SciFi and Fantasy Stories: New Life from Ashes: Part 3

~۝~

Kepliar dropped his eyelids as he heard his master enter.

“This way, folks,” Grophin invited. “In here.”

Kepliar could feel the eyes boring into the shadows where he hid. He hated it, and he loathed them. He could hear the edge and fear in their breathing, and he could sense their morbid curiosity. What moron would choose to walk into the presence of a creature billed as a demon? Kepliar had always lived in a cage, but he knew enough that he never wanted to see a full-blooded demon, no matter what breed of monster he was.

His frustration rose the more he thought. His jaw locked as a chill shivered up his spin. He couldn’t tell if it came from the stares or the wet straw around him. He hated the time Aevala called spring. Water seeped up through the ground and dripped down from the ceiling. It was worse than winter. At least in the winter, when he was cold, he was dry. Spring offered no such relief.

“We can’t see it!” someone’s irritable voice rose above the mindless murmuring.

Kepliar cringed as the massive lock creaked in protest. Why? he asked even as the hairs on the back of his neck told him Grophin reached for him. Despite his inadequate diet, Kepliar had grown almost as tall as his master, and this made it more difficult for Grophin to man-handle him. Of course it didn’t stop the elf from doing so, it just made it more likely that he was going jerk Kepliar’s arm out of its socket or break a bone.

Kepliar’s muscles trembled as he pushed himself out of the rotten straw that met his face. The gasps of horror and surprise weren’t unexpected, but they were as painful as ever.

As much as he willed to, Kepliar could not suppress the low cry of pain as Grophin’s heavy foot connect with his side and sent him sprawling to his back. He hated gratifying Grophin’s cruelties by showing the elf how it affected him.

Grophin’s hand closed around the creature’s throat amid cheers and the clink of falling coins. He jerked the monster up and glared into the emaciated face. “Raise your wings.” He squeezed harder when the creature didn’t obey. “Now!”

Kepliar mustered the first scowl of defiance that had ever graced his face. “No…”

For a moment, Kepliar couldn’t remember what was happening. He couldn’t remember anything—what he was, who he was, where he was, or why he couldn’t see. As his vision cleared, it started to come back. Though he was often flung into the bars, Grophin had never before punched him hard enough to do so from the center of the cage. His midsection trembled in agony as the taste of blood and vomit filled his mouth. His arms shook as he forced himself to his hands and knees. His limbs buckled and the pain in his back almost made him collapse again.

“Raise your wings!” Grophin thundered in fury and rage unmatched.

Kepliar lifted his head to his monster of a master—the beast that had the nerve to call him Demon Spawn. His breathing deepened as a new sensation filled his mind and body: rebellion. Kepliar unfolded then lifted his shaking wings as resolution alone gave him the strength to find his feet. He glared at Grophin, hatred billowing in his soul. Enough. He would rather die than live another day in this way. No more!

“Don’t look at me like…”

Grophin wasn’t able to finish his command. Kepliar whirled, slamming his stiff wing into Grophin’s jaw; pain surged through the appendage. However, before the elf had a chance to regain his bearings, Kepliar clenched both fists together and swung them up into the elf’s chin.

The rage that filled his veins would have carried the strange creature a long way if Grophin hadn’t chanced to snag one of the youth’s wings in his unforgiving grip. Kepliar crashed to his knees as pain lanced through his wing and spread to his back. The agony wrenched an unwilling scream from his lungs and furious tears from his eyes.

Grophin’s fist and legs blurred as the elf’s anger grew. How dare the little beast strike him? The old scar on his chest burned and filled his heart with dread as the dark words rang in his ears and mind again. My son’s going to kill you… No! He would show the monster who was in control. In that moment, the elf didn’t care that the creature made him more money than any other member of the caravan.

Kepliar couldn’t breathe through the pain as he felt bones breaking and muscles tearing. Blood rushed from his nose and choked him whenever he tried to breathe. His mind pulled away from his torture in an attempt to disengage. Maybe Grophin was finally going to kill him. Maybe he’d find his freedom.

Kepliar felt his wings, back, and head connect with the iron bars again and his world went mercifully dark.

~¤~

Aevala rubbed the sore spots on her arms and shoulders where Belrasonare’s cane had come down hard while she ‘slacked off’ during the day. She was getting tired of being beaten without reason. Ten years was a long time to function as an anger channel.

The darkness settled with the caravan as it did every night. They’d been at this location for a moon cycle and still the citizens were not tired of them, so they remained. The inhabitants of the nearby city filtered in every night, bringing their gold and their beauties with them. Neither were wise things to carry within the greedy reaches of the dark nomads.

Aevala stood at the tent entrance, calling to the passersby, encouraging them to come in and have their fortunes divined by the All Powerful Madame Belrasonare the Wise—she’d become tired of ‘the Sighted’. The slave wanted to vomit every time she convinced one of the poor fools that this fortuneteller knew what she was doing.

She sighed and looked up to the stars, trying to judge the time through the thin sheet of clouds. It shouldn’t be long and the foolish elves would disappear for the night. Belrasonare would soon pass out, and Aevala would be left to her own devices.

Aevala’s thoughts turned to the future. Thanks to Kahlee’s thoughtlessness, she knew that when the caravan turned to head south, she should slip north to her people and her freedom. She would get the ring from Belrasonare and use it to prove her identity just as her mother bid. No longer would she be subject to another’s whims and cruelties.

Even as her thoughts turned homeward and to the joys it would hold, she was drawn back to the caravan. What about Kepliar? Could she just leave him on his own? He’d told her not to come back—and she hadn’t—so maybe it was less of ‘leaving him on his own’ and more ‘just leaving’. But still…

Her eyes fell on a small group of elves that approached the tent. As Aevala watched them draw near, she felt her jaw drop open in awe. Among the dark-haired elves was an elf like she’d never seen before. They were all tall, but he stood at least a hand’s breadth taller than the rest. Instead of dark hair, skin, and eyes, he was pale—paler than any being she’d ever encountered. His long hair hung unbound in a white waterfall down his back.

“Is the diviner in?” the closest hailed.

Aevala fought to tear her eyes away from gorgeous, pale elf to address the one who questioned her. “Indeed, milord,” she answered. “She is within and would be pleased to share your fortune or answer a question.”

“Good.” The elf beckoned to the others to follow.

“This one’s better than most,” one of the others laughed. “She was actually able to take her eyes off you.”

Aevala flushed when the elf jabbed his elbow into his light companion’s side. Was she that obvious?

“You all want to come in?” the first called.

They all agreed, except the light companion. “I’ll wait here, Crellian,” he spoke—clear as a bell and strong as thunderstorm.

Aevala swallowed when his intense gaze settled on her. His pale, blue eyes held something she’d seen in many other eyes, but in his stare it didn’t unsettle her like it normally did. The young woman noticed that her breathing had quickened, and she felt her heart pounding in her ears. His distracting presence had almost made her forget the headache that had settled on her at the beginning of the night. What was going on?

The stranger smiled as he stepped closer to her. Aevala craned her neck to keep his gaze. The flames from the fire-pots cast dancing shadows and highlights over his perfect face—make him seem more alive and warm than any elf she’d come in contact with.

“I’m Teldrelïe,” he introduced himself as a slight grin spread across his lips. Even as thin as she was, this she-elf was quite appealing. “Who’re you?”

“My-my mistress calls me Greshen,” she forced out when she realized he’d asked her a question.

“Ah, a name to match your face,” he flattered. “Indeed a true treasure.”

Aevala sputtered at him and his open flirted. He was stunning, and he spoke in seducing words to her, a too-thin, washed-out slave.

“So you’re from the north like me?” he inquired.

Aevala felt her face heat when he stepped a little closer. His scent played on her nose—just like the clean smell of a mountain stream in the spring time.

“My father was,” she answered. She’d come to recognize the ending of his name was a unique device among the northern elves.

“Then how did you end up among this southern tribe,” he questioned.

“My mother died here among them—I’ve been here ever since.”

“Pity.” He smiled as his graceful hand reached out to run his smooth fingers along her jaw-line. “I can see that you are wasting your life here among these elves.”

Aevala was surprised she didn’t jerk away from him like she did all the other elves when they tried to touch her. There was just something about this elf that intrigued her and made her even half-enjoy his attention. “Perhaps I am,” she admitted. “But it cannot be helped.”

“You should come with me then,” he made his bold offer. “My friend in there would have enough to purchase you from that stupid seer. You’d be much happier among us.”

Aevala swallowed hard. He offered her a way out of the caravan—something that Spots told her would be her only salvation. However, she knew nothing of this elf except that he was attractive beyond description, and the mixed-breed knew of beautiful flowers that could kill if eaten. Even more than her uncertainty towards the stranger, something else tugged at her heart. In that moment, she knew that she couldn’t leave Kepliar there alone.

“The only way that would be true would be if your friend had enough to purchase two slaves from two very greedy individuals.”

Teldrelïe’s eyebrow rose at her words. She hadn’t denied him, so perhaps she would be willing. Granted, slaves didn’t have much choice in who their owners were, but he’d learned long ago that slaves who wanted to be with their owners were far less trouble than those that didn’t. “Who is this other that you speak of?”

“The Demon Spawn.”

The elf sighed and shook his head. “I see. That’s too bad then, because Crellian tried to purchase him last night. That didn’t go so well.”

Aevala dropped her head. So there was no way. “I cannot go with you then,” she spoke. “Even if you buy me, I will not go.”

Teldrelïe smiled a little, though it was sad. He reached out to lift her face to his. “Can’t blame and elf for trying,” he commented. “Such a fiery spirit would be an excellent addition to our party. Allow a smitten elf a parting gift, eh?”

Aevala’s eyes flew open when he bent down and pressed his lips full against hers. Part of her mind screamed to push him away, but her body remained still as her stomach flip-flopped and her face flamed in embarrassment and surprise.

“Having fun, Teldrelïe?”

The two broke away from each other and the fair elf blued, though a broad smile brightened his face. “Yes, master,” he laughed.

“Am I to understand you’d like me to try and purchase this one?”

Aevala looked up at him, her own face flaming purple in embarrassment. “Master?” she repeated. He’d referred to the other elf as ‘friend’.

The elf smiled down at her. “Slaves come in many forms—some masters are just better than others.” He turned back to his owner. “No, Crellian, she has ties here that cannot be broken.”

“Alright then. We should leave. My business here is finished.”

Aevala watched the small group disappear into the shadows beyond the ring of light before her mistress’s tend. Her mind spun as she tried to grasp what had just happened. She’s allowed a stranger—another slave that she did not know—to kiss her. Why?

She shook her head and sighed as she fought tears. That might have been her only real chance. No, she told herself. It would have been trading one form of bondage for another. I will accept nothing less than freedom…

“Evening, Greshen.”

Her heart seemed to stop when she heard the voice in the darkness. Why now? “Adrestaar,” she acknowledged as she turned to the elf that prowled up from within the shadows. His greasy, black hair hung in his dark eyes, and his cold face made her shudder.

Unlike the pale stranger, she knew how she needed to deal with this elf. However, with as much as her previous encounter unsteadied her, she wasn’t sure she was ready to deal with him. Spindly fingers reached around her waist and squeezed.

Aevala’s dislike for the cruel elf had only grown throughout the years. However, the wretch was her best source of news about Kepliar.

He pressed his nose into her neck. The stupid elf never thought to question why she would allow him to get close only when he spoke of the wretched creature. The exotic beauty allowed his attentions, and that was all he cared about.

Aevala stepped out of his grasp, fighting the urge to shudder. “Belrasonare will be displeased if she sees this,” she said, hoping any disgust in her voice would be taken as meant towards her mistress.

“The crowds thin,” Adrestaar said, stepping close again. He ran his fingers down her arms, linking his fingers around her wrists. “I wish you’d join me tonight at the fire.”

“Belrasonare forbids it,” Aevala answered, stepping backwards again. For once she was glad the old woman didn’t allow her to leave her tent much after darkness set. Though he relinquished one of his holds, Adrestaar kept a firm grip on the other wrist. She wondered if this night would be the night when her allowing his small touches would cease to be enough.

“If she didn’t… would you?” he pressed.

“We shall never know,” she answered, twisting her arm to break his loosening grip. She turned to move into the tent and, as always, he opened his mouth.

“Grophin was in a bad mood tonight.”

She stopped walking and turned to look at him. The torches sticking out of the ground in the makeshift path cast evil shadows that danced on the elf’s face, making his black eyes glow. He smiled his oily smile, knowing she wouldn’t him leave now.

“I hope he didn’t hurt you,” she played into his ‘trap’.

“You know he couldn’t hurt me, Greshen,” Adrestaar bragged, thrusting his chest out. “I’m smart enough to stay out of his way when he gets like that.”

“I suppose I did know,” she answered, blinking her eyes. Aevala took a single step closer and allowed him to link his arms around her waist. She stifled a groan as his smoky, spirit-laden smell invaded her nose. He held her closer and tighter than she liked, but she pretended she didn’t notice how the action excited him.

“So if he couldn’t catch you, who did he catch?”

Adrestaar laughed aloud at her complete stupidity. She always asked the same ignorant questions, and every time he’d laugh at her and give her the same answer. “The Demon Spawn.”

Grophin controlled three others—the flame eater, the boneless she-elf, and the acrobat—but he always took any anger out on Kepliar. It infuriated Aevala. It was just so wrong! How could a thing like that happen? Why did the monster think he had a right perform such atrocities anyway?

“How upset was he?” she asked, looking up, wide-eyed, at Adrestaar. She knew she played a dangerous game with the young elf, but she couldn’t stop it. If she inquired after Kepliar elsewhere, she would make others wonder as to why she wanted such information. She couldn’t afford to make others wonder. She had to suffer with this one. Why couldn’t he be more like the pale stranger she’d just encountered?

The alcohol on his breath was a double edged sword. If he’d consumed much, it would make him easier to manipulate while his mind was thick and heavy. If he’d consumed little, it would be easy to inflame him but more difficult to control him.

Adrestaar laughed as the memory flitted through his mind. “The wretch wasn’t even moving when Grophin finished.”

Aevala couldn’t control her gasp of fear at the words. A hundred horrid thoughts exploded through her mind like water breaking from a dam. What if…?

“What?” Adrestaar looked down on her, suspicion playing behind his eyes.

She had just enough sense left to try and smooth her mistake with a sweet expression. “I’m just glad you’re clever enough to avoid Grophin,” she lied. In the back of her mind, the young mixed-breed was concerned with the ease at which lying had become. “It just terrified me to think it might have been you.”

A dirty smile encroached on his lips, and he arched his neck to possess her mouth before she could ward it off.

“Greshen!” the cold, gruff voice bellowed from inside the tent not a moment to soon. He was beyond intoxicated as testament by the taste of his vile kiss; it made her want to vomit.

Aevala pushed out of his hungry embrace. “I have to go,” she excused herself. “Yes, Belrasonare?” she asked as she ducked into the dark tent.

Adrestaar grinned. He was pleased he’d gotten farther tonight than she’d previously allowed. He turned and walked away to find his slimy friends. He had to brag about his most recent conquest of the strange beauty that would let none other touch her.

Aevala smiled, looking down on the woman who must have passed out as soon as her last customers left—perhaps during. The old witch made it so easy for her slave sometimes. Not that Aevala could complain—oh, far from it. She was glad the audio illusion worked without error. It would have been awful if the voice had been incorrect. Adrestaar would have become suspicious and she would have had a lot of sweet-talking to do.

Aevala sighed as she turned her eyes outward. Adrestaar had not been difficult to escape, but her path to Kepliar was not yet clear. She would have to wait until the camp reached drunken and erotic oblivion. True, he’d bid her not return, but it’d been a few months since then. She felt a visit was once again warranted—the sharp headache that appeared at the eve’s beginning assured her of this. Granted, the healing abilities inherited from her mother were far from where they could be if she possessed both the ring and the time to train with it; however, what little ability it afforded her due to simple proximity was enough for her to know how very much she needed to go to Kepliar.

~¤~

Aevala looked at the small, oak box as her stomach tied itself in yet another knot. She didn’t want to admit it, but she was terrified. She knew that while Belrasonare was no seer, but she did use encantor magic—something Aevala could not understand and often had a difficult time even sensing.

Aevala closed her eyes and reached out her palm towards the box. Her fingers trembled as she murmured, pressing the energy from the tips which forced any hidden magics nearby to illuminate. She felt her ears tingle as they lit up. The cup she’d put the sleeping potion in for her mistress likewise glowed a faint red color.

The young woman’s eyes widened in incredulous fear as her spirit bottomed out. Belrasonare may have been a witch, but she was stupid. Aevala knew enough to understand that fire curses—like the one protecting the box—were dangerous, since they enveloped everything around when set off. However, Aevala needed the ring. She had no choice but to test her skill against the destructive protection.

Aevala looked closer and realized Belrasonare had been sloppy when applying it. She smiled and spoke a few words, which caused her hand to shimmer iridescent green. If she her motions were slow and fluid enough, the curse would perceive her magic-coated hand as nothing more than a part of itself. As little as a week ago, Aevala would not have had any way to get at the ring, but a week’s training made the necessary difference.

Aevala let out her breath, as tears came to her eyes when she looked down on the ring. The silver band had elegant leaves and flowers etched in a star pattern. The gem itself appeared to contain a captured, purifying fire as it sparkled and gleamed before her eyes. She slipped the ring on her finger where it adjusted to the proper size and disappeared from view.

The healer looked back to the oak container and spoke a few words. Now that she possessed it, there was noway the ring was going back into the wretched box. If ever Belrasonare opened the box, she would find a perfectly worthless replica. It would convince the she-elf even if it would never convince a jeweler.

The temptation to pack her few things and run away was so strong Aevala couldn’t think straight. Only two things kept her from doing just that. Kepliar needed her help tonight—she knew that as well as she knew her own name—and the lands of her people were far away. She should get closer within the relative ‘safety’ of the caravan before she struck out on her own.

Aevala reinforced the sleeping spell that wove through both Belrasonare and the tea, blessing her mother for that particular lesson. She grabbed up her satchel before darting to the back part of the tent, past the two ferrets curled around each other. The young woman slipped under the canvas into the darkness beyond.

The muddy paths seemed darker and more threatening than normal as she weaved past alcoves of snoring drunks and gasping revelers. Disgusting monsters, she spat to herself as she reached the massive tent belonging to Grophin. She’d been glad to see his form passed out under the stars with two women woven around his body. Even if he woke up sometime during the night, he would never come back to his tent until she was well away.

Aevala lifted the heavy, green cloth as she had done so many times before and scooted into the oppressive darkness beyond. When she entered, the air pressed against her like a collapsing tunnel. Never before had the atmosphere been so heavy, so dismal, or so hopeless; not even the first night she’d come could rival the horror she felt. She approached the cold iron, fearing what she would find.

She couldn’t understand why it was so dark in the tent tonight. The moon and the stars were out, and usually, that was enough to offer some light filtering through the pores in the roof. Aevala peered through the bars but couldn’t see anything within. It didn’t look like he was within the structure where he was wont to hide. Perhaps Grophin had moved him elsewhere? No…

Aevala rested her head against the bars, wondering what she could do. The clumsy, initial tries were infuriating before she managed the proper words that allowed her the vision of the night’s hunters. For a split second, she saw through the darkness as if it were the clearest of days. She was sorry she had, as the cost of finding Kepliar was seeing him.

She gasped and rushed to the opposite side of the cage where he lay, twisted against the bars. Aevala couldn’t force the vision from her head. There was blood everywhere. His wings were twisted wrong, and she hadn’t seen his chest expand or fall back with breath. She had seen where his ears, once elegant and pointed, were shorn and bloody. It was then Aevala realized that she’d never seen Kepliar without a thick veil of darkness shielding her eyes. She prayed that someday she would have a different image of Kepliar to replace the terrifying vision that now filled her mind.

“Great Keeper of the heavens and stars,” she invoked as she reached through the bars to touch his shoulder. “Kepliar!”

Tears sprung to her eyes. He didn’t move, and that frightened her; but Adrestaar had said as much when he’d come to her. She should have been prepared. Still, it was difficult. He’d been wounded many times before, but he’d always moved when she entered or approached.

Aevala took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. She was here now, but what was she to do? She pulled back her hand, noting it was covered with the dark, black gleam of his blood as she recognized the same stickiness on the bar her other hand held. It was that same horrible color she’d seen stain the straw, the structure, and Kepliar himself.

Aevala almost fell backwards as she realized how stupid she was. How could she have been so blind? Red blood! Every night she’d ever visited him she’d seen it—gotten it on her hands to wash away later. She could have beaten her head against a wall for such stupidity. Elves didn’t have red blood! Kepliar have less elfin heritage than she—if he had any elf in him at all—because even her blood ran a cool blue. Only two races had red blood, and she didn’t think he was a shape-shifter.

All at once, distant memories flooded her mind. She remembered her mother telling her about the strongest clan among her people. Some children of this clan were born with characteristics of other races and even other species, though they were human. Her mother had explained it was an effect of the prolific and powerful magic. Within the clan, these persons were revered as the wisest and the greatest among them, while outsiders often considered them freaks, frightening monsters, and demons.

It was possible Kepliar was partially elf, but with the torrent of memories granted by the ring, it was doubtful. Even individuals with minimal amounts of elfin lineage, bore blood the color of mountain lakes.

Aevala gathered her whirling mind, needing to focus on the task at hand. After touching him, she’d realized how grievous his injuries were. Kepliar needed help—now—and to give it, Aevala needed to get in the cage. Grophin always wore his keys on his belt, so the door was out of the question.

Aevala inhaled a deep breath and closed her eyes. The elemental spell that came to mind frightened her, because it was very dangerous if performed improperly. She had little practice beyond illusions, and she wasn’t even good at those. Perhaps she could make it work; she had to make it work.

Aevala visualized the wind dancing on the grasses in the fields and the breeze playing in the trees. She pictured herself as a very part of the wind, skimming the blades of grass and whispering through the leaves. Her eyes opened again and found she had somehow succeeded at the jumping spell. It left her feeling stretched and had worsened her headache, but she was on the inside of the cage with her—with her friend. That was all that mattered.

“Kepliar,” she crooned, now in a position to move him. She should have been worried he would wake up and strike out at her in pain and fear just as Bandit had done; but apparently she wasn’t smart enough for such thoughts.

As she attempted to move him into a better position, she untwisted his wing, feeling bones grate beneath her fingertips. Even grimy and blood-caked, Aevala couldn’t have imagined how soft those feathers would be. They were like the wonderful blankets Belrasonare forbid her slave from touching; those were the only items Belrasonare ever packed herself.

His head rolled and he moaned as his upper-body writhed once.

Aevala laid a gentle hand on his cheek as a tear escaped her eye. “I’m here, Kep. It’s Aevala,” her voice floated through the air as she filled it with as much gentle enchantment as she could master. She wanted him calm as she tried to help him. “It’s okay. I’m here to help you.”

His jaw unclenched, and his brows relaxed. She tugged at him until his body was no longer pressed against the cold, iron bars. It was difficult to fold his wings so he could lay flat on his back, but she managed.

Aevala blessed her protectors that her mother had passed the healing abilities to her daughter. While she was at it, she thanked them for her few ‘impressive’ elemental magic abilities. She scoffed in her head at those who brushed off the healing magics as weak and relatively unimportant. What they didn’t understand was that healing magics worked both ways. Just as there was a spell to knit bones, there was a spell to crush them. Healers didn’t often use spells of death and destruction, but that didn’t mean they didn’t have them. Spells of flashing flames and dark terrors may not be in reach for healers, but enemies do not last long when their hearts cease beating.

She shuddered as she realized blood still ran from his mouth and above his eye. Fear choked her mind and, for a moment, kept it from functioning. She knew some things about healing, both from her mother and from her dream-training, and yet she felt helpless and lost. What was she doing?

A deep breath stilled her raving mind and she focused on what she knew. She knew how to find and heal individual wounds. However, that could take hours and hours; she wasn’t even sure she would be able to call on all the different spells required. She knew a spell that found and mended all wounds for the healer. The only question would be if she had the strength to complete the spell.

A small distressed noise emulated from Kepliar’s throat and she decided. Time was against her, and she knew she couldn’t possibly know enough to make individual healings effective. Aevala closed her eyes and leaned over him as she prayed for enough strength.

Aevala placed one hand over his chest and cradled his head with her other—the twin-seats of healing: heart and head. She took a deep breath and prepared for what she knew must come. His pain, thundering through the healer’s-link, almost flung her to her back. She gnashed her teeth and focused her mind to a pinprick of energy. Granted, it would take longer without a wide link for her magic to flow through, but it would come with greater force and would be far more effective this way. Plus, it was advantageous if a healer could think and move through the pain he or she had to absorb.

~¤~

Aevala knew sunrise was close when the urge to sing the Song of the Dawn gripped her heart. That meant she had an hour or two more before the camp would begin to stir and she would have to leave. She wasn’t worried about Belrasonare. The old she-elf should sleep until the afternoon at least, but the rest of the caravan would question her presence, and it was always a danger that someone would come in to inspect the condition of the ‘Demon Spawn’.

She didn’t feel that Grophin would be back any time soon, and the caravan was farther gone than normal so Aevala figured it would be safe to sing—as long as she kept it low. Not only would it release the tension and pressure that built up in her head whenever she hummed, but if her suspicions were correct, it might help Kepliar as well.

The Songs of the Dawn and Dusk didn’t have words in the conventional sense. Rather, they were more like the words of the world, the language the birds and animals sang in when the sun appeared and disappeared. The powerful melody of the promised new day poured forth around them, wrapping the strange pair in a cloak of calmness and stillness. Aevala had always been aware of the power in the Sun Songs, but she saw the more subtle forces now. As the melody wound around her body and the ribbons of her energy, the healing came easier and with greater strength than it had before. Now, instead of a faint blue light, her hands glowed with a light so bright it formed teasing shadows that danced on her patient’s face and body.

Kepliar’s head rolled and again noises came from his throat, but this time it wasn’t a pain-filled protest against life, fate, and injustice. She grinned as she realized he too was singing.

Aevala felt the spell beginning to form the full circuit and feed back into her mind as it found no new wounds to heal. She was almost finished.

The winged-human’s dark, tired eyes opened and gazed at her. “I didn’t know anyone else knew that song.”

She smiled as she leaned forward, breathing over his face to release the sealing spell. He would breathe in her breath, taking the last bit of healing into his lungs. There, it would move throughout his body, locking in all her healing magic.

“No elf would,” she whispered.

He blinked, breathing deeply, almost as if he understood what she’d just done. “I thought I told you I didn’t want you to come back.” His words and tone where cool, though his eyes held no anger or irritation with her presence.

“I truly am sorry,” she answered as she turned her eyes downward. She had meant to fulfill his request. “I heard what happened last night, and I just… I couldn’t stay away.”

He closed his eyes. “I’m glad you came,” he whispered after a long pause. “I-I missed you.”

She smiled and moved some dark hair away from his face. “I missed you too, Kepliar,” she answered. “Do I have your permission to come again?”

Silence met her for a moment before Kepliar began to speak. “Only on nights Grophin spends away from the caravan.” His firm voice left no room for argument.

“Alright,” she answered. If that was the only way, she could live with it.

Kepliar struggled to sit up, and she helped him. He leaned forward, dropping his reeling head into his hands. He jerked up as if he’d just been touched by something very hot. The dawning realization of how strange her presence was shown through the lifting darkness in his eyes.

“How did you get in here?” he demanded in his confusion.

She flushed. It was bad enough he knew she was a mixed-breed, but him knowing further she could wield elemental magics… Sure, she’d figured out he was of the mage-clans, but he probably didn’t know, and therefore, would have none of the memories.

“I used a spell to jump in.”

A weak laughter rolled through the shadows. It was a strange sound. The laughter itself wasn’t strange; it was just something she’d never heard it before. She raised an eyebrow. What was so funny?

“I could use that information to buy my freedom, you know?”

She smiled, realizing what amused him. “Yes,” she answered. “And if I thought they’d give it to you, I’d whole-heartedly tell you to do it.”

He grinned, before flopping back down in exhaustion. His eyes dropped closed and he shook his head. “There’s no chance you can ‘jump’ me out with you, is there?”

She hung her head, wishing she could tell him there was, but she was so tired… “I’m not even certain I’ll be able to get back out.”

He sighed. That wouldn’t be good.

“Kepliar,” she started, her voice low. “What happened last night?”

He opened his eyes even as the weight of her hand fell on his. The sensation was stranger, but she asked him a question so he would have to focus on that. She must be fed up with the second-hand reports from that scab Adrestaar.

“I fought back,” he answered. “I’m tired, so I hit him.”

“You’re not going to do it again, are you?” she asked, fearing his answer.

He beheld her, his obsidian eyes cold and disbelieving. “Tell me… if you were beaten everyday for coin, would you lay there and take it?”

Her head dropped. She understood what he was saying. He was abused every day of his existence. She was struck often, yes, but never as severely as he was, and no one tossed coins at Belrasonare when she punished her slave.

“Kepliar, we can escape…” She looked at him, offering as much hope as she could. “The caravan has started a loop that will near my mother’s clan-holdings. We will be safe with them. But we will only be able to make it to them if we are both strong enough to flee quickly.”

He snorted, turning away from her. “They wouldn’t accept a demon spawn,” he spat.

“No, Kep,” she said. Now was as good a time as any to tell him of his heritage. “You’re not demon spawn. You’re human.”

He turned back to her; anger announced in his tiniest movements—even the wince of pain at the quick motion. “Don’t insult me, Aevala.” His tone was cold, though his voice did soften on her name. “I may be a monster, but I’m not stupid. I know what humans are, and I am not human.”

There was so much he had to learn.

“No really,” she insisted, trying to stave of any anger that might cloud his judgment. “The greatest of the mage clans often have children like you. Your blood is red. Humans have red blood.”

He snorted, crawling towards his shelter. “It proves nothing,” he answered. He didn’t want to believe it. If he was human, he had parents at some point, and if what Aevala said was true, he wasn’t a ‘freak’ by their standards. So how could they let him fall into the hands of one like Grophin? It was easier to believe his mother was a foolish elf, frightened of her son’s horrible appearance.

Aevala couldn’t understand why he fought it. She was telling him he was going gain freedom with a people who would recognize him. “Will you give me your right hand?” she asked.

He glared at her. It seemed as if his eyes were glowing in the deepened darkness within the shelter. He thrust out his hand, irritated and frustrated. She ran her fingertips over the base of each of his fingers, looking for what she prayed would be present. Aevala smiled in triumph as she found it. She said a few words and pulled.

A ring of jade solidified between her thumb and forefinger. The band was a reddish-brown hue mixed with a creamy white. Over an oval of pale green, was carved a pair of dark green feathers. She held it up to him, smiling as she did so. “The ring of your clan,” she assured. “Only clans-members can wear their rings properly. You are a member of the Jade Clan, and all of the mage-clans must accept you as such. Kepliar, you’re human.”

He regarded her, disbelief written on his face. He took the ring in his hand and stared at it, shaking his head. How was it even possible? Did he even want it to be possible?

“Keep it hidden,” she advised, denying him the opportunity to cultivate his hurt or bitterness. “Don’t ever take it off.”

He slid it back over his finger and jumped as it disappeared again. “So you’re…?”

“Amethyst Clan,” she answered, sliding the ring off enough to make it appear before pushing it back into place. “We can get away. It’ll only be a little while more, and we’ll move again. When the caravan starts to head south we can leave—forever.” She needed him to believe her. She wouldn’t be able to leave without him.

“Alright,” he answered, letting his doubt drop. He let hope replace it for the first time in his life. For once, he felt that he just might have a life worth living someday.

“Now that you know, you’ll start to have what I call dream training. I don’t know the proper name, but our ancestors come and guide us as we sleep. The first thing they’ll probably…”

Aevala couldn’t have imagined Kepliar could move so fast, especially after an ordeal as the one he’d gone through the night prior. She knew he was still in pain and was tired as testified by his tentative motions. However, the youth was out of his shelter and had her nestled within it before she had the clearness of mind to wonder what was going on.

“Don’t make a sound,” he warned. “Try and jump out of here—or whatever you call it—but make sure you get all the way out of the tent.”

She looked back and realized he’d placed himself before the opening. His body and his partially spread wings covered the opening. She heard shuffling in the space beyond the cage, and she felt Kepliar’s tension fill the air around her.

“Good morning, Demon Spawn,” the cold voice growled.

She recognized Adrestaar’s voice and shuddered. She’d stayed too long, and now things were more dangerous than she could have imagined. He’d told her to get out, but could she accomplish the distance? Should she attempt it with the consequences of failure so dire?

“It’s never good when I see your face,” his cold voice answered.

“I’m surprised to see you up already.”

Kepliar made no answer. He had no desire to talk to this worm.

“You know, I must say it’s always better when Grophin goes off on you. I get closer to that cutie, Greshen, every time he beaks something of yours.”

Kepliar couldn’t keep indifferent any longer. He’d been wondering for some time now. “Greshen?”

“Oh yeah,” Adrestaar couldn’t restrain his bragging, “a hot she-elf with strange, red-brown hair and green eyes. Her skin’s darker than most and that body of hers…” He made a disgusting noise somewhere between admiration and desire. “It would be enough to turn even your head, devil boy.”

So he was right. It was Aevala that Adrestaar came in slobbering after so often. Kepliar had to wonder if she knew the dangerous game she played with the imbalanced elf. He stiffened his wings, knowing just how awful it would be if the elf found her.

“You hungry, devil? Beg and I’ll feed you.”

“Drown yourself.”

“Oh, that’s not nice, devil. You won’t eat that way.”

“I’d rather starve than simper at your hand like a dog.” Kepliar wished he would feel Aevala disappear behind him, but he remembered her saying it was difficult.

Adrestaar’s cruel laughter curled through the air. “You wound me. I would never make a dog beg for food.” Adrestaar glowered. “If I’m not mistaken, it was your rebellion that got you beaten so harshly last night. Should I request a repeat tonight?”

“Go to hell, maggot.”

“Not until you return, Demon Spawn. I want you there to welcome me. I wouldn’t want to get bored with nothing to torture.”

Kepliar glared at him. The elf was still drunk. At least that meant he wasn’t his sharpest, and he’d stumble away to vomit soon.

Adrestaar glowered before turning to leave, seeing that the demon wasn’t going to answer any further baiting. Besides, he wanted to vomit.

Kepliar didn’t move for a few long moments afterwards to make sure the wretch wouldn’t return. He turned back and drew Aevala out of the shelter. “You should go now,” he said, looking at her as she kneeled next to him. “They will all be waking soon.”

“I suppose.” It almost surprised her that he had the ability to be so gentle. She couldn’t imagine that anyone in his life had ever exhibited gentleness, and he would have no way of knowing that it was an appreciated quality in situations like that. Regardless, his hands and his small nudges were nothing if not tender.

“Aevala,” he started, enjoying the feeling of her name on his tongue. Every time he said it, he felt as little more of who she was—like exploring a shifting maze. “You should stay away from Adrestaar.” He shuddered as the shadowy name twisted his mind. “Don’t even talk to him.”

“But he’s the only one who can tell me of you,” she protested.

“No,” Kepliar answered, capturing her eyes with his. “He will hurt you. You are welcome to come to me any time Grophin is out, but please, stay as far from Adrestaar as you can.”

She nodded, gazing at him for a moment, a fleeting look of indecision written across her face.

He tensed, startled and confused, as he felt her arms thrown around his neck. His wings stuck out straight behind him and his eyes flew wide. In all his life he couldn’t remember ever being touched, except to be struck or shoved into some new holding area—or perhaps warmed by Aevala. He had no idea why she did whatever this was, and he didn’t know how to react. It didn’t hurt him, but he wasn’t cold now. What could she be trying to do?

She stood up, removing her arms as she did so, though her hands lingered on his shoulders. In that moment, she was glad she’d declined the fair elf from last night.

He looked at her, an expressed between startled fear and strange acceptance. It hadn’t felt wrong…

“I’m sorry,” she murmured as a small smile filled her eyes. “It’s called a hug.”

He blinked and she faded for a moment, her hazy form passing through the bars—a wind spell, something whispered.

She was right; she wouldn’t have been able to take him with her. She dropped to her knees in exhaustion as she solidified again. He moved to crawl to her, a strange fear gripping his heart. She waved her hand to settle him and forced herself to her feet with a smile. It was going to be a long day.

He watched her disappear under the tent’s side into the growing day before crawling into his shelter to try and get some fitful sleep before the next night’s trials fell upon him. A small smile flitted across his lips.

A hug.

New Shades of Hell

Kepliar opened his eyes and looked around. He sat among clean straw, and there were no iron bars to block his view of the green canvas. It was his world, but it was different. The air was clear and clean, well-lit with a soft, golden glow. His fear and pain had evaporated, leaving behind only peace and control.

“You come to us willingly at last, child. You are most welcome here.”

Kepliar furrowed his brow. He’d heard that hospitable voice somewhere. I’ve been here before, he told himself as he remembered the countless times he’d dreamt such surroundings.

“Who are you?” he dared a question.

“We’ve come to teach you what you must know.”

“But who…” Kepliar moved to stand, only to find he’d jarred himself awake. He stared at the oppressive structure as the foul stench of his bedding assaulted his senses.

A deep cough ripped from his lungs, surprising him. He raised his lip in frustrated disgust and attempted to go back to sleep.

~۝~

Aevala held her breath as she listened to the conversation on the other side of the fabric. What could bring Grophin to her mistress’s tent? She was sure it was nothing good. He had sworn he would never listen to the fortune-teller again after the last time, and yet, here he was.

“I hear your slave is good with animals,” Grophin grumped from the other side of the draping canvas.

“So it seems,” Belrasonare grouched in return. “What’s that to you?”

Aevala could not understand how a social system could work with so many rude and irritable personalities forced to work together. It was amazing they didn’t just all kill each other and be done with it.

“One of my slaves has fallen ill, and I want to know why,” he snapped.

“How then could she help?” Belrasonare pressed.

“He’s an animal…”

Aevala snapped her hand to her mouth to muffle her gasp of fear and surprise. Sick? Kepliar was never sick. Even when he was beaten within an inch of death and left without food for days at a time, he was never sick—only weak. She forced her mind to focus and strained her ears to listen to the rest of the conversation.

“What’s that to me?” Belrasonare questioned as a slimy air filled her voice.

“I’m willing to pay for her services,” Grophin offered.

“Ah, but she is very valuable,” Belrasonare squawked. “Are you willing to pay her price?”

“Depends. How much are you going to rip me off, you fake?”

“Flattery was never your strong suite,” Belrasonare laughed. “A hundred silver coins.”

“You’ve lost your stinking skull!” Grophin bellowed.

“Perhaps I have, but I own the slave you want.”

“I’d rather let the demon die.”

Aevala heard the front flaps of the tent rustle as they were flung aside to make way for the furious elf. Her heart pounded in her ears. It had been weeks since she’d been able to see Kepliar. How sick was he? What could she do?

“Greshen!”

Aevala shoved the thoughts away and ducked through the divider. “Yes?”

“I have a mind to sell you,” Belrasonare said as she leveled her eyes at the young woman to measure her reaction. “I have a persistent buyer who keeps coming to me with a decent price. Your services are not what I expected of you. Go. I want to sleep now.”

Aevala stared at her as her mouth dropped. Why did she tell her this? Was she trying to goad her into working harder in hopes of staying? “If I may, my lady,” Aevala pressed.

Belrasonare turned eyes filled with hatred to her slave. “What?” she snapped.

“Within or beyond the caravan?”

Belrasonare’s cruel laughter filled the space around them and turned Aevala’s heart to lead. “You are arrogant indeed if you think you have grown valuable enough to sell outside the caravan.”

Aevala swallowed and ducked out the entrance. What did that mean? Who wanted to buy her? She shivered as she thought of one or two elves with enough coin to purchase her. The first that came to mind was owner of the brothel tent. Grophin was another. She bit her lip as she prayed that the caravan would turn south before Belrasonare thought it was time to sell. But alas, they ever pressed north and still there was no rise in the endless flat land stretching before the caravan.

Aevala pressed away her fear as she walked to Phenneas. “Hey, boy.” She patted the horse’s neck and pulled out his brush. “Sorry,” she answered. “Belrasonare didn’t give me permission to exercise you, and I can’t afford to get in trouble right now.”

The horse tossed his head, and she patted him in apology. The horse wasn’t old, but he wasn’t young either. He was getting to the point where long periods of standing around were torture, and Aevala felt awful. The best she could do was let him walk around the tiny area between Belrasonare’s tent and her wagon.

Aevala glanced down to inspect the tugging at her sandal. Bandit sat, looking up at her with a shiny piece of gold held in his mouth. Aevala grinned and glanced around to make sure no one was looking her way.

“Why, thank you,” she praised the small ferret as she patted his head and then moved the give his belly a good scratch. “That was so kind of you.”

Bandit hopped around in pleasure, accidentally throwing himself against Phenneas’s front leg. The horse dropped his head and pushed the ferret away. He didn’t feel like playing today.

Aevala bent to drop the coin into the crevice in the wagon well. She smiled at the clink that reached her ears. It had to be a decent amount by then, and it would be most helpful when the time came to flee.

~¤~

Aevala snorted at her mistress. Even without the aid of sleeping potions and spells, the old she-elf was sleeping more and more. It was fine with Aevala; the more Belrasonare slept the more freedom Aevala had.

Aevala couldn’t understand how the she-elf considered selling her slave. It was only Aevala’s many services offered throughout the caravan that kept the fortuneteller living in comfort. Without her slave, she would have to start working in earnest again or take a harsh slash in how she lived.

Aevala knew that the caravan would be moving again soon. There were fewer and fewer patrons each night, and it was getting to the point that there was no advantage to stay any longer.

Aevala snuck from her mistress’s tent and approached the horse. “Come on, boy.” She led Phenneas through the winding walkways. Stopping at the edge of the caravan, she turned to him. “I’ll be back later,” she told him. “Stay close because the wild animals fear the elves’ light. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Aevala could see the appreciation shining in the beast’s eyes as he trotted away. Phenneas never disobeyed, so Aevala had no fear he would do just as she instructed.

The woman steeled her heart and turned back to the caravan. She was terrified, but she was going to do this no matter what.

It took her little time to place herself in front of Grophin’s tent. The fat elf sat on a stool outside the entrance looking cross and sour. He glared up at her and scowled. “What?” he snarled. “Belrasonare sent you to collect payment for our conversation?”

“No,” Aevala answered with as much reserve and surety she could muster. She lowered her eyes and dropped her head before the elf. “I heard the conversation this afternoon. I do not like to see animals suffer. I wish to help.”

“The seer charges too much. You are not worth a hundred silver.”

“Aye,” Aevala responded. “I am not. That is why Belrasonare does not know I am here. I care only for animals. I wish to help however I can.”

Grophin raised his eye along with his lip. Of course he didn’t care why the slave wanted to help. He would not argue if she wanted to give him—for free—what her mistress demanded a hundred silver for. He would get what he wanted, and she could deal with her mistress however she thought she could.

“Follow me.”

Aevala walked through the entrance for only the third time in her life.

None of the internal lanterns were lit, so Grophin carried one with him. “There,” he grunted.

Aevala glanced through the deep shadows created by the weak light. “I must be able to get close to him,” she told the elf.

He glared down at her in both suspicion and doubt. Why did she need to get close? Was she stupid? Who wanted to get close to such a dangerous animal? Grophin did so, but he was larger and had no problem when it came to beating the creature.

Aevala shook her head. “It is always easier if I am close,” she explained. “Lock me in if you wish. I’m not here to free it.”

Grophin raised his eyebrow. It was rather surprising that the slight young she-elf was able to address every question and doubt in his mind. “Fine,” he grunted. “If it kills you, I’m dumping your body outside of camp. Remember in the afterlife that I warned you.”

As the lock dropped down, Aevala noticed Kepliar shiver in response. The mixed-breed stepped through the door and shuddered when the lock clicked back into place.

“I’m going to get a drink,” the elf growled, unconcerned with the safety of the slave. “Do what you can. I’ll be back.”

Aevala tried to hide her grin of triumph. She couldn’t have asked for a better situation. The elf stormed out, taking the light with him.

“Kepliar?” she murmured as she dropped to her knees next to the shelter.

“What are you doing here?” His short, wheezing voice was the weakest she’d ever heard it. It was marked with disbelief and fear.

“Grophin heard I’m good with animals. He told Belrasonare you were sick, and he wants me to find out why.”

Kepliar snorted in disdain as he shifted. “He’s an idiot.” What did he want—the cause emblazoned on the front of his tent? Nothing could live in such conditions without sickness.

“I know.” Aevala bit her bottom lip as she judged the space within the structure. Perhaps she would have room. “Move your wing.”

“Why?” he questioned, though he lifted the appendage out of the way even as he spoke.

Aevala wriggled into the small space, careful not to squish any part of him.

“What are you…?”

Before he could finish his question, she was hunched at the far end of the structure and had drawn his head into her lap. “Silly man,” she chided, though her voice held no reprimand. “You don’t think I chanced coming here just to find out what I already know, do you? I came to help you feel better.”

“Aev…”

“Shhhh,” she silenced as she ran her index and middle finger over his blazing forehead and then down the bridge of his nose. She could only liken it to reading a book but with her fingertips. Her fingers read his energy and his health then fed the information into her mind.

A lung infection complicated by continual dehydration. Aevala frowned as she recognized other subtle signs of the disease: bright, red sores, mental weakness, and sore joints. It was more than a simple lung infection. It was the plague her mother fought so hard to end!

“Kepliar,” she whispered, unable to keep the trembling from her voice. “How long have you been sick?”

He sighed as his strained, shallow breathing deepened. It was comforting to have her close. He’d missed Aevala almost as much as he missed water—more in some ways. She was—comforting. “I don’t know,” he answered, suppressing a cough. “A while.”

Aevala frowned as she closed her eyes and fought the monster of fear that threatened her sanity. Plague. She didn’t know what to do with plague. She had little strength and less experience. She distracted herself by continuing to run her fingers over his brow and nose, then extended to his chin and jaw line.

She stopped when she felt his hand covering her own. “Don’t cry, Aeva,” he murmured. “I know I’m really sick, but it’ll be okay.”

How could she tell him it wasn’t going to be okay? How could she tell him she couldn’t help him, and that he was going to die? How could she go on, knowing they had both come so close to freedom and escape? How could she fight that empty feeling that rose to gnaw at her soul?

“I’m already feeling a lot better.”

She jerked her eyes open to gape at him. “Really?” she whispered.

“Really,” he answered. “You should have seen me a few nights ago. You didn’t think that Grophin would seek help for me unless he thought I was a step from death, did you?”

Aevala nodded despite herself. He was right. Perhaps that meant his body was somehow healing itself. Even if it was, however, he could easily take a turn for the worse. She would have to try and convince Grophin to give him decent water and food. That would help. She knew the elf probably wouldn’t though. Perhaps she could find a way to bring water…

“I heard him talking,” Kepliar broke the heavy silence. “He’s going to town tomorrow night to get some supplies for the next trip. Will you come?”

“I swear it.”

“He’s coming back,” Kepliar murmured. “You should go before he decides we’re too friendly.”

Aevala nodded in silence and squirmed out of the shelter. She lifted from the ground and approached the cage door. She glanced back and sighed. Oh, please be alright.

Grophin lumbered back in with his key and unlocked the door that Aevala stood next to. “Still in one piece,” he growled his observation as if he were surprised she was so.

Aevala stepped from the cage and felt her heart sink as the door slammed back into place and the lock replaced. She didn’t even flinch at the horrible sound. “Yes,” she answered. “Do you remember the caravan-wide sickness many years ago?”

Grophin raised an eyebrow. “Yes,” he answered.

“You’re creature is sick with something similar,” she lied. It was the same thing. “He needs better food and water than what you’re giving him—water especially—or your greatest money maker is going to die.” Her words were cold and she hoped that Grophin would take them at face value. Perhaps he would listen if she brought in the financial reminder. “You cannot continue to feed him filth and expect him to live.”

Grophin knew this child’s mother was the healer that had helped so many. Perhaps she too knew a thing or two about sickness. “Can I get it?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I expect so,” Aevala answered, shrugging her shoulders. “Many diseases pass between elves and animals these days.” Of course, she had no idea to the truth of the last part, but he could get it. A sick part of her wanted exactly that.

Grophin sneered as he looked into the cage. “Get out,” he snapped.

Aevala nodded and hurried to the exit. Maybe Grophin heard her words.

~¤~

“Kepliar?” Aevala called as she squeezed under the tent side.

Kepliar smiled to himself. He always watched her come in, and she always called to him as if she was checking to see if he was still there. Where else would he be, after all? “Hey.”

Aevala grinned as she approached the cage. It faded to a fierce frown as the sound of a wracking cough battered against her ears. “I couldn’t bring any water,” she apologized. “But Snitch was amazing today. She made off with an entire sack of grava.”

Kepliar’s low laughter turned into another bout of coughing, but even the sharp pain in his lungs couldn’t still his mirth.

“You okay?” Aevala asked. She knew the answer, and it terrified her; but she could only do what she could do.

“Fine,” he forced out. “Really, I’m doing much better. And since you talked to him, Grophin has been feeding me every day at least—and it’s not rotten.”

Small miracles. She shook her head and pulled the string that kept the sack closed. She drew one of the blue fruit from within and held it through the bars. He took it from her and sighed in awe. He’d only had grava one other time in his life—the last time Aevala brought it—and he’d loved it.

“The stars are pretty tonight,” Aevala offered as she bit into her own. “Bright.”

Kepliar savored the extravagant taste rolling in his mouth before turning his attention to her statement. “What are the stars like?”

Aevala furrowed her brow and pressed her lips together as she struggled to find suitable words. “See the canvas there?”

“Yeah.”

“The light shining through the tiny holes?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Imagine that, only darker with more and larger holes, high above your head as far as you can see in every direction. The stars dance like candles, and some make pictures in the sky. On rare occasions, stars appear that are colored or have great tails.”

“Pictures?” he questioned.

“Yes,” she answered as she smiled. She remembered the stories her mother told her about where the pictures had come from. “There’s a few right together that look like a spear and a sword. They belong to the great warrior. He fought for the great human nation that existed before all realms were ruined. When the mage destroyed the four great kingdoms at the end of the Unspeakable War, the warrior had no home to return to. He climbed a mountain and asked the Keeper of the Stars for guidance. She called him away from the mountain to serve her in the heaven realms. Along the way, he dropped his useless weapons in the sky. They still sit, waiting for the warrior’s return.”

“You believe that?” Kepliar asked.

“I guess,” she answered. Stranger things had happened. “I know that mountains exist, so why couldn’t someone step into heaven from them?”

“No, I meant the four nations?”

“Sure,” Aevala answered. “Our people are what’s left of one of them. I’ve heard the elves tell their children stories similar to what my mother told me. I doubt we were ever friendly enough to share a false history.”

“What about the other races, though?” he asked, shoving the rest of the grava in his mouth. “Do they exist too?”

Aevala frowned as she remembered the only dryad she’d known. Her expression softened as she remembered the Were-Kin she’d met all those years ago. “I’ve met two other races,” she said. “I once knew a dryad that lived here among the elves. I wish she hadn’t. They almost killed her.” Both non-elves shuddered at the danger such a statement held. “I met a shape-shifter once.”

“Really?” Kepliar’s voice brightened.

Aevala had read much about the illusive creatures of the western forest, but she’d never mentioned knowing one. They, more than any other race, intrigued him. What wonders would it be to have the ability to hide completely one’s animal attributes! He’d give his right eye and arm for such a gift.

“Yes,” Aevala answered, “shortly before I met you. He warned me to never let the elves know my heritage. He’d been a slave among this caravan as well. He knew what they were like.”

“What was he like?”

“Frightening,” Aevala answered without a moment’s thought. She laughed a little. “Frightening, but comforting all at the same time. He was wilder than either Bandit or Snitch has ever been, but he cared enough to warn me.” She sighed, remembering the bowed, yet unbroken creature. “I hope he’s found his freedom.”

“What is it like to be a slave?” Kepliar blurted.

She drew back a little, surprised by the question. How could she answer that? What was it like anyway? “It’s sorrow,” she whispered after a time of thought. She couldn’t delve into any further. She didn’t want to think about it. Maybe once they were free, she would be able to talk to him about it. “It’s not anything compared to your suffering…”

“How’s your dream training coming?” Aevala changed the subject. When the time came to escape, it would be handy if he had a firm control of some things at least.

Kepliar laughed a little. “Could be worse,” he admitted. “Not sure I’m doing very well, though. It’s hard. I’ve never even experienced some of the things they talk about. What’s a ‘magic self’ anyway?”

Aevala giggled a little. It would be hard to learn anything if he couldn’t recognize that. “It’s the source of your magic,” she answered. “I don’t know how to describe it. It’s kind of like thinking, but with energy in your heart. That’s what talks to the elements and the strength around you. It comes with practice. It’ll snap one day, and you’ll get it.”

“Oh,” Kepliar sighed.

“I should go,” Aevala sighed as she stood. She peered through the inky shadows and leaned against the bars. “Are you really feeling better?”

“Every minute,” he answered as he turned his face up to her. He had to wonder about whatever beings looked after his life—perhaps there really was something great watching out for him. They’d brought him Aevala anyway. “It was good to see you.”

“And it was good to see you too.” She smiled as she lifted the sack. “We’re going to make it.”

He smiled a little. For the strangest reason, he believed her.

~۝~

Belrasonare scowled as she pulled back the entrance flap to admit the elfin youth. She didn’t mind this elf as much as some others, but she didn’t like anyone, and he was no different. She hobbled to her normal seat and dropped to her cushions.

“What brings the brother to the honorable leader to my humble tent?” she questioned as she sneered at the caravan head’s brother.

Adrestaar dropped to the floor and stared at her over the short table. A cold, predatory smile crept to his face, and he chuckled. “I have come to renew my proposition,” he started. “I want to buy your slave.”

“I have told you countless times that you simply do not have enough money to replace her. I couldn’t buy another slave with what you offer. Besides, it’s a pain to train another.”

“Perhaps you will find what I offer enough when you hear my news.”

Belrasonare narrowed her eyes and pulled her chin back in doubt. This sapling thought much of himself to be so sure. There was no uncertainty in his eyes when he spoke. She frowned. “What’s that?”

“I am going to up my offer, out of goodwill,” he explained. “Five-hundred gold pieces and a hundred silver.”

“You’re still seven-hundred-gold short,” Belrasonare dismissed his pitiful figure. “Go away before I find your presence troubling.

Adrestaar shook his head. “You don’t seem to understand.” He grinned. “I offer this because you are an interesting woman and I do not wish to alienate.”

“What are you getting at?” Belrasonare asked. What did the youth have or know that she didn’t?

“I watched Greshen entered Grophin’s tent late at night, three nights past, without admittance. You know the penalty for such unwelcome entrance. I offer you coin because I offered before, and it’s only right to allow you the chance to profit from your slave’s loss. I offer because I would rather have her with me than see her destroyed. We can both benefit, you see.”

Belrasonare’s mouth dropped. Surely the stupid wench hadn’t been foolish enough enter another’s tent without welcome! She ground her teeth together. The look in the elf’s eye was infuriating at best. He knew he won.

“Do you have proof?” she snapped.

Adrestaar held up a grava core. “We don’t feed the Demon Spawn such expensive treats,” he explained. “There is but one way it ended up in the same area as he.”

Belrasonare’s mouth dropped as she realized the elf had every bit of proof he needed to have the slave killed if Belrasonare did not sell. She considered letting the caravan authorities kill the slave just to spite the forceful elf. However, she admired his maneuvering—begrudging of course—and would rather make five-hundred gold and a hundred silver over nothing at all.

“Well done,” she commended in a growl. “I do believe you are the first to get advantage over me in any business dealing. I agree to sell you my slave.” Belrasonare passed over an extravagant broach as proof of the sale. “For the price of five-hundred gold and one-hundred-silver, she is yours.”

Adrestaar grinned as drew the pouch from his trousers. “You’re welcome to count it.” He grinned in triumph as he swung to his feet. “I trust you will not harm my slave when you inform her of the sale. I do not want my flower marred. Send her unharmed and fit for my bedchamber.”

“Do I look like a brothel keeper?” Belrasonare snarled. He was pushing his luck.

The elf laughed. “Of course not,” he answered. “I just thought you might enjoy a few last moments of taunting, given that you cannot strike her for her stupidity.”

~¤~

“Kahlee, you can’t let this happen,” Halehya hissed when he told her what Xethanre found out from ‘Uncle Adrestaar’.

He locked his jaw and frowned. “And what do you think I can do?” he barked. It was so frustrating! His desire to help the slave burned as hot as Halehya’s. Her fevered demand only added to the rage that rose in response to his inability.

“Do not snap at me,” Halehya reproached as she crossed her arms.

Kahlee’s shoulders dropped, and he ran his hand through his hair. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled as he shook his head with a sigh. “I can’t do anything, Halehya—not this time.”

“Why?” she asked as she sank down to a great pile of pillows. “What did she do to deserve this?”

Kahlee could stand his wife’s tears less than he could stand the thought of the poor human under his brother’s control. He shook his head and knelt next to the raven-haired she-elf. “I don’t know. But you know if there was something I could do, I would.”

Halehya furrowed her brow and looked into Kahlee’s eyes. “I know… Can’t you just kill him?”

Kahlee chuckled. “If only I could. But they would remove me and possibly and Xethanre and Drestahl too. You don’t want that, do you?”

“Of course not.”

Xethanre tiptoed away from the heavy fabric he’d been eavesdropping through. It seemed to him slavery caused more trouble than it was worth. Plus, he knew the slave Uncle Adrestaar had acquired, and he liked her. If he ever became caravan leader, bondage would be the first thing to go. And if Drestahl was caravan leader instead—he would make sure she knew the evils of slavery.