The bowl of paintdrink they forced down my throat tasted of smoke, cinnamon, and bitter roots. It had the thick, sludgy consistency of mud. It looked unnatural, a pristine white goop, speckled with droplets of brick red. There was too much, and they were forcing it into my mouth too fast. I sputtered and some of it came back up. Hard hands gripped my hair and face, holding me fast, not giving me time to swallow. I was drowning. Down, and down, and down I went, consciousness fading as my mind rebelled and the drug took hold. Like powder dissolving in water, so too did my thoughts vanish as it circulated through my system.

The bowl emptied, the hands released me. I slumped to the floor.

Time blurred.

A wet, dragging sensation travelled across my torso, up my arms, and down my thighs and legs. Images flickered like softly glowing lights in the night, and I reached out in my mind to grasp them. The shamankas were painting me again. I was going to be used again.

The thumping of drums vibrated through the ground, increasing in intensity. Thum, thum, thum. Thum, thum, thum. Rhythmic and insistent, like a steady heartbeat followed by the tiptoe steps of approaching soldiers, a prelude to the chaos to come. This was the waltz of war, the song of blood.

They dragged me now, over rough stone and coarse sand. Sensation was still distant. I felt like a passenger trapped in my own body. The chains so heavy on my arms and legs. Not time yet.

The heartbeats, or perhaps it was the thunder of the approaching horde, grew louder. The bass notes resonated deep within my chest with each thud. I could hear the discordant screams of the Furies rising from the horde like a physical wave of sound, raw and wild.

Harsh hands grabbed my face, dirty fingers prying open my eyelids for inspection. It was Chipped-Tooth Man this time. I hated him, but my hatred was a distant feeling, my mind reminding me of it like a long-forgotten obligation.

"You need to open the gate, boy. There are two wheels, they both need to be spun, one is in each tower," he spoke clearly and slowly, his voice hard.

He grabbed my neck and hoisted me up, forcing my gaze towards the fortification in front of us.

"That gate," he pointed, then gestured at the tall stone pillboxes on either side. "Those towers."

"When the gates are open, kill everyone not of the horde." He flashed a yellow, crooked, chipped-tooth smile.

Thum thum thum.

"Do you understand?"

I tried to respond, I really did. I knew what awaited me if I refused. But my arms were leaden, my hands awkwardly bound behind me in the sand, and the drug in my system inhibited any attempt at control.

Chipped-Tooth Man sneered down at me. With a practised motion, he moved his hand, and I felt the bead of magic growing within him. "Nfoma!" he spat at me, and agony seared my existence. I writhed as magic boiled and flamed across my skin, the tattoos and lines of paint on my body flaring as they activated. The blood in my veins turned to acid. I became an engine of pain. Every breath felt like sucking down fire, and every exhalation like my last. My vision narrowed into pinpricks, white bleeding into the edges.

I didn't hear it, but he must have said "Acquis" because the pain receded suddenly. I choked back a soundless sob. My muscles remained rigid and tight. I lay half-arched on the sand and dirt, the removal of pain bringing a temporary pleasure, a fleeting sense of bliss. It was almost worth the torture to feel it go.

But even that reprieve was short-lived.

He crouched beside me, roughly grabbing my hair and twisting my neck towards the fort again. "Open the gate. Two wheels, one in each tower." He pointed again and emphasised his words. "When the gate is open, kill everyone that is not horde. Do you understand?"

I contorted my body in an attempt to nod, and it must have worked because he roughly dropped my head onto the ground before standing and prowling away, indicating to the guards to unchain me.

Thum thum thum. Was that the drums, or my heart pounding in my ears?

Four guards held their long spears against my skin, as a fifth came forward with the key. The thick binding manacles came away one after the other. I stayed still as they pulled off the last one. The man with the key grabbed the manacles and chains in his arms and jumped back from me like I was a wild animal. Well. I had tried to escape before, to fight them before. When I was younger. Before I knew better. I looked down at my body. Lurid paint started back at me, bright swirls of colour had filled in the tattoos that covered my torso in unbroken shapes. Runes of some kind. No one had ever explained it to me, what little I knew was overheard snippets.

I felt familiar magic approaching behind me. It tasted of tradition. It was an ember passed down from mother to daughter, in an endless chain, fanned to life by each generation. What came now was small, but could be great, I could feel the heat of it, burning in my mind.

The shamankas of the old ways encircled the guards and I as they arrived. I looked around the circle and my eyes fixed on the bird woman. She stood as the apex of the circle. I could feel veins of power connecting to her from each of her companions, and the bindings between them thrummed. The other shamanakas were unimportant, she was the conduit.

Without warning, the women began to sway and sing in their haunting keening way. The song, in a language I didn't understand, passed around the circle, each adding their own unique melody to the haunting harmony. The magic crescendoed within the Bird Woman, gathering in her gut like a storm brewing. Finally, with a flourish of her arm, she directed the magic towards me, a wave that broke me into a million pieces.

The drink they had fed me, the drug, reacted to the magic as I had known it would. As it had before. As it would again. Bliss. The world shifted into the brightest clarity, strength returning to my body. I was alive again.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Pushing myself upright, I batted away the spears pointing at me. The guards flinched and retreated. They moved so slowly. I could feel their heartbeats pounding in my ears. I could taste their fear and sweat, raw and metallic. The gate on my power creaked open. I had permission. It was time. I cycled the energy through my body, feeling cuts on my back and side mend, abrasions fading without a trace.

The drug was potent, erasing everything except raw pleasure and the thrill of battle. Excitement coiling in my stomach, I sent another surge of power through my legs, leaving behind small pools of energy to enhance my movements. I extended my hand, and the Bird Woman placed a belt and sheath in my palm. I secured it around my body before accepting a short black blade from her. Slipping the blade into the sheath, I turned towards the fort, ignoring the Bird Woman's imperious tone and the words she squawked at me as I left.

The horde roared as I pushed through their lines and into the open wasteland. They surged behind me, a tide of bloodthirsty warriors.

Thum thum thum.

The only thing that mattered was to open the gate.

Thum thum thum.

Open the gate. Avoid the pain.

Thum thum thum.

The walls were tall, the stone old, and their magic strong.

Thum thum thum.

The people behind them probably felt safe.

Thum thum thum.

Fifty metres from the gate and the defenders unleashed their death on me. Spears of ice, jets of pressurised water, stones the size of my head, metal arrows and bolts, and scorching lines of solar fire rained down.

Thum thum thum.

It was always like this.

I cycled my power once more, weaving through the barrage with fluid movements. Pushing every ounce of my strength into my legs, I launched myself in a powerful leap, sending a spray of sand flying. Landing atop the parapet, I was met with a sea of stunned and horrified faces. My black blade flickered in the air, meeting no resistance as it sliced through flesh and bone with chilling ease. The figures stood like statues as I moved between them. Falling like felled trees as I left them.

Thum thum thum.

The euphoria took me, artificial and hollow. Even drug induced, it was the only good thing I had in this world. This life. This cursed life. The only time they allowed me to touch my magic. The only time I was free.

Time blurred once more.

Thum thum thum.

When I regained my senses, I stood amidst a hall filled with the bodies of armoured warriors, surrounded by enemy mages. A high-pitched ringing filled my ears, and a strange sense of unease settled over me. Untethered. Loose.

"Can you understand us? We have undone your slave bindings. We need you to fight for us."

Was someone speaking to me? Glancing around the room, I saw no one attacking. I tilted my head in confusion.

They were now speaking Perdish, the language of our enemy. I didn't understand a word. Raising my hand, I signed, "I only understand the true tongue."

The man speaking was tall and broad-shouldered, radiating a sense of authority, and his dark eyes held a mixture of curiosity and wariness. He was clearly the leader of this group.

He swapped to the true tongue “Can you understand me?” I signed back “Yes” and he frowned. He looked askance at the men and women around him, who immediately started to babble at each other in Perdish.

“It’s handtalk from the highlands” a womens soft voice said in the true tongue. “I can translate it, he said he could understand you”. I found the speaker, a a woman with sun-dark skin that contrasted sharply with her white mage robes, and a single braid decorated with feathers ran down her back. Three small dots tattooed in a line adorned her forehead – a mark I had never seen before.

The man turned back to me.

"We have broken the enchantments cast over you and undone your slave bindings," his voice was deep and powerful. "The Horde is outside the walls now, waiting for the gate to be opened. We need your help to fight them. If you choose to fight with us, we offer you your freedom."

I looked across the room, thinking. Freedom. The word itself felt foreign, a concept I had only glimpsed through fragmented memories and stolen glances at the lives of others. In my world, freedom existed only in the fleeting moments of drug-induced euphoria, brief periods of feeling truly alive before being plunged back into the abyss of pain and control.

Looking around the room filled with finely dressed individuals, so different from the ragged horde I was accustomed to, a seed of doubt began to sprout within me. Could this be a trap? Could freedom be anything more than a cruel illusion? Was this another test?

"What will happen to me if I don't fight?" I signed, my hand hovering near the threedot woman who translated. Her eyes held a flicker of understanding as she interpreted my question.

The bearded man's brow furrowed, and he spoke slowly, weighing each word. "We cannot allow you to fall back into the hands of the Horde. You are a powerful weapon, and they will use you to continue their destruction. If you choose not to fight with us, we will have to stop you."

Such finality in his voice. I surveyed the room again. He didn't lie. Fighting for these strangers was unimaginable, yet the alternative was unthinkable. What did freedom even mean? Could I learn to live in a world without the constant fear of pain, the forced dependency on the drug?

Could I make the choice to go back to the way things were?

Thum thum thum.

People turned as they heard the drums rolling, as if they could see the horde now.

"Who will I be killing if you grant me my freedom?" I signed, my hands trembling slightly.

The woman translated my question, and a tense silence filled the room. Finally, the bearded man cleared his throat and spoke, his voice laced with a hint of surprise.

"If you help us escape the Horde, we will ensure your safety and offer you a chance to start a new life. You will never be forced to fight again."

A new life. The words resonated within me, a melody so unfamiliar yet strangely captivating. Could I ever truly be free of the chains, both physical and mental, that had shackled me for as long as I could remember? Could I escape the cycle of violence and embrace a future I could not even begin to imagine?

I looked around the room, meeting the cautious curiosity in their eyes. I thought of the deafening drums and the bloodthirsty horde waiting outside the walls. My people. Could I fight for something other than the fleeting oblivion offered by the drug? Could I fight for a chance at freedom, even if it meant embracing the unknown?

Turning towards the threedot woman who stood as my bridge to this new world, and the bearded man that decided my fate, I signed slowly, my hand tracing the air with deliberate clarity.

"What does freedom look like?"