Chapter 11: The Brutality of Man

Ayla Rúth Harya

When I finish the Amhrán an Bháis, my eyes have run out of tears. I release my meager magic that keeps the fire blazing unnaturally high and hot, then watch it go out. Then there is only the comforting blanket of darkness, the stars, and the rift, judging me from above.

I walk a while through the darkness—my eyes drinking just enough light to keep my footing—and my mind begins to wander. When the thoughts brush against memories of family and home, I wince, and turn to prayer. I ask Danu, as I have so many times, “Why must we suffer? Why must the world be so broken and full of death and pain?”

God does not answer. For years, I have relied on my sister, and the others of the faithful to provide answers, and that was enough. But now there is only me, and I am alone. My sister would probably say something like: “You are never alone, Ayla.” But that isn’t true. I am.

Even so, I will not abandon the quest for the God Tree. If she will not answer when I pray, she will do so when we stand face to face.

The temperature is already starting to drop enough that I crave the warmth of the fire. So I head toward the campfire, where I find the humans gathered around it drinking. Yet Jace is not with them.

My eyes scan the camp, then turn to the humans when one calls out to me. “Oy! Elf girl.” It’s Sapp. He’s drunk. They’re all drunk. “Why don’t you come and sit by us.”

“That’s a splendid idea!” Marcus agrees. “It’ll give us something pretty to look at. Mmm… I really like that tunic. Really shows off the legs.”

My lip curls up with disgust. I watch the humans, their eyes glazed and movements sloppy as they drain their bottles. Each slurred word and crude gesture makes my skin crawl. They think their drunkenness excuses their behavior, but to me, it only reveals their true, repulsive nature.

“Where is Jace, humans?” I say, trying to keep both my distaste and concern from coming through. “I do not see him.”

Marcus waves ambiguously in the direction of the dark. “He went for a walk. I think your song put him in a mood. C’mon. Join us.”

So they had all heard my mourning song. It is no surprise, I suppose. It was impractical to build the pyre anywhere further from camp, and they were always bound to see.

But, what could Jace be doing alone? His eyes are not as sharp as mine in darkness. What kind of mood had my song put him in that he felt the need to wander by himself?

I try putting it out of my mind. I try putting everything out of my mind.

“Hey, hey. Where are you going?” Bolton called out as I gave my back to them. “We’re talking ain’t we?” A couple of the humans laugh.

One of the drawbacks of camping out in the open like this is that, as opposed to a more enclosed space, heat disperses more easily. Consequently, everything is set up close to the fire. There is nowhere really that I can go to get away, unless I choose to sleep in the dark. After that one night with Jace, freezing and without a fire, I know it is impractical.

I feel their eyes on me as I pet one of the new Lóke—the humans had rounded up three of the unharmed Reaver mounts after the battle—and try to ignore the men’s whistling cat calls. There are three new Lóke in all. They are still in bad shape and skittish, scales pale, and old wounds half-healed. The Reavers rode them too hard. We gave them feed and water. I think they will survive. “There, there. Shhh…”

“Hey, elf girl!” Marcus’s voice cuts through my consciousness like a hot knife, and suddenly my body is no longer mine to control. “I said you should sit with us. Don’t you think it’s rude to ignore us like that?”

It takes me a second to comprehend why my body turns on its own and begins to walk toward the spot Marcus is tapping next to him on the petrified log where he sits. Then I see his shining purple eyes and I recall the way they shone when he commanded the Reavers to shoot themselves in the head.

No. This can’t be happening! My heart races in my chest as I try to resist. But my body won’t obey me. To my horror. I sit next to Marcus. So close that I can smell his rancid breath. He puts a hand on my bare leg, then sniffs my hair.

“Tha’s a good girl. Much better.” Marcus says. Bolton and Sapp chuckle.

“You’re an ass, Marcus.” Lars says, though his tone is one of amusement without any real reproach.

“You sure Jace won’t get mad, boss?” Callum sounds more timid, but about Jace’s reaction—nothing to do with the wrongness of Marcus’s action.

My hate for humans, that I hadn’t realized had started to abate ever so slightly since traveling with this company, flares with a renewed intensity.

None of them see anything wrong in this.

It hasn’t been lost on me that the humans never once called me by my name. That they all refer to me as “Jace’s elf.” It is clear that I am not even a person to them. I am property. My name, my identity—these mean nothing to them.

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Where is Jace? Will he stand by this? I hope not. I pray not. I beg Danu that he will be the man he has been for as long as I have known him. But I can’t help but fear that this is all planned. Perhaps I have been right about him all along. He has merely been waiting for his opportunity to use me and sell me; and like these humans, he was always merely biding his time. This fear is exacerbated by Marcus’s next words.

“Nah, Jace is my boy. He can take a turn when he gets back. It ain’t fair for him to keep her all to himself, don’t you think?”

Somehow, that relaxes Callum.

Marcus slides a hand under my tunic and up my thigh, then brushes hair away from my neck and licks my skin. “Tastes good.”

“You think the rest of her tastes good, boss?” Lars asks, his high pitch full of eager anticipation.

Inside my mind, I am squirming, screaming, calling out for help, or cursing the vile humans and promising bloody murder. But not a muscle twitches. I feel tears roll down my cheeks.

“Woah.” Callum says. “She’s crying. I thought you said you had her charmed. Is she aware of all this?”

From the darkness, Jace steps in from beyond the darkness, and into the firelight. My heart leaps. Even through my mistrust, I can’t help the way I hope.

But the hope is dashed, and I feel something in me snap and fall into despair.

Jace walks without any urgency, and sounding as if what he is witnessing is both normal and something not worthy of concern. Even so, everyone tenses when they hear his voice. “Didn’t you know, Cal, Marcus can’t control the awareness of his thrall. He can wipe their memory after.”

Marcus gets up from the log and jogs over to greet Jace. I notice the pistol tucked behind his pants, and the slightly more sobered way he sounds when headdresses him. Maybe he isn’t as certain Jace will approve as he thinks? The disgusting human wraps an arm over his shoulders and walks him to the fire.

“We almost got started without you, fucker.”

“What makes you think you have the right to just take what’s mine?”

I don’t like the way Jace phrases that, but once again my hopes rise only to fall. My heart might burst from my swinging emotions.

Marcus laughs like Jace’s words are nothing but a joke. “Don’t be a spoilsport, Jace. Fun’s meant to be shared. Besides, you owe me. Those Reavers were after you for snatching their elf, and it’s only fair you share the spoils.” He lets go of Jace and points both thumbs at himself. “And I’m taking the first go. You can have sloppy seconds tonight.”

“And if I say no?”

I notice the others deflate slightly, disappointed they might not be getting their fun tonight.

Marcus isn’t dissuaded. “Bruh, that ain’t an option. My boys and I gotta get paid. We transported you a quarter of the way through the Waste—and we saved y’all’s lives in the valley.”

Jace stands there, eyes narrowing as he studies Marcus.

Marcus lets his hands fall to his sides, and I know he is a viper, ready to lash out at the first sign of aggression. “You can join us, or not. But I shouldn’t have to remind you that I’ve never used my Charm on you. I could make you sit over there and miss out, then wipe your memory until morning. Or…you can join us in running this train and we can have the time of our lives just like the old days. What do you say?” His eyes flash purple for an instant to punctuate his point.

Jace’s movements are deliberately slow when he moves his shooting hand to adjust his hat. “Alright, Marcus.” He gives a reassuring chuckle. “You win. Fuck. You think I’ll let you have all the fun?”

Marcus punches Jace affably in the arm. “That’s my boy. Pixie’s tits. That’s what I’m talking about.” He dry-washes his hands and asks Jace to tell him what’s the best way to take me. I’m starting to become numb and try holding my breath to pass out. My last hope has been dashed, and I am helpless.

“I’ve never had an elf before.” I hear Callum whispering, he adjusts his crotch as it becomes uncomfortable for him just sitting still.

Sapp leans forward on his log, and just as eager as the others, he tells Callum just how many times he’s raped elves before. “The thing about elves is they’re sweet and supple, but still firm. They also have really appealing voices during.”

More tears flow unbidden down my eyes. I can’t even control their flow to deny the humans the sick pleasure of my despair.

Then I get a chill up my spine and my hairs stand on end. I can see Marcus, back turned to Jace as he starts to walk around the fire my way. He suddenly stands deathly still, his eyes wide.

And then I see Jace’s eyes.

They are burnished molten gold. The air around him ripples with an ominous aura of thick, condensed magic that spreads out of him. When it reaches me, I know with certainty that I will die, an incidental victim of an indiscriminate wrath that hungers to end all life.

Marcus begins to turn, hand reaching behind for his weapon, eyes flashing purple as he opens his mouth to shout. But the barrel of Jace’s black gun is already flush under his chin, his body having moved with such speed, my eyes could not follow. Boom.

There was no hesitation. The moment the barrel made contact, the gun went off, and so did the top of Marcus’s skull, brain matter popping off like a party streamer.

The other humans around me jump with surprise. Bolton growls and reaches for the rifle by his side. “What the f—” He never finishes his sentence as the side of his head explodes in a shower of gore.

Callum hesitates, then reaches for the sling behind him where his guns are sheathed, but takes a round in the belly and gets knocked on his back.

Lars went next. Another shot to the head. Then Sapp, after witnessing his fellows drop one after the other so quickly, doesn’t bother reaching for a weapon, and instead opts for begging. “Mercy. I surrend—” Then the back of his head explodes following another thunderous boom.

It all happens so fast, I don’t even have time to realize that the paralysis my body felt is gone. Even so, I am standing, my faculties addled as I try backing away involuntarily from Jace’s terrifying visage. Somehow, I trip over one of the petrified logs and manage to trip and fall next to Callum.

He is gurgling weakly, clutching at his stomach as dark blood pools under him. He turns his head to me, tears streaming down his face. “Please. I’m…sorry.” He sputters blood, then says: “I don’t want to die.”

I crawl away when Jace approaches, until I reach the edge of the darkness, watching in a combination of insensible horror and vindication.

Jace towers over Callum’s dying body as the young human continues to beg for his life. Jace’s face twists with rage and frustration, showing the first emotions I’ve seen since the shooting began.

“Fuck!” he shouts.

Then Jace shoots Callum in the head.