Isidrian staggered into the trees. The heat dragged any energy from him. It had baked his skin a raw pink. His shirt felt as though it was covered in thousands of knives as it dragged around his neck. He briefly wondered if that’s how Vix’s collar felt as he looked over to the wagon. It was devoid of occupants. He scanned the copse, it was larger than the one they had hidden in last night. The trees twisted as he watched them. He swayed sideways. He could smell something. It smelt like a rat had died beneath the floorboards of the Post in winter and begun to bake in the summer.

He lurched towards the wagon, fearing what he would find if he looked into the bed. No one. No bodies amongst the cargo. He ducked into the wagon as quiet as he could manage. He could hear birds in the trees. A slight breeze knocked branches together as leaves rustled. He found the bag of cutlery and withdrew the cleaver. Steeling himself, he crept down from the wagon and began to follow the scent.

He stuck to the shadows of the gum trees - not that they gave any real cover. The trees spun when he looked at them. Turning his head skywards only made him feel even weaker. He leant against a gum for support. They were only slightly larger than a man wide. The repulsive scent grew stronger. Vomit licked at the back of his throat. He continued darting from the shade of one tree to the next until a gust of wind bathed his senses in the carrion stench. He scanned his surroundings.

A solitary hand lay on the grass before him. Its skin pale. The fingers were broken, twisted in strange directions. A trail of blood led into the trees beyond.

His vision spun and he dropped to one knee. The vomit left his throat and deposited itself on the grass beside him. He gripped the cleaver tight. A stick cracked behind him and he swung blindly. The cleaver whipped through the air, missing its target. One hand caught him by the lower arm and another shoved him hard to the ground. They pinned him by the lower back and wrenched his outstretched arm. The cleaver dropped from his weakened grip. Sharp teeth gripped him by the neck, hot breath leaving patches of damp.

“Fuck! Run!” Isidrian shouted in delirium. He waited for those sharp teeth to bite deep, tear his throat out, to feel his blood pour onto the grass. Or maybe it would be a quick snap, the way you would break the neck of a rabbit.

Neither happened. Instead, the teeth loosened. He could feel his assailant shift their weight against his body, continuing to pin him in place, but he could feel their cheek draw slowly past his ear and jawline.

“If you wanted to mess my guts up that badly, you should have just asked.” Vix whispered seductively into his ear. “Though I would prefer being the one pushed down. I’m going to let you up now. Leave the knife where it is, don’t want anyone being cut by accident now, do we?”

Isidrian said nothing, feeling Vix slowly shift her weight from him. He stayed there, laying in the sparse grass and the dirt.

“Don’t look around. The rest of the corpses are nailed to trees a few more steps that way.” She said, pointing straight ahead. “You could consider yourself lucky only seeing this much.”

“Who is it?”

“My kind.” Vix said with finality. “Likely came through with those traders. Now come, your mother is waiting in the wagon. We need to get a move on.” She knelt and took him tenderly by the arm. Her light touch stirred him to action and he rose to his feet. She took the cleaver and held it by the spine of the blade.

Isidrian steadied himself. “I want to see.”

“No, you don’t.” Vix replied. “If that hand brought you to your knees, I don’t want to see what seeing those poor bastards would do to you.”

“How are you so calm?” Isidrian asked, “They’re Gargans.”

Vix didn’t reply. She tugged him slowly after her back towards the wagon, her soft grip becoming a vice he had no hope of freeing himself from. Strength slowly returned to his legs as he walked. “There’s a small pond on the other side of the copse. That’s where your mother and I were.”

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

Isidrian nodded dumbly.

“You didn’t even call out when you arrived. If it wasn’t for the fact that you stink I wouldn’t have known you were here.”

Isidrian stumbled against her.

“Hey!” She called in surprise. She staggered forward to catch him, aiding him slowly to the ground.

“Do I smell… smell that badly?” He asked weakly as he flopped backwards onto the ground.

Vix stuck the cleaver in the ground. She pressed the smooth skin of the back of her hand to his burned forehead. “You’re sun sick.” She said, “I’m going to pick you up. We need to cool you off.” She picked him up beneath the knees and armpits. His additional weight barely put a dent in her stride as she hurried back to the wagon.

“Father… your ears are so furry.” Isidrian said, reaching to pick at Vix’s long ears that hung low against her head.

“Master!” Vix called. “Young Master is sun sick!”

Dawn looked up from the wagon bed as they approached. “Serves him right. Dump him in the pond. See if that shocks him back awake.”

“Yes Master.” Vix replied, hurrying past the wagon. She dashed the rest of the distance between the trees, cradling Isidrian against her chest. “Stay awake Icy.” She said to him. “Stay awake.”

He mumbled something against her chest, hands now hanging loosely at his sides. The back of his neck was hot against her arm. So awfully hot. His skin was already turning a darker red. She could deal with that later.

Cold water seeped into her thin-soled shoes as she waded straight into the cold water. It came up to waist-deep at the centre. She let his lower body sink as she cradled his head, using her now free hand to wipe lines of water across his brow. He spluttered as drops made their way into his mouth, instinct taking hold as he tried to right himself, arms splashing uselessly in the water.

“I’ve got you Icy. I’ve got you.” She soothed. “You’re sun sick. Just calm down.”

He continued flailing.

“Hold him under until he stops thrashing, Slave.” Dawn called from the side of the pond.

“Master, I - “ Vix was cut short by Isidrian catching a glancing blow at Vix’s face. She dunked him under without remorse, then dragged him by the collar out of the pond. Isidrian coughed as he was dropped to the ground. He laid there, tired from struggling.

“Don’t let him drink anything. He’ll just throw it back up.” Dawn said looking down at her son. “Ochre was like this too. Not the stupid decisions of course, but he was prone to heat sickness.” She pursed her lips. “Bring him back to the wagon once he dries more. He’ll need to sleep this off. Apply some of the burn salve to him. I need him to be able to operate by the time we’re in Rogain. If he’s still like this you’re going to be given away to the foulest bastard I can find.”

The threat passed by Vix entirely. She stripped his shirt off forcefully and began to fan him with it. “Come on Icy, get up. We need to get going.”

“Mine.” He mumbled.

“Yes, your shirt. I’m going to move you now. Don’t struggle.” Vix said exasperated. Her shoes squelched as she knelt by his side again. Isidrian kept mumbling vague words to himself. She heard her name in there but his delirium prevented any sense being made. The pads of her inhuman feet felt disgusting inside the wet leather. He sagged in her arms. He should have just kept the shirt on. She would have been fine. Callous kindness.

Dawn stood atop the wagon and directed Vix to lay Isidrian in a now cleared space. “We need to keep moving. His idiocy has wasted us precious time. Throw some of the linen tarp over the top of him. It will keep the sun off at least.”

Vix complied, pulling the tarp that would stop rain from damaging the cargo out from within a chest in the front left corner of the wagon. She leapt down from the wagon bed and began tying it to the raised sides with frayed rope. She remembered watching Ochre hammer the rope in on a rainy day in Verdante not long after he had bought her. He spoke to her methodically, if you could not call it kindly, and had shown her how to properly do menial tasks. She wove the rope through stitched ringlets in the cloth and tied it back upon itself, repeating until the taut cloth covered the vast majority of the wagon bed. She left a space a person-width wide to allow herself to climb back in.

Dawn tugged at the cover disdainfully. Finding no obvious flaw to comment on she glowered down at Vix. “You’ll ride in the back again. You packed the salve, you know how to apply it. Remember. If he doesn’t recover, you’d wish it were only your head I’d take.”

“Yes Master.” Vix curtsied, lifting the damp, mud stained, cloth that she wore. Vix took the snort of derision from Dawn as her command to climb aboard. The wagon swayed beneath her as she clambered aboard. Dawn had spurred the horses to action before Vix could get proper footing, and it was only through her heightened physical capabilities that she managed to remain upright. The Gargan race had no access to the Arts - it was simply not a gift that they could use. Instead, their strength, their speed, their instincts and reactions were heightened beyond what a normal human could bear. Despite what Verditian scholars taught the populace under the command of the Queen, the Gargans recognised themselves as humans. It was a curse. They were not monsters.

Vix slid beneath the linen tarp and set to work. She searched amongst the medical supplies - powdered roots for stomach ailments, a roll of linen bandage, a sewing needle and a small knife with a sharp blade. There was sno skin salve. No burn ointment. Had she forgotten it? No, she was sure she had packed it amongst the supplies. The wagon jolted on the road and she heard the chime of glass on wood from behind her. She searched the chests behind Dawn, scouring their contents. Dawn was silent.

Isidrian wouldn’t die from a lack of treatment to his burns. They weren’t bad enough to crack and become infected. She knew that any minor flaws on Isidrian would be punished. Ochre never approved of Vix being damaged - it made her inefficient. Dawn had always found ways to take her pound of flesh, but had never yet been physical. With the growing realisation of what Ochre’s death meant for her looming, Vix shivered in the hot day. “Come on Icy, wake up.” She nudged him. There was no response. She leant down close to him. He was breathing at least.

She needed him to wake up.