even as they darted through a crazy maze of interconnecting hallways.

 

“They’ll catch us,” Rhib panted.

 

“No!”

 

“Don’t ever let them catch her, Javick. Don’t ever let them have her.”

 

Javick’s eyes met Rhib’s for a moment, then slid away as he read the boy’s intentions in his condemned eyes. He nodded curtly. Rhib gave Kaolin’s hand one last squeeze.

 

“Sing for me, Kao, when you can,” was his parting whisper. Then he, too, was gone, turning down another, more obvious route, shouting things like “I won’t go!” as he ran.

 

Javick clutched Kaolin’s hand in the death grip and led her away, into the darkest, smallest, most obscure corner of the complex he could think of. There he settled down, pulled Kaolin’s unresisting body close, and waited. The only sound was the skittering of the occasional rat as it scurried from lair to lair. They were alone.

 

He tried to stay awake, to listen for the sound of someone approaching, but after long hours of silent vigil, his body, overcome by the grief of this unprecedented loss, escaped into the deep sleep of the damaged, the broken, and the dead.

[WrenWind]

You have the nack for leaving me sitting on the edge of my seat with my heart in my throat beating wildly.

 

*waits semi-patiently for the next post*

[Tralla]

AN: This will be a shorter one, and the last update for probably close to a month. Just to warn you in advance. I have the last race in all of my courses these next two weeks, and then a steady stream of finals. But a little forbidden writing now and a again is always fun...

 

 

 

 

Long ingrained habits drove Javick awake shortly before dawn when the morning bells began to toll. As always, they produced a sullen, somewhat lonely sound, and this morning only served to bring his mind back t the devastating losses of the night before.

 

Kaolin, a tightly curled ball of warmth, was still tucked closely against his right side. As the bells continued to toll, she stirred and whimpered softly, but quieted as he reached out to stroke her hair gently. They’d given up so much, to protect her. Her Gift. Why? What was there about this silent little slip of a girl that made them protect her so staunchly? Gifted kids had come and gone before. Why was she any different?

 

You’re just a sucker for those pretty green eyes, he thought to himself. But that wasn’t it, not really. Kaolin was special. He could feel it in his gut. And he would continue to protect her until he, too, was dead, or taken by the mages.

 

The first thing to do, he decided suddenly, was to get out of the Home. It was a dead end, and there would be nowhere to hide the next time the Mages swept through. They had to leave, and there would be no better time than now, when everything was still in disarray and the Guardians were unsure as to who had been taken. There could be no better time. When they were out, they could beg employment from someplace in another district in the city, where they would be less likely to be turned back over to the Falliks. Yes. That is what they would do. Now.

 

Reaching out again, this time to shake Kaolin awake, he realized with a start that she already was. A pair of expressionless green eyes stared up at him, unblinking, framed by a gaunt, pale face and filthy brown hair.

 

“Zee’s gone forever, isn’t she?” she asked in a barely audible whisper.

 

Javick’s throat closed in on itself. “Yes.”

 

“Loki too?”

 

“Yes. And Rhib.”

 

“Rhib…” Her eyes clouded, and she frowned slightly. “I’m supposed to sing for him.”

 

“We’ll both sing for him. Later. Now, we have to get out of here.”

 

She just looked up at him blankly.

 

“The Home, Kao. We’re leaving the Home. You’re not safe here.”

 

“You’re coming with me?”

 

“Of course. I’ll always protect you.”

 

“Zee said that, once.”

 

“I know.”

 

Kaolin was silent for a long moment. “Will they take you, too?”

 

“They might. I won’t let them take you while I still breathe, though. I promise.”

 

Kaolin wanted him for another long moment, nodded once, and spoke no more as they crept cautiously out of their hiding place and out over the mercifully empty roof of the Home. As they fled into the City below, already bustling even though the sun had only began to peek furtively over the unseen horizon, her tiny hand was tucked securely into his own, and Javick repeated his vow once again to himself. Kaolin would never go to the Mages.

 

Never.

[Tralla]

~ ~ ~

 

“Where are we, Javick?” Kaolin whispered timidly, eyes wide as she watched the tumult of the early morning crowd.

 

“The city, Kaolin. Just the city. Everyone comes out to buy things now. It’ll calm down in an hour or two.” Javick stopped suddenly and pressed them both against the wall of the nearest storefront as a huge farmer’s wagon lumbered by, piled high with fresh produce and drawn by a pair of braying oxen. The farmer cursed and shouted and whipped them mercilessly, but the crowd could only part so quickly, and eventually the farmer turned his whip on the crowds instead. Screams arose from those unfortunate enough to be within range, and everyone milled about in greater confusion, but the farmer advanced no faster. They stayed pressed tightly against that wall until he was well down the street.

 

“We have to get to across the city, Kao,” he explained as they started walking again. “The Falliks don’t have the guards paid off there. We won’t be turned back over to the orphanage. We’ll find a job, maybe at another stable or something. We’ll be okay. We just need to get across town.”

 

Kaolin nodded, and with her hand still tucked tightly in his own, followed mutely as they wove their way slowly through the press of people. As the sun rose higher and the street warmed, the rank stench of countless unwashed bodies strengthened, but no one paid any mind; they were used to the smell, and the children from the Home were certainly no cleaner. They blended right in.

 

Their progress was slow but steady, and by midmorning they were far enough away from the Home that they could turn their attention towards finding food. Remembering the farmer from earlier that morning, Javick thought their best chance might be to scoop something as one of the carts crept by; glancing about, he cursed when he realized that there were no more carts on the roads anymore. All of the farmers would be set up and selling their goods by now. They’d have to find some food from an established vendor, then.

 

After another hour or so of aimless wandering, he finally managed to find a small market, hidden away in a tiny square where several back alleys converged between the looming, decrepit old warehouses of a long-abandoned storage district. The farmers had somehow managed to get their wagons down those cramped little alleys and parked them in a ring all about the square, and proceeded to hawk their less-than-perfect goods to the hordes of filthy peasants who thronged to them. The sun barely penetrated here, but warmed the air enough to the stench of unwashed bodies to ripen and permeate the air like cheap perfumes would in the wealthier districts. Javick ignored it; as per usual, Kaolin made no sound at all. They stopped in the shadows of an alley just before it fed into the square and waited, scanning the teeming crowds for a likely prospect. Spotting one, he turned to tell Kaolin to wait in the alley, but she wasn’t there.

 

“Kaolin?” he hissed, looking around frantically. “Kaolin!”

 

Turning back to the square, he saw her – she was weaving her way gracefully through the crowd, making straight for one of the surlier-looking vendors near the alley they had been waiting in. Diving into the throng, dodging and pushing, Javick tried frantically to reach her, to grab her, but she was better at weaving through the throng that he was, and reached the vendor in mere moments. Marching right up to him, she tugged on his sleeve gently. Glowering, he turned to face her, but his expression smoothed almost instantly when he laid eyes on her upturned face. Javick saw her lips move, but it was impossible to hear what she said over the din of the shoppers. To his astonishment, the vendor nodded, smiled, and handed her a long loaf of dark bread and a large apple right from his own cart. Patting her own the head, he turned to renew his selling, his scowl returning almost instantly. Oddly enough, nobody else seemed to notice the exchange at all. Clutching her gifts, Kaolin wove her way back to where Javick stood, staring, dumbfounded.

 

“Come on, Javick,” she murmured, leading the way back to the alley. As soon as they were back in the cover of shadows, her shoulders slumped, and she sagged to the ground, utterly spent. Javick took the food from her gently, broke the bread down the middle, and handed her half.

 

“How did you do that, Kao?” he asked between mouthfuls.

 

Kaolin was silent for a long time, staring at the lump of bread in her hands. “I don’t know,” she whispered finally. “She just told me I could.”

 

“Who? Who told you?”

 

Kaolin turned her face away and closed her eyes. Her voice, when she finally answered, was so faint he could barely hear. “I don’t know.”

 

Realizing he wouldn’t be getting any answers from her at that point, Javick let it drop. Finishing up the last of his bread, he waited until Kaolin had finished as well before hoisting her to her feet and heading off again. They passed the apple between them as they walked, and it was better than anything they had tasted in years.

 

~ ~ ~

 

His skills must’ve been getting rusty. Afternoon was already creeping into the dusk of early evening before Javick noticed that they were being followed.

[WrenWind]

*yippee!!! I love this tale so far. As always weel done.

 

 

Your biggest fan *hugs*

 

Wren

[Vlad]

Vlad clambers past Wrenny, "I'm the biggest fan! Me!"

 

(It's great, can't wait for more...)

[Tralla]

AN: Two updates in a week? OH YEAH! It's a long one, folks...

 

 

 

His skills must’ve been getting rusty. Afternoon was already creeping into the dusk of early evening before Javick noticed that they were being followed.

 

They had decided to start moving along the rear alleys, a block or so away from main streets, since the evening exodus out of the city had already started and it would be dangerous going if they weren't very, very careful. Only a block away from main roads, the back alleys were still fairly straight, with few dead ends, and almost uninhabited. They made steady progress, and were already well on their way across the city to districts where the Falliks had little or no influence.

 

But as they moved, Javick began to notice shadows, flitting on the corners of his vision, darting through places where shadows shouldn't be. They teased and tantalized at the edges of his sight, but he knew better than to turn and look - it was never a good idea to let watchers know you knew they were watching. Instead, as he walked, he began to scan ahead, searching for likely places for more watchers to appear, and possible hiding places for themselves, as well. They'd have to lose their shadows before they found someplace to bed down for the night, or they'd leave themselves open to trouble.

 

Deciding finally to make his move, Javick grasped Kaolin's hand and darted down a side alley, running for the still-teeming crowds of the main street. If they could make it to the crowds, they could probably lose their shadows.

 

Their followers must've had the same thought, because almost immediately three shadows detached themselves from the walls a short way ahead and blocked their path. Whirling, Javick retreated only a step or two before two more shadows blocked their path from behind. They were trapped.

 

Readying his knife in the concealment of his ragged sleeve, Javick pressed Kaolin against the wall and blocked her with his body, trying to keep watch on both ends of the alley at once. Their followers approached slowly, sure of their advantage but still wary of what tricks might be up his sleeve.

 

The entire maneuver had been executed in perfect silence, so it came as somewhat of a shock when a shrill girl's voice broke the silence from the trio blocking the main street.

 

"Well, lookee here, m'boyos," she cried, her voice vibrant with glee. "What've we caught here? A couple rats from the guard? Snakes from Kilga's block? Or just plain ol' sheep for the mages?"

 

I sure hope you're ready to work your miracles, Kao, Javick thought to himself anxiously. This was looking like it was going to be ugly.

 

"We're just passing through," he barked back. "No guards. No gangs. Goin' to our job. No coin, either, if that's what you're after."

 

"No gangs, he says!" she sneered. "Just passin' through, he says!" She laughed shrilly; she sounded like a small pig, rutting in the filth for the refuse of higher men. "Where's yer job, then, eh? Drisla's Den?" She laughed again, and the other four chuckled rudely.

 

"The Home."

 

They stopped laughing. "What're those bastards doing sending their whelps out this far?" she growled. "They don't got no hold here. They're over on the south side. Plenty o' slave work there. No reason to reach this far with their filthy fat fingers."

 

"You sound like you don't like them much," Javick said softly.

 

"Aye, who does? Filthy pigs. Ill bred sons of... Agh! Steal kids who ain' doin' no harm... Bastards."

 

"Lost a couple urchins to the guards, hm?"

 

"Y' got tha' right. Only one, though. They only got one of ours, before we moved on north, where they didn' have no reach. 'Til now. Why're they reachin' this far, boy?"

 

"Who'd they get?" Javick pressed. "I knew... know almost everyone there. Maybe I know them, can tell you how they are."

 

"It was a few years ago..."

 

"Most stay their whole lives. Their name!"

 

Silence. Everything was still for a long, long time. Javick waited, tensely, sure he knew who they'd lost... The accent stronger, the voice deeper, but maybe...

 

"M' sis'. She led the pack, then. M' big sister, Zee."

 

The disgusted words from so long ago drifted back to him, slowly. "... B'trayed by one o' my own. Bastard." Zee's pack was still around?

 

"And the person who handed her to the guards?" Javicked questioned cautiously.

 

The girl spat. "Dead."

 

"She said he wouldn't last the month," he said, relaxing slightly.

 

Her teeth flashed whitely in the shadows. "He didn't last the night."

 

"We knew Zee. She was... she was great."

 

Another sharp laugh. "She was a bitch. But by th' gods, she knew how t' lead. She knew how t' live. Her gettin' caught... was a bad day. Y' know her, then? How is she? Goin' nuts stuck in that hell, I bet."

 

"She was okay, until the mages made their sweep. They took her. A couple nights ago." The girl gave a ragged gasp. "I'm sorry."

 

She made a strangled whimpering sound, like a small animal dying. "Zee..."

 

"She was our friend," Javick murmured. "We couldn't save her. I'm sorry."

 

"No matter," the girl said bravely, although her shaky voice betrayed her. "She's been good as dead for years now." Stepping forward, she extended her grubby little hand. "I'm Jun. I lead th' pack, now."

 

He took her hand briefly. "Javick."

 

"Well now Javick, where're you really goin'? I know fer a fact the Home hasn't sent it's little slave labour back out yet. I do still have my connections in the south district."

 

"Away from the Home," he replied flatly. "Everyone important was taken in the sweep. We left during the cleanup after."

 

"Clever boy. What'll you do?"

 

"Get a job in the north districts. I've no stomach for gangs, Jun, so don't get any ideas."

 

Another laugh. "Wouldn't dream of it. We're the perfect size as is. I wouldn' mind helpin' you, though. I know a place, near here, where it'll be safe to bed down fer the night. Nothin' special, but no fees, no questions. Interested?"

 

"I guess we can check it out," he agreed, cautious again. "No harm in it."

 

"I wouldn' b'tray m' sis' friends, Javick," Jun told him gravely. "I loved my sister. Now, let's get you some sheler b'fore night falls. Th' guards are a real pain after dark."

 

~ ~ ~

 

Jun and her boys - she never did bother introducing them, but they could have all been related, they looked o much alike - led them a few blocks to a small modest inn just off the main road, with a tiny stable wedged between itself and the building behind it. Pausing at the back door, which, judging from the smells, led into the kitchen, Jun raped out a somewhat complex rhythm on the wooden doorjamb. After a brief moment of waiting, the portal swung open and a plump, grease-spattered woman emerged, wiping her flour-coated hands on a flithy off-colour apron. "Wha' d' y' wan', Jun?" she grunted, looming over the tiny girl. "I'm busy with dinner, girl."

 

"Mind if I bed a couple mates in the back stall, Gert?" she asked with a radiant smile. "They're small, and won't cause trouble. Jus' need a night away from th' guards b'fore passin' on."

 

The woman grunted and waved them away, returning to her kitchen and closed the door abruptly. Jun nodded, satisfied, and led the way into the unlighted stable, taking them to the very last stall in the end, which contained mostly unsoiled bedding. There was an old horse blanket hung over the door, and although it was ragged and smelly, it would be warm.

 

"Bed down in th' corner, there, and you'll sleep like th' richies," Jun told them, already turning to leave. "I won't be able t come back in h' mornin', likely. Take care o' yer girl, there, Javick. Good luck."

 

"Same to you, Jun." They waited until they were sure Zee's old gang was gone, then took her advice and bedded done in one high-piled corner with the horseblanket drawn over them both. Although he tried to stay awake, the combort of their bedding and the absolute exhaustion of his body betrayed him, and he fall almost instantly asleep.

 

~ ~ ~

 

"JAVICK!!!"

 

Rough hands were grabbing at him, hauling him up. He began to fight before he even opened his eyes, his sleep-mazed mind working on an instinctive level. Kicking, biting, thrashing, scratching frantically, Javick managed to elicit a few curses from the men pawing at him. Somewhere nearby a girl screamed in terror. His eyes snapped open.

 

The stable was swarming with men. Someone had a lantern, and was holding it up high - Gret, the cook woman. Four men were struggling to subdue Kaolin, who kicked and thrashed more ferociously than any child he'd everseen. She shrieked his name again, and the men winced as the unbearably high sound pierced their ears. Three men were trying to get a hold on him, and two more were diving in to help. He saw and absorbed it all in a fraction of a second, but time slowed to a crawl when he spotted Jun, waiting in the shadows just beyond the light cast by Gret's lantern. Her mouth was twisted into a vicious smirk, and her dark eyes - Zee's eyes - glittered with triumph.

 

"JUN!" he roared as the five men finally pinned him down. Kaolin was still fighting, but no miracles seemed to be happening this time. "How could you?"

 

"Oh, quite easily," she purred, strolling into the light in the stall's enclosure. She paused only a couple feet from where Javick lay panting in the straw. Her lips quirked slightly when Kaolin gave a final defeated screech; the men had finally gotten a good hold on her, and weren't letting go. She crouched down and leaned close, placing her lips near his ear while her hands roamed his body with the featherlight touch of an experienced pickpocket. Although he never felt it lifted, Javick knew his knife, the slayer, was gone.

 

"Ol' Garrett didn' b'tray m' sis' on his own," she murmured, for him alone to hear. "'Though he thought he could lead the pack better 'n me. Fixed that. Fixed her, too. She really was a bitch." Jun rose wiping her hands on her pants as if she'd touched something distasteful. "No weapons," she told the others, in a louder, firmer voice. "An' th' girlie's harmless."

 

One of the men who was still struggling to hold Kaolin grunted sourly; his eye would be blue and swollen by morning. Gret, however, nodded, satisfied, and tossed ahandful of glittering gold coins to Jun. The girl caught them neatly, mid-air. "A pleasure, Gret," she said with a cocky flip of one hand. Turning, she leaped the wall dividing that stall from its neighbour and was gone.

 

"You boys know what to do," Gret mumbled, already turning away. "I've heard Meri's looking fer a new girl. Some sods like 'em young. G'wan, now. You know what to do with the boy."

 

"Javick!" Kaolin wailed as they began to drag her from the room. Her matted brown hair was a whirlwind around her thrashing head, and her brillant green eyes were wide with fear. "Help! JAVICK!"

 

"Kaolin!" Javick heaved against his captors madly. This couldn't be happening. Not again. "Kao! I'm coming!"

 

"I dun' thin' so," one of the men holding him growled. A terrific pain exploded across the back of his skull, and stars swam up instantly to obsure his vision.

 

No! he screamed silently as his body went limp and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. This can't be happening! Kaolin!

 

His felt his mind slipping away from his grasping fingers.

 

I'm sorry...

 

Darkness.

[Tralla]

AN: UPDATE ON COMMENTING: Those who have no access to Critic's Corner, please feel free to comment in this thread. Any in-depth critiquing would be good, and any comments at all would be welcome... Anyone with access to the CC, please post there - my rambling story is long enough without your (much appreciated!) comments in the same thread. =D Thanks all!

 

 

 

 

Ten years later...

 

It was a painful waking, but that was normal.

 

Funny, she thought, tracing patterns idly along her gaunt, pale body. The purple and yellow splotches marring random parts of her pale canvas were ignored – they, too, were normal. I hurt more than I normally do. Another rough one last night. In their continuing dance, her fingers fluttered lightly over the aching spots, and the pain subsided, although the discolouring remained. Better.

 

A slow, sensual stretch worked out the worst of the previous night's labours, so with a faint clinking of metal on metal she slipped from the large, somewhat dirty bed on which she'd slept. The metal cuffs permanently fixed about her wrists, ankles, and neck settled into their customary positions, but she didn't notice as she moved silently from the room. They'd been in place long enough for her to forget what it was like without them.

 

Beyond the bedchamber was a long hallway with many doors. This early in the morning, it was silent; clients were sparse during the day, and didn't usually arrive until the city guard turned over in a few hours. She had a little time. Perhaps she might even manage to wrest some sustenance from Jerska today; the spiteful woman couldn't withhold from her forever. After all, she was a favourite, and needed her energy for the long, long nights.

 

One end of the hallway led to the public den, where visitors came to relax before going off to the private rooms with their chosen companion. The other end led to the private den where the girls spent their time when they weren’t working or sleeping; it was to this room that she went. A handful of girls were already there, reclining on old low couches or lumpy, discoloured pillows around the edges of the room. This den wasn’t much cleaner than the room she’d just left, but then, no visitors would ever see this room, so it didn’t need to be clean, or even really comfortable. After all, slaves knew better than to complain about how they were kept or treated.

 

Scanning the familiar faces, she couldn’t find a friendly one in the lot, which wasn’t surprising. Most of the girls envied her “favourite” status; if they saw more of her bruises than she cared to show, a few might be discouraged, but not all. Some girls craved status for the sake of status, whether any actual power came with it or not. Power envy, it seemed, was a trait not at all restricted to the High Mages of the country.

 

Shrugging slightly, she made her way to last unoccupied corner of the room, hooking a pillow enroute to seat herself upon. The pillow smelled unpleasant, and the corner still worse, but both were preferable to the sour, silently sneering company of her fellow slaves. As in every other place she had been, regardless of whether or not she wanted to be there, she was not welcome.

 

She had just seated herself – gingerly, since some parts did still hurt – when Mistress Meri sauntered in the rear door, the door to the kitchen. Meri paused just inside the entrance to survey her girls, who were hastily scrambling to their feet – not out of respect for her, but rather out of fear for what she might do if they were not quick enough in rising. Clothed in an obscenely tight slip of red silk that barely covered her still luscious middle-aged body, with heavily perfumed feathers and trinkets adorning every possible surface, Meri was the perfect picture of a whorehouse’s most pampered girl. Yet, Meri hadn’t worked a day on her back in years. As the most cruel, evil, grasping, vicious, black-hearted bitch to ever come through that particular section of the city, Meri’s untapped potential for causing unthinkable suffering had been quickly put to better use as headmistress of the slavegirls, a decision Lady Drisla had never regretted. Drisla’s Den had prospered under Meri’s capable motivational strategies, and cultivated such a reputation for quality service that the inevitable invitation had finally come, the invitation which triggered this surprise visit to the slaves’ filthy den that morning.

 

“Hello, pets,” Meri purred, sauntering a few steps farther into the den. She paused and waited as the girls slinked forward, murmuring their timid welcomes with eyes dutifully turned down and posture correctly subservient. A few – the usual favourites, she noted – even dared to drop to their knees and kiss her feet, their lips brushing her skin even more lightly than the finest of her feathers – they knew better than to sully her fair skin with their filthy touch, favoured though they may be. Soon all the favourites were clustered about her, as close as they could be without actually touching her body; all except Kay, who, although she always knelt respectfully in the rear of the pack, never approached her person. Meri could never understand why the girl was a favourite – she was a walking skeleton, by the Gods! Yet, despite her plain features, disgusting hair, and scrawny, visibly abused body, the men never ceased to throng to the girl. There was something… otherworldly about the girl, they said. They couldn’t explain the attraction, and Meri could not see it, which irritated her beyond all reason. So it had been for the full ten years the girl had been here. Eventually, even her attraction would have to fade, and Meri would take incredible delight in crushing the wretch beneath her pointed heel when that day finally arrived.

 

“Enough, pets,” she commanded briskly, when she tired of their simpering attention. “I come with news, and we have little time to waste. The High Mage Phallonomar, great be his wisdom and long his Gifted life, has decided to hold a party tonight for several visiting Mages from other citilands. Of course, entertainment of all varieties is being provided to his privileged guests, including the physical delights for which Lady Drisla has become so well-known. Pets, tonight, the best of you will be visiting the Blue Palace!”

 

Exclamations of delight and excitement erupted from the girls huddled around Meri, but Kay, still kneeling in the back, felt a icy wave of fear wash over her, raising goosebumps along her arms and down her neck. The Blue Palace? High Mages? Sweet Jahkaeva, she’d managed to avoid them almost completely for ten whole years… Why, now, after so long, was she being thrust in the midst of an entire pack of them?

 

Images flashed past her mind’s eye too quickly for true recollection – flashing, frightening images of nights long past, when children were screaming, running, disappearing, never to be seen again…

 

A single tear rolled down one impassive cheek, but even Meri failed to notice amid the very vocal enthusiasm of all the other girls.

 

Gods, when will it end?

 

~ ~ ~

 

The rest of the day was consumed with preparation for the ten girls, including Kay, chosen to go to the Palace. Their numbers would be augmented by other slaves from other brothels, but Drisla’s, naturally, must look the best, because they were the best. They were bathed in scented water, powdered and painted with the best of the cosmetics, and clothed in the best of the freshly washed costumes, which were reserved only for such special occasions. Their heavy iron collars and cuffs were replaced with shiny copper or silver versions, depending on their rankings among the slaves; Kay received a silver set, one of three. Hair was combed, perfumed, and arranged in elaborate coiffures, except in Kay’s case – her hair was so remarkably tangled from years of neglect that, after several ruthlessly painful hours of combing failed, they finally decided that they would cut it short and pin a heavily beaded and feathered headdress over what was left.

 

“Teach you to let yourself get so disgusting,” one of the older girls sneered, not bothering to conceal her glee as she sheared off another of Kay’s heavily matted chunks of hair. Kay didn’t react, even when the girl wrenched her hair nastily for that lack of response. Throughout the entire ordeal, she sat passively in her chair, gazing straight ahead with her usual perfectly detached expression upon her face. That mask had been perfected by years of unabated suffering, and no stupid, vicious whore could come even close to cracking it, let alone actually earn a reaction from the extraordinary Kay.

 

When clipped to within a couple inches of her scalp, Kay’s hair actually became somewhat manageable – they managed to wash it, partially comb it, and insert what must have been over one hundred pins fastening the gaudy headdress to her head. When she stood for her final adjustments, she looked precisely as she was expected to – a prized whore, in a costume that neither hid nor revealed, but rather augmented what was there.

 

At least they had the brains to powder the bruises, she thought idly, examining herself with apparent disinterest in the full-length dirty mirror before her. They may like to beat us, but they’d prefer to pretend we didn’t show the marks of it the next day.

 

As if she had been waiting just outside the door to the preparation room – she may have, knowing her – Meri stalked into the room and snarled, “Haven’t you lazy pigs finished yet? We’re going to be late if you drag your useless hides any slower!” Sweeping Kay with a critical glance, she nodded in grudging acceptance – never approval – grabbed her upper arm far tighter than necessary and dragged her bodily from the room. Kay scurried to keep up, the bruises on that arm far too fresh in that pitiless grip. Together they hustled down the empty main corridor, through the private den, through the subdued back kitchen, and out the back door to the waiting coach. It was a finer ride than Kay had ever been in, but her Mistress gave her no time to catch more than a hurried glance of the exterior before thrusting her inside and cramming herself inside just behind. The carriage started immediately, and they quickly discovered that although it may look impressive in the dark, the ride was far from smooth – Lady Drisla, it seemed, only devoted so much quality to mere slaves.

 

The ride smoothed somewhat when they reached the wealthier districts of the city, where, of course, the Blue Palace was the sited. They also moved at a much slower pace, constantly having to give way to the much more powerful of the city, on their way by higher quality carriage to the High Mage’s event. Perhaps a block from the Palace proper, the driver swerved onto a side street, circling around the massive compound as per the Lady’s instructions to deposit them at the much less visible rear entrance, which was reserved for the common servants and slaves coming to and from the High Mage’s compound. When they had all descended from the carriage, the driver wasted no time in pulling away, pausing only to tip his hat respectfully to Meri before disappearing into the night.

 

Meri, her girls following obediently just behind her, strode confidently up to the scribe seated to the side of the servant’s entrance and presented the invitation Lady Drisla had given her for admission to the Palace. With a cursory glance at the small slip of parchment embossed with the High Mage’s distinct royal blue seal, the scribe gave a haughty sniff, made a notation on the scroll spread across the writing table before him, and waved for them to enter. Bowing politely, Meri did so, and the girls followed, eyes fixed on their toes, as they had always been trained. It would not do, after all, to embarrass Mistress Meri at so important an event as this. The repercussions would be unimaginably severe.

 

Just inside the entrance, a young servant was waiting to guide them to the girl’s quarters for the night. Through a maze of corridors, stairs, and seemingly identical chambers they were hustled at an almost indecent pace, until finally the way opened suddenly into what could only be a makeshift brothel. The room, like most of the rooms in the Palace, was walled in a very dark blue glossy stone, with black stone tile floors and a ceiling so high above their heads that it was enveloped completely in shadow. Small niches set high along all the walls contained orbs of soft white-yellow light that flickered and surged just enough to send slightly unnerving shadows and light patterns skittering across the walls. Niches set down at floor level let into private chambers for more private activities, while the main chamber was strewn with a sea of lighter blue and silver pillows for lounging slaves or clients who wished a more public setting. Other slaves already occupied many of the pillows, in the full variety of ages, genders, and, surprisingly, races; dark-skinned coastal barbarians and sharp-featured yellow-toned slaves from the far west joined the more customary paler skinned varieties usually found in such a central city. Such exotic slaves were very prized; Lady Drisla’s collection was undoubtedly the most skilled of the white-skinned creatures here, though, and that was enough.

 

Meri led them to one of the few unoccupied areas left, along the left-hand wall. The girls seated themselves on pillows that may have looked luxurious, but were actually a little too thin for proper comfort, and listened attentively to their Mistress’ instructions.

 

“All the guests here tonight are very important people,” Meri began in her most fear-inspiring tone. “If they desire the services of slaves like you, they will enter this room and merely pick the whore they fancy. The services tonight are courtesy of the High Mage Phallonomar, so you will be expected merely to provide any service they require – no money will pass through your grubby little paws. They have full liberty to do whatever they please with you, and you will provide your services with full cooperation and to the utmost of your abilities. Lady Drisla’s hard-earned reputation lies with you girls tonight, and I expect you to outperform even the most outlandish of the rumours. I don’t think I need to illustrate the consequences of failure.” Her dire glare, as she fixed each terrified girl’s gaze with her own, conveyed those consequences more eloquently than words ever could. “You will stay here the full night, as the revelry is fully expected to last into the late hours of the morning. I will come to collect you when it is time to go. You will not leave this set of rooms until then.” Waiting to make sure they understood everything she had told them, Meri nodded once and left the room. Then the waiting began.

Edited July 2, 2004 by Tralla

[Guest Kunax]

I should have read this a little sooner, but better late then never, its quite good.

 

the subtile "This will be a dark(er) story." fits well.

[Tralla]

With no clients arriving so early in the festivities, the slaves had little to do but size each other up from across the room. The exotics clustered together in their respective groups, dressed in expensive, skimpy parodies of their people’s traditional garb. One group of pale-skinned slaves was costumed to imitate the desert harems of the south, but most simply wore high quality uniforms in the colours and particular design of their brothel. Blue was definitely the dominant colour, since Phallonomar chose royal blue as his signature colour when he succeeded Felamorrell almost ten years before. The pitiful attempt to curry favour was disdained by Drisla’s chosen; in an apparently uncommon exercise of imagination, Lady Drisla’s girls wore highly intricate costumes representing the various beautiful, sensual, or mystical creatures rumoured to exist in wilder places in the world. There were several greater cats, a unicorn, a serpent, a swan, a peacock, some sort of exotic sea creature, and a dragon. One girl even dressed as a faerie, with pointed ears and gossamer wings. Kay herself was a phoenix, with brilliant plumage and feather-light wisps of perfectly see-through fabric. If she had moved at any point, the pieces would have floated around her in an almost bewitching display of the grace that made her so special. But she merely sat on her pillow in her corner, waiting passively for whatever would come. She had been trapped years ago, and now she was here, in the very palace of a High Mage, and it was just a matter of time before they found her. After so many years of accepting her situation, her fate, her life, she found that she was no longer afraid. She had no reason to fight. Let them come.

 

By the Gods, let them bleed for you, my love. Let them suffer. Show them what it is to fear.

 

Shaking away her absent reverie, Kay felt her gaze drawn to the chamber’s entrance. People were coming. Let them come…

 

Then they were there, in singles or pairs, the guests looking for some higher-grade pleasures. Many of the exotic slaves were claimed first, as a novelty that few would pass up, then they began to circulate among the paler-skinned girls. Several of Kay’s companions were selected, as well as a pair of the harem beauties. Kay herself was not, so she continued to sit with her eyes lowered obediently to her feet, motionless and unnoticed along one wall of the chamber.

 

Perhaps an hour or two had passed – time was hard to tell, there – when a guest walked in that sent her skin crawling and her spine clenching with an incredible sense of dread.

 

Oh Gods, not him, not him, not him not him not him…

 

He was dressed simply, in a tunic and breeches of crisp black, with an undershirt of rich purple. No glittering embroidery adorned the hems of his clothing, and no jewels sparkled on his hands or head. His hair was a mousy brown, and his eyes a muddied hazel, but he radiated an aura of power that was impossible to deny. He was dangerous, and although she had tried so hard to block out that part of her past, she could clearly remember why. Her body almost vibrated with the iron control she had to exert to keep herself from leaping up and fleeing wildly from the room. Such a reaction could not end well.

 

The guest swept his keen gaze once over the room, then began to pick his way slowly through the slaves. Each girl received the same intense scrutiny, but he did not so much as pause as he made his rounds. One enterprising girl sauntered up to him and murmured sultry promises in his ear, but the dismissive flick of his hand sent her hurriedly scurrying away again, a pout fixed upon her somewhat pretty face. He continued his search.

 

As he neared, Kay had to fight incredibly hard to keep from weeping, running, shrinking back against the wall, or doing anything else that might attract attention to herself. She had never been so terrified in her life. Well, she had, but that was so long ago, and she was alone now…

 

What happened to resignation? Make him bleed! Make him scream! Make him fear!

 

The footsteps stopped suddenly in front of her. Closing her eyes, she murmured an inaudible prayer to a goddess she couldn’t remember.

 

A hand abruptly shot down and grasped her jaw firmly, jerking her face up to meet his penetrating gaze. She didn’t open her eyes, but she felt like he knew. She could feel his stare, boring into her exposed features, perceiving the brilliant green orbs hidden behind such ordinary eyelids…

 

“Do you play games, whore?” he hissed, his voice raising clammy goosebumps on the back of her neck.

 

“No, my Lord,” she whispered, barely able to force the words past the brutal grip on her face.

 

“Are you afraid?”

 

“No, my Lord.”

 

“Then why are your eyes closed?”

 

“The Mistress taught that looking a Master in the eyes was offensive, my Lord. Our purpose is not displeasure, my Lord.”

 

“Indeed. Open your eyes, slave.”

 

Her lids opened with a snap, compelled by a will not totally her own. Instinctively, blind terror overwhelming all her conscious senses, Kay reached, seeking to charm, repulse, confuse-

 

His evil smile inspired new kinds of fear in her stuttering heart.

 

“The Lady will be pleased.”

Edited September 9, 2004 by Tralla

[WrenWind]

*chills*

 

I wait for the next instalment with bated breath.

 

 

 

 

*Big huggles*

[Peredhil]

Nicely done...

[Tralla]

...His evil smile inspired new kinds of fear in her stuttering heart.

 

“The Lady will be pleased.”

 

For the first time in her life, Kay’s Gifts failed her as he drew her up, up, into his embrace, into his eyes…

 

~ ~ ~

 

Pulling a silvery chain from a hidden pocket, he clipped it onto her collar while she stood numbly gazing up at him. Without another word, he turned and strode confidently to the exit, Kay having no choice but to follow on her glittering leash. The guards at the door moved to stop him, stammering out protests that the slaves were not to be removed, but a flash of the insignia on his collar and a disdainful flick of his hand were all he needed to pass them by. Continuing out into the hallway beyond, the man set a brisk pace through the dimly lit hallways. He tugged occasionally on the leash to be sure she kept up - and was still attached to it. He moved with the confidence and certainty born of long experience, and Kay began to silently wonder just how often his master had come to visit Felamorrell's successor. Why had they come? High Mages did not leave their respective territories often. If they had come here often enough for this man to know the maze of hallways, antechambers, and stairways as well as he seemed to, what were they looking for?

 

You, silly. Little, bright-eyed, soft-spoken, incredibly dangerous you.

 

Kay shivered.

 

The walk down those long corridors seemed to last an hour or more, with the only sounds the rhythmic drumming of the man's boots and the fitful whispers of the magical illumination in the niches upon the wall. It was probably not very long at all, but that did not matter. Kay followed tamely behind him. This one would not fall for her tricks. He would not sleep. He would not forget. She was doomed.

 

It came as somewhat of a surprise when they did finally stop before a door much like any other lining those hallways. Like the walls, it was smooth dark blue stone, with a gleaming black handle and no other ornamentation at all. Somehow, she expected something... grander for a High Mage's doorway. But then, she was visiting. She probably had a very nice door at home...

 

SNAP OUT OF IT!

 

Blinking, Kaolin shook off the trance she had lulled herself into. she wasn't doomed. She could fight. She could make them hurt. Make them suffer. Make them fear.

 

She blinked again and shook her head. What's wrong with me?

 

The man produced a gleaming violet-coloured charm from a hidden pocket and waved it over the door's handle, then reached for it and turned. The door swung open without a sound, and, tugging her chain to make sure she followed, he entered.

 

The room within was large and dimly lit. Several long, low, couches lined the walls, piled high with silk pillows and brightly coloured throws. A thick rug softened the cold stone of the floor, and lamps provided illumination, rather than magical glows. A trio of servants knelt in the corner nearest the door, heads bowed, ready to serve.

 

"Fetch the Lady," the man snapped at the slaves. "Be quick but quiet about it."

 

One servant rose immediately and, with a low bow, swept silently from the room. Long minutes of absolute silence passed. The other slaves remained perfectly motionless, as did the man beside her, so Kay could do nothing but wait. Perhaps another half-hour had passed when finally the door swing open again and the Lady glided into the room, as perfectly poised as she had been ten years before when she invaded the Fallik Home.

 

Zermaterix.

 

Callin dropped to his knees as she entered, brutally yanking the chain so that Kay had no choice but to do so as well. The High mage proceeded to the far end of the room and seated herself with immaculate grace upon the plush sofa ready there. Taking a glass from the tray offered by one of the three suddenly attentive slaves, she eyed her manservant with only a trace of curiosity. When she spoke, her voice was just as coolly commanding as the girl remembered.

 

"I left instructions not to be disturbed tonight, Callin," she stated calmly.

 

Callin pressed himself lower into the carpet. "I know this, Mistress," he whined.

 

If he had a tail, it would be tucked tight up between his legs, but the stupid mutt would still be attempting to wag it timidly.

 

Shut up, Kay commanded the voice firmly.

 

"Then you knowingly defied my orders?" It was more of a statement than a question, and her voice grew colder, harder.

 

"With only the best of reasons, Great Mistress!"

 

"And what," she demanded, dark eyes snapping with dangerous power, "could possibly be a good enough reason to ignore such a direct command?"

 

"I brought you a gift," Callin hissed, tugging the chain slightly. Kay shivered.

 

"Your whore?" the High Mage stated, her voice dripped with scornful venom. "There were far better available where I was, Callin."

 

"Once, we found a girl," he began, his voice still vibrant with triumphant glee. "A tiny wretch, with plain brown hair, and bright, bright green eyes, who reeked of the Gift-"

 

"And you've been chasing phantom girls with green eyes ever since!" Zermaterix snapped. "I tire of your obsession, Callin!"

 

Hissing in frustration, Callin rose to his knees and yanked down the collar of his shirt. A livid red burn, blisters already rising from the tortured surface, was branded into the skin directly below his collarbone. Without a word, he turned out the inside of his shirt, displaying the misshappen lump of violet-coloured something that might at one time have been a brooch.

 

"When she Reached for me, she infused enough of the Gift into your protective trinket to turn the thing molten," Callin explained, showing a complete disregard for the hideous burn in his driving need to convince his Mistress of Kay's power. "Great Lady, I have never forgotten a scent, especially one as potent and distinctive as that girl's! By the Gods, look!" With that, he grabbed Kay's jaw in that unforgiving grip of his and jerked her face upwards, exposing her eyes to her mistress. Those bewitching, damning, brilliant green eyes.

 

"Enough, Callin," the High Mage commanded. "Release her, and leave us. You are pardoned."

 

He pressed his face down into her carpet again, his expression one of sincere, incredible relief. Scrambling to his feet, he bolted for the door. Her voice stopped him like a brick wall.

 

"Callin."

 

Turning he bowed low. "Yes, Great Mistress?"

 

"Although I appreciate your sincere concern with convincing me of the importance of your discovery, your tone was completely impermissible. You will not go far. We will discuss your behaviour when I am through here."

 

Callin blanched whiter than the palest whores back at the Den, but he bowed lower and backed slowly from the room. "Yes, Wise Lady," he murmured, before closing the door behind him.

 

Zermaterix immediately turned her formidable gaze on the scantily clad wretch still crouched on her carpet. Rising from her perch, hands folded sedately within her sleeves, she approached the child slowly. She scanned carefully for any signs that a Gift was being used - many of those born with the unique traits were little better than animals, and highly unpredictable. Especially, as she had learned well those ten years before, the pathetic wretches brought up in the slums and orphanages of the city.

 

The perfect silence continued to stretch out between them, Zermaterix eyeing the child with unabated interest, the child eyeing one precise spot on the carpet a short distance from the High Mage's feet. It really was very nice carpet.

 

"What is your name, child?" she asked suddenly, snapping the silence with her usual ruthless efficiency. The girl did not so much as wince. Impressive.

 

"My mistress calls me Kay, Great Lady," the girl murmured respectfully.

 

An invisible slap - the High Mage never moved - sent Kay sprawling several feet away, eyes wide in stunned surprise.

 

"I did not ask what your mistress called you, girl," Zermaterix explained patiently. "I asked what was your name. Do not play word games with me, child. You will not win. Now," she continued, resetting her face into a falsely pleasant expression, "your name."

 

"Kaolin, Great Lady."

 

She leaned with her power, and Kaolin gasped and curled into a ball of pain at her feet. "Your entire name, girl."

 

"Kaolin!" she shrieked. "I don't know any other name! The people at the orphanage called me Kaolin! That's all I know!"

 

"That's better," Zermaterix commently amiably. "Now we understand each other. Are you thirsty, Kaolin?"

 

The girl raised frightened eyes to her face, but looked away almost instantly. "M-my Lady?"

 

"I do not repeat myself, Kaolin."

 

"Y-yes, Lady. I am thirsty."

 

Zermaterix waved, and a slave scurried forward to offer the child a tall glass of water. Kaolin took it timidly, but could not resist for long the precious fluid that she had been refused all day at the brothel. The tiny sips grew to hurried gulps, until the entire great glass was empty and returned to the slave's waiting hands. Kaolin turned her fearful gaze back to the floor, waiting.

 

"I do not have to be a cruel mistress, Kaolin," Zermaterix stated finally. "I am one of the few High Mages who believe that reward promotes loyalty in those below you, and that true loyalty is not obtainable with even liberal use of the Gift. However, I also refuse to tolerate any disrespect or dishonesty in my people. A single disciplinary problem, poorly timed, could threaten my status on the Council as well as my reign of my territory. I cannot allow such a threat to exist. The Mages are a pack of rabid wolves, each waiting not-so-patiently to take down the others. I will not fall."

 

A strange sense of lethargy was seeping over Kaolin's body, and she felt her eyes growing continually heavier. The dark dreams of the damned called to her, from the recesses of her fractured mind.

 

The water was drugged, of course. Silly little fool. Now you're dead.

 

You're supposed to shut up, Kaolin reminded the voice sleepily.

 

Yes, you're doing a fine job on your own.

 

"Felamorrell fell," Kaolin murmured finally, her eyelids finally winning the fight and drooping closed. "You're not invincible."

 

The deepest, hottest layer of Kaos could not have melted Zermaterix's smile just then. "Now that wasn't a very nice thing to say. You will learn to guard your words around me, Kaolin. I think I will have fun teaching you."

 

Make her hurt make her bleed make her scream make her-

 

SHUT UP!

[WrenWind]

Yes *stands and applauds* you have a nack for building the tension ...Love it neeeed more.

[Gyrfalcon]

*sits and waits so very impatiently* I love it so far, keep going!

[Tralla]

~ ~ ~

 

Zermaterix watched impassively as the girl’s incredible eyes finally closed and she toppled over onto her side. The High Mage nudged her with a toe, and she didn’t even stir. Out cold. Delightful. Surprisingly good constitution for such a frail looking thing – there was enough jarra root in that water to down a large bull. Sleep induction, unfortunately, was not among her Gifts. Yet.

 

She examined the child's face intently. Delicate features, fine cheekbones, straight nose, and large, faintly slanted eyes. The plain brown hair, poking out now from beneath the elaborate headdress, was ordinary enough, but didn't really seem to fit with the exoticness of the rest of her. Still, the resemblance was strong enough. It could be her. Regardless, if her Gift was that strong...

 

The High Mage exhaled suddenly. It was time to go.

 

"Callin."

 

Although the summon was soft, he heard and moved immediately into the room. He didn't even glance at the child lying unconscious beside his feet - his job was to find them, not to worry about what happened afterwards. As soon as he was within the room, he dropped into another low bow.

 

"Your lowly slave humbly begs forgiveness for his unspeakable behaviour."

 

Zermaterix blinked emotionlessly.

 

"He made a grave error in... in arguing with his Mistress before an outsider. He merely grew excited upon finally capturing the strongest Gift he has ever found. He was excited for the asset it might become for his Lady."

 

"So you've come to beg for mercy?"

 

"No! No, Mistress, never mercy! I deserve whatever punishment you choose to dispense! I merely wish to know if I am forever cast from your favour, or... or..."

 

She rewarded him with one of her exceedingly rare genuine smiles.

 

"Your unwavering devotion to protecting and furthering my interests is a source of great pride for me, Callin," she told him, laying a surprisingly gentle hand on his bowed head. "You are one of the most valued slaves among my entire staff. However, you did make a grave error in speaking so forcefully against me." Small glittering motes of light began drifting from her hand to his head - an unfortunate side-effect of this particular Gift, and what eventually exposed the unfortunate possessor to her watching eyes. "You are too valuable to have your tongue removed outright, no matter how fitting such punishment may be. Therefore, I will simply remove your ability to speak. It shall not be returned until I deem you worthy."

 

Callin opened his mouth to agree fervently with her decision, but no sound issued from his lips. Snapping his jaws shut with a now-inaudible clack, he nodded his head instead, and bowed even lower.

 

Zermaterix leaned with her power again, and Kaolin's prone body rose slowly from the floor. "We are leaving," she declared. She passed a simple black ring to Callin, who instantly slipped it onto one of his fingers. "Pack up our belongings, and return when you are done. Do not be long."

 

Without waiting for a response, Zermaterix summoned the image of her fortress within her mind; black half-tumbled walls surrounding a tall central tower, with a multitude of turrets clawing their tortured way skyward like the gnarled arms of a disease-ridden tree. Perhaps two-thirds of the way up the jagged north-facing wall a balcony jutting out like a single fungal shelf, sheltered protectively in the shadow of one of the lower, more massive turrets. Moving her mind’s eye closer, the High Mage wove together the details of the half-hidden balcony: a waist-high, intricately carved handrail, a matte black stone floor, and a shimmering purple gauzy curtain shielding the inner sanctum from any spying eyes. Laying a hand on Kaolin’s forehead, Zermaterix willed herself to that balcony, smiling as she felt the Gift surge within her and the chamber rapidly fade from view.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Scorching fire ignited dulled senses, and he came awake with an agonized cry. Scrambling pathetically away from the hissing straps that caused so much pain, he clawed his way upright and staggered from the holding cell where they’d left him for the last… how many days? Too many.

 

Similar cries arise from his unwillingly cellmates as they, too, were roughly herded from the room. Beyond, other unfortunates were shuffling from other cells, all headed towards the daylight invading the end of the corridor, far to his right. Passively he joined the rising tide of broken labour, goaded more by the rare promise of sunlight than by the whips still hissing warnings behind him. The sunlight seared his eyes, but he plodded forward, quietly revelling in the clean warmth shining down upon his shoulders. What I would give for a day in the Fallik gardens again…

 

Rough hands shoved him under sputtering water spigots, roaring for him to scrub quickly and move onward. He scrubbed at his matted hair with calloused fingers, watching the water turn yellow, then brown, then almost black as it sluiced down his almost-naked body. The dirt had barely begun to wash away when more rough hands pulled him from the shower, thrust a ragged overtunic at him, and sent him reeling into the other slaves pressing to pass through a gateway to the food they could all smell waiting beyond. The lukewarm gruel was slopped into outstretched hands as the slaves were herded ever-onward by an endless supply of eager whips. They in turn hurriedly shoved their filthy hands into their salivating faces to prevent any of the precious gruel from being wasted. They were fed sporadically, if at all.

 

Chains were fed through the rings on their slave-collars, and the slaves were led away in groups of a dozen or two by several well-armed masters. They radiated out from the massive central slave holding facility to all corners of the city, to sweep streets, till outlying fields, maintain the stinking run-down sewers beneath the streets, haul the materials horses were too expensive to waste upon, or perform any other disgusting menial task that no one else could be threatened or coerced into doing. They were the drudges, the dregs of the slave supply, the human sludge too useless even to be sold to the mages as test fodder. Once or twice a week, whenever the city got a little too shabby around the edges, they were hauled from the lightless cells where they had been left to rot and whipped into servitude. And, when the day of brutal labour was over, they crawled gratefully back into the darkness.

 

It was, quite simply, the lowest possible level of hell. A single human creature could fall no farther in this city-state than he had fallen. How had it all gone so wrong?

 

They were being taken into the nicer districts. To shovel horse-dung from the cobblestones around the palace, he discovered by focussing on their masters’ idle chatter. Ah, well, he’d done far worse in the last year or two. Or three. How long has it been? I don’t want to know.

 

They reached the area where they were supposed to start. Slaves could be given nothing so dangerous as shovels or pitchforks, so they had to scrape the dung from the cobblestones with their hands, heaving behind them into the wheelbarrows propelled by one of their fellow drudges. He was placed on wheelbarrow today, but quickly grew to envy his mates as the day trudged onward. A full barrow of dung was heavy, and very difficult to wheel up the rickety planks onto the collecting wagon all by himself. Every muscle in his body burned by midday, and still they prodded him onward, ever onward, dousing him occasionally with a slosh of water from their canteens when he might have collapsed under the no-longer pleasant sunshine. He sunk gradually into the self-preserving daze he had developed over the years, until he wasn’t conscious of the pain, the incredible heat, the overwhelming stench, or anything else by the unceasing drive to push at the rough wooden poles clutched in his sweaty hands.

 

Day marched determinedly into early evening, and early evening into later evening, and still they laboured. The afternoon exodus was come and down, but they worked on, ever onward, goaded by the tireless whips of their unfailing masters. It would never end. By the gods, please, please let it end.

 

The spell was shattered and all his agonies rushed back to him when a man walked by. A simple man, somewhat young, in the company of another man of similar dress and age. There was nothing exceptional about him. How could he penetrate the haze of one drudge’s broken mind? Nothing exceptional. And yet, and yet…

 

There was a slant to the smirking lips, an active intelligence behind the laughing eyes, a familiarity to the motions of his hand as it waved to emphasize some point he was making…

 

Dead, dead, gone, so long, dead, deaddeaddead…

 

His breath seemed to be having trouble escaping his lungs. It wasn’t possible. After so many years, it just wasn’t possible. But there he was, so unmistakeably there. And, behind him, slipping from the shadows of one of the many side-alleys, was the cutpurse, dagger screaming his hand, who had trailed such a tempting target for blocks. Silently creeping up behind his preoccupied prey, so close, so close…

 

The drudge couldn’t think, or speak. He’s dead. He’s already dead.

 

Move. Suddenly, he was. Uttering a wordless, haunted wail, he bowled his master over and hurled himself at the assailant, who had turned at his cry. The knife slid home, and a great shouting rose up as slave and thief tumbled to the unforgiving cobblestones. The gentlemen turned and stared, astonished, at the filthy wretches so dangerously close behind them. Up close, there was no mistaking that face, changed but not from its almost-adult state so long ago. The drudge felt an almost forgotten sense of triumph wash over him, gloriously tinged with joy that this apparition was alive and well. He gazed up into those astonished eyes, which grew even wider as recognition dawned, peeling away the layers of mud and dung and long years of abuse. The agony which washed over him when the man knelt down and personally removed the cutpurse’s knife from his chest was manageable; the hands on him were firm and warm. They were real. By the gods, he was real!

 

His breath gurgled strangely in his chest, and the pain became less bearable. Oh, shit. His dung-encrusted hands clutched at the bloody hole in his chest and he panted pathetically. He could hear his master bellowing, and heavy footfalls pounded up to his prone form. He flinched when the whip was raised, but the gentleman surged to his feet and wrenched the device from the master’s astonished grasp. He looked back down at the drudge, helplessly dying at his feet, and their eyes met again. The drudge smiled. Sweet, tantalizing darkness tickled at the edges of his vision. It would be so nice to slip away. He’d waited so very long for it. Prayed for it. Maybe the gods were listening after all. Maybe Jahkaeva listened to pitiful souls lacking one orphan’s bewitching green eyes. Maybe.

 

The gentleman knelt and touched his shoulder gently. “Javick,” he managed to choke out.

 

“Eli.”

 

With a blissful sigh, Javick died.

[WrenWind]

love it! want more! *hugs*

[Tralla]

~ ~ ~

 

It seemed so real.

 

Someone was singing. The melody was soft, just a barely audible crooning lullaby. A pair of slender, milk-white arms cradled her limp form, rocking her slightly in time to the song. She was wrapped in a blanket of warmth, and felt, for the first time in conscious memory, total comfort.

 

She floated for what seemed like forever in that pleasant maternal cocoon. Eventually, the nonsense-syllables resolved themselves into hauntingly familiar lyrics.

 

“Kaj-ya laanyei do-va sinue lerri damae-”

 

She screamed as the words brought with them a flood of long-forgotten images: fire, roaring high above the smoking trees. Pain, terror, and darting night time shadows. Curved blades glinting in the shifting light, and shouting figures on horseback. Screams answering her own, and the scent of burning flesh filling her nostrils, causing her to gag. Blood pattered against the dark earth beneath her as a horseman loomed over her, lifting his wet blade high, ready to plunge it between her terrified green eyes.

 

In the background, the song droned on, and the arms around her tightened possessively, banishing completely her hope for salvation. The sourceless voice turned raspy, nasty, hatefully hissing the words as the arms squeezed the air from her lungs. Her mouth gaped wide, and she claws scarlet streaks into the milk-white vice around her throat. Can’t breathe, can’t fight, have to flee, have to… have to…

 

Have to kill… the voice hissed back.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Lilac eyes travelled intently from the child's face to her Dreamer. The child's eerie green eyes were open wide, but didn't see the waking world; her body vibrated and twitched slightly, but that was all. The Dreamer was another story. His eyes were half-closed, and only the whites showed beneath. A film of sweat covered his body, and he emitted a sound that slid from low moan to shrill keen and back again. What it was that he saw, the watcher couldn't tell, but she had never observed quite this reaction in him before.

 

The Dreamer's keen rose suddenly into an agonized shriek, and his body arched completely off the cold stone slab to which his arms and legs were fastened. Muscles straining, eyes wide open, he screamed, and screamed again, holding that piercingly high note of absolute terror so long she began to suspect he might pass out from sheer lack of oxygen. No, this particular reaction had certainly never been observed before.

 

Zermaterix blinked her impassive purple eyes, then strode quickly between the twin stone slabs which supported her subjects. She lay on cool palm on the Dreamer's sweaty forehead. "That's enough, Iain," she commanded gently.

 

The Dreamer relaxed back onto the pedestal with a relieved sigh. His eyes rolled slowly forward and focussed on some shadow-obscured point far above. Which particular point didn't matter, really; those pupil-less silver orbs could never see the waking world, no matter where he directed them.

 

"Mistress," Iain moaned, his voice raspy from misuse. "Fear. Death."

 

"Bad dreams, Iain?" Zermaterix crooned, stroking his filmy forehead with no evidence of distaste.

 

Iain nodded wordlessly.

 

She removed her hand from his forehead and held it, palm up, beside his own. "Show me."

 

"Mistress," he moaned again. Tears welled up and overflowed his sightless silver eyes, carving moist tracks through the sweat and grime coating his face. He began to weep pitifully. "Please..."

 

"Iain," she replied, her voice uncompromising.

 

With a resigned sob, the Dreamer clasped the Mage's hand firmly and sunk back into the child's tortured mind.

 

~ ~ ~

 

When Kaolin finally woke from her long slumber, she decided she'd never felt worse in her life. Well, almost never. She shuddered as the recently stirred memories rose up to haunt her, regardless of he fact that she was now conscious and could suppress them. Evil things, memories. She'd come so close to eliminating those ones. So close.

 

Exhausted by her seemingly endless battle against those ready demons, Kaolin attempted to push herself wearily upright. If she were awake, it must be morning. Meri would be coming soon, to be sure that all of her lazy sluts were up and ready to work. But something was wrong; her hands weren't responding. By the Gods, if Te'ag had left her tied up again...

 

Faint recollections began to seep through the haze that lay heavily over her mind. The Blue Palace. Callin. The High Mage. And a dark place, where a man lay screaming next to her...

 

Oh sweet Jahkaeva, no, no, nonono...

 

Without even realizing what she was doing, Kaolin pushed her mind outwards, seeking what she could not see, for her head didn't seem to be responding, either. To her surprise, she could see, not with her eyes, but with her slowly unfolding mind. There were people in the room, she knew. A woman, and a man. Her senses recoiled from the man's mental presence: a voracious, almost mindless need to seek out and destroy all creatures Gifted saturated his just-inaudible thoughts, and she somehow knew that this disgusting creature must be Callin. But the woman, the woman...

 

Kaolin screamed silently as an incredible surge of pain struck her right between the eyes. Gods! She hurriedly drew her wandering mind back within herself.

 

"Ah, the child stirs," a low voice purred, somewhere off to her left. "See, Callin? She's a resilient little thing; I knew she wouldn't keep us waiting long."

 

"Yes, Mistress," came the whining response, off to her right this time.

 

"Well, child, you've led us on a merry chase all these years. Do you have any idea how much you've cost me in time and resources? Callin alone has been nearly consumed with the need to find you for over ten years now. Well, no matter now. We've found you at last, and after what I have seen, I think you shall prove very useful indeed."

 

Kaolin felt the light rustle of clothing, then felt the High Mage's presence cold smooth hand touch her forehead. Her mind recoiled with a silent shriek. Now it would come, the moment she had dreaded so long. When a High Mage caught you, they killed you. They took your power as their own. It was over. I'm sorry. Zee, Javick, Rhib... I'm so sorry. We'll be together soon, and we'll sing until the end of time.

 

A tingling sensation washed over her body, and, to her astonishment, Kaolin realized that she could move again. Tentatively, Kaolin flexed her fingers and toes, preparing for the fight of her life.

 

"Kaolin."

 

The sound of that voice speaking her name went through her like a bolt of lightning. She gasped, and her eyes shot open as the pain danced up and down her spasming limbs. What did she do to me?

 

Lilac eyes met her own from a few inches away, and a lock of inky hair brushed her cheek. The faint scent of lavender, and something huskier and vaguely unpleasant, teased her nose. This close, Kaolin could see the incredibly fine, almost invisible, track of wrinkles around the edge of this woman's eyes and mouth. Her skin was pale and thin. Although she looked young from afar, she was obviously much older than her outward appearance suggested.

 

"Do you know who I am, child?" the High Mage asked, her eyes gazing impassively into Kaolin's own. The Mage's breath, as it washed over her face, was strangely odourless.

 

"High Mage Zermaterix."

 

"Yes. How do you know this, child?"

 

"You killed my friends."

 

Her expression tightened slowly, whether from irritation, anger, or something else, Kaolin couldn't tell. "Mm. Well, we'll address that sometime later, perhaps. Do you know why you are here?"

 

"To die."

 

A smile touched the High Mage's mouth, hinting at a mocking sort of amusement. "Interesting. And why do you think this?"

 

"I'm Gifted," Kaolin stated resignedly. "The High Mages kill Gifted to strengthen and diversify their own powers."

 

"My, my, aren't you a knowledgeable little thing."

 

"Some lessons are learned young."

 

"Indeed." Zermaterix straightened, brushing out an imaginary wrinkle in her flowing violet-coloured gown. "Well, child, you are right, but you are also wrong. You will not die today, unless you perhaps say a few of the things I know are dancing on your lips at this particular moment. Please, get up, and follow me. We have much to discuss. Callin, help her."

 

Moving slowly, Kaolin pushed herself slowly upright and swung her legs over the edge of the smooth stone slab on which she'd been laying. There was a matching slab several feet away, but it was empty.

 

When Kaolin slipped off the slab, her legs were strangely strengthless, and she would have collapsed into a little heap if Callin had not appeared and wrapped a completely unpersonal arm around her waist to catch her.

[WrenWind]

You are a true story teller. I can't wait for the next installment

[Tralla]

Giving her a scant moment to get her bearings, Callin tugged her forward, guiding her firmly after the departing High Mage. They crossed a vast, very dark space, then stepped through a grand set of double doors into a broad hallway dimly lit by sourceless lights similar to those at the Blue Palace, only tinted slightly lavender instead of blue. There were doors to either side, all closed, and undoubtedly locked. As they passed, Kaolin saw that some of the doorjambs were heavily carved with jagged symbols that almost gave her a headache to look at. One double set of doors had runes carved upon their surface as well, and as Kaolin watched, the markings suddenly shifted their pattern, some etchings fading away while entirely new symbols appeared elsewhere. A very faint sigh drifted in the air around Kaolin, before being cut off abruptly by the next runic shift. With a shiver, Kaolin tore her eyes from the strange portal and fixed her gaze firmly on the High Mage’s back.

 

The hallway ended in a narrow spiral stair, also lit with the lavender lights. Kaolin counted nine landings passed on their way up, but they continued climbing until a plain wooden door finally blocked their way. The High Mage paused and raised two fingers to her lips. She kissed them softly, then touched the upper right corner, the upper left corner, and the doorlatch before proceeding through it. Callin and Kaolin followed quickly, and the apparently not-so-plain door swung shut on silent hinges behind them without a human touch to guide it.

 

The small round room they had entered was lined with bookshelves, all neatly filled with bound books, stacks of rolled parchment, and the assorted odd curios any powerful being accumulates in their lifetime. In the center of the room stood a wooden table, inlaid with a large slab of glossy black stone and laden with a small lump of melted wax that might have been a candle. Zermaterix rounded the table in smooth strides and seated herself in the luxurious purple armchair waiting there. Folding her hands precisely before her on the table, the High Mage looked down at them for a long moment, then up at the young girl waiting hesitantly before her.

 

“What you said about the Gifted being hunted by High Mages is true,” she began softly. “Most children snared in their nets are eventually put to death. With the amount of damage Leeching inflicts upon their young minds, it’s kinder than leaving them alive.”

 

“There is no ‘kindness’ in it,” Kaolin scoffed. “The High Mages just don’t want to be burdened with so many unproductive mouths to feed.”

 

Zermaterix nodded solemnly. “That is also true. Regardless, when the children are captured, most are culled after their Gifts are extracted. However, a few of the wiser Mages watch for particularly gifted children, those with an uncannily solid grasp of their Gifts. A talent, if you like. These, they keep and raise as apprentices, and eventually allies if they take their own place among the High Council. The education of these young Gifted is a dangerous and highly controversial activity. Those who are already High regard any increase to their numbers as a personal threat to their seat of power. They particularly despise me,” she stated with a cold smile, “because I have to audacity to keep many of those I capture alive, if their Gifts prove more useful in such an arrangement. There are some Gifts I would not wish upon my worst enemy. A number of the High Mages have gone quite mad as a consequence of their greed.”

 

She leaned forward intently. “But you, Kaolin, are no mere tool. You have an incredible potential for power simmering beneath your skin. We have been hunting you for years, knowing that if someone as shortsighted as Phallonomar stumbled upon you, it would be a disastrous waste.” Zermaterix rose to her feet in one swift motion. “I offer you your life, Kaolin. More importantly, I offer you knowledge, and power. You can be the equal of any Mage on the High Council, with the education I provide. You’ll never have to fear your Gift again.” She paused, realized that the girl was still hesitant, and delivered the final blow with ruthless force. This child could not be allowed to slip through her fingers again. “No one else will have to die for your Gift, Kaolin.” So gentle. So cruel. So perfect.

 

Kaolin began to tremble, a look of absolute horror flitting across her otherwise impassive features.

 

High Mage Zermaterix extended one porcelain-smooth hand, palm up, over the table. “Become my apprentice, Kaolin. Embrace your Gift, instead of fearing it. Join me.”

 

Brilliant green eyes fixed on that outstretched hand, the child took one slow step forward, then another. She halted just out of reach. Her gaze flickered up to the Mage’s cold, beautiful face, but returned quickly to the waiting palm. “No one else will have to die for me,” she murmured quietly.

 

Reaching out, Kaolin grasped the High Mage’s hand tightly. When her eyes rose again to Zermaterix’s face, they burned with such a supernatural fire that an unfamiliar tingle of fear crawled up the back of the woman’s neck. There was nothing of the terrified babe in this girl now. “If you betray me, Mage,” she promised softly, a tinge of her otherworldly power seeping into her voice, “you will regret the day your thrice-cursed grandparents first laid eyes upon each other.”

 

By the Gods, Zermaterix thought suddenly, what sort of creature will I unleash upon the world?

[WrenWind]

*shivers* Awsome