Chapter 3: In the Company of the Enemy

Ayla Rúth Harya

When I dream, I am a caribou playing in the Tyrna. The great enclave that was my ancestral land has not been razed to the ground. I have not yet had to move from enclave to enclave in search of a place to call home. The Fey King Torin has not yet lost his mind with war fever, nor has he turned to the Fell for power. The world has not ended, and every breath is fresh and full of magic.

I can feel the wet, spongy earth beneath my feet as every leap takes me deeper into the forest. Past the vibrant green marshes of the Muskeg Meadow. Through the pale white sanctuary that is the Birchwood Hollows. Finally, I reach Willowgrove, where on quiet nights, the drooping branches whisper the sweet songs of our ancestors. Willowgrove, home to the ancient willow, the place where I was born, and where I lived for almost one hundred years.

When I wake, I remember that, not only Tyrna, but all the great enclaves are gone. Now the Aos De’danaan who remain can only hide, tucked into the secret nooks of a parched and dying land.

So I do not wake. As long as I can, I hold on to the dream, for it is there that there are no briars to squeeze my heart.

Why? That is what I wish to know, and why I joined the others on our pilgrimage to reach the God Tree of Danu. So that I could ask her myself, and petition her for aid.

Why must we heal the earth as we can, growing life with the little magic that is left to us—only for it to be taken away? Just when we start to see the crops and trees bear fruit where none but elves would have tried to settle, the humans raid our homes, steal what we’ve grown, and burn the land barren.

My older sister used to say that the world may have ended, but we must always pray, knowing that when it is Her will, Danu will give life to all that has died, and restore the kingdom of De’danaan. Then there would be true peace.

My brothers and sisters are all dead. So I am the only one left who can pray.

I open my eyes, my thoughts clouded by pain. Memories of peace vanish under the assault of a hundred needles in my head.

I sit up carefully and find that I am in a shallow cave, the sun setting outside.

The last thing I remember is my shield breaking from the strain. I cannot even remember how long I held it. I had thought I was only prolonging the inevitable. Yet, how am I alive? Those despicable creatures should have devoured me and…

The Lóke!

It saved my life. My head turns on a swivel, searching for any sign of it. Was it he who dragged me here somehow?

Then I see the saddlebags hanging over a rock on the other side of the shallow cave and my heart sinks.

“Boy didn’t make it.” The human’s voice is low and gravely. It comes from a dark corner of the small cave, and I realize he had been sitting so still that I did not see him.

Hate boils in me like blood in a hag’s cauldron. Then I realize that he must have been the one to save me. How? I left him behind three days ago on the Lóke.

“You’ve been unconscious for a couple days now. You must be thirsty.” The human stands and crosses the cave to the saddlebags. Next to them are three full waterskins. Even the ones that I drank during my ill fated flight have been refilled. Where did he get the water? The human drinks deeply, then tosses me the skin.

It is true that I thirst. At first I consider refusing to drink it, but the human drank from the skin first, so I know it isn’t poisoned. I unstopper the skin and tilt my head back. The cool water is sweet going down my throat. I know this flavor. It is water drawn from a cacti. When I am satisfied, I do not return the waterskin. Neither does the human ask for it in return.

It occurs to me that he said I was unconscious for two days. My body tenses and I immediately turn my senses inward in search for any sign that he has taken me while I slept.

I feel the bruises I earned in my flight from the monsters, as well as those in my inner thighs. For a second my breath catches, and I think that he really has taken me, before I realize they are those born from riding, not rape. So far as I can tell, my body is intact.

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

I open my eyes to see that the human is watching me with a quizzical expression. If he is angry that I stole his mount and led the poor creature to its death, he shows no sign. He looks…tired, and thoughtful. Perhaps he is planning how best to sell me for the most coin. Perhaps he wishes me awake when he takes me. That is just the kind of cruel thing a human would enjoy.

“My name is Jace.” The human touches his hand to his chest. Then he repeats his name slowly, stretching the “a” until it becomes a “y”. “I’m Jaaaaaayce.”

He has already tried this before. Has he forgotten?

I glare at him. I still refuse to speak. Let him think I don’t understand Common. It doesn’ matter. I’ll kill him at the first opportunity. I should have done it when I escaped, but then…I guess I would be dead.

I turn away, disgusted by the indignity of being rescued twice by this human. He should have left me to be eaten in my sleep. I refuse to feel gratitude for someone who rescues only for their own lust and gain.

“Shit.” The human Jayce says. “Alright, try this.”

He pulls a heavy, inwardly curved knife from behind his back. I jump to my feet, snarling, ready to fight despite the ache in my head and my depleted mana that won’t come back for days yet.

“Whoa, whoa. Calm down, I’m not going to hurt you.” The human Jace moves slowly now. Does he take me for a fool? Just because he makes noises at me like a spooked animal does not mean I will let him…

The human Jace begins to carve something on the ground with his knife. He is using it as a writing utensil, not a weapon. I watch him like a mantis ready to punch. If he means to trick me, he is sorely mistaken.

On the floor of the cave, the human has drawn doodles worse than a child would make. “This is you, an elf.” He points to a circle with two smaller circles and a half moon inside the circle. The bigger circle has long ears.

Ah, I see. The human Jace is an idiot. I force myself to sit and see where this goes.

“And this is me. Over here are a lot of other elves like you. See this right here? These lines are me taking you to this big group of elves over here. Do you understand? I can’t take you back if I don’t know where the hell I’m supposed to go.”

I scowl at him.

I see now why he hasn’t taken my body. He means to earn my trust then use me to lead him to an enclave. He thinks I'm a fool. No, I will kill him or die before I betray my people.

The human Jace sighs and lets his chin fall to his chest. Then he sheaths his knife and turns away.

I notice that, tucked in his belt beside his knife, is the broken dagger. If I can get my hands on that again, now that I know potent mana gems are set on the hilt, I could use them to obliterate him.

Those gems are wasted on him.

I remember the sweet euphoria of breaking the gems and drinking in the mana. Each blood red jewel holds enough mana for one powerful working. Perhaps not a high working unless one broke all its gems at once, and perhaps not even then. But it had been enough for me to create a self sustaining barrier, albeit one dependent on my concentration to hold.

I chide myself. It will do me no good to become intoxicated with the idea of all that mana. He wears the dagger now because he knows that I know what it is. He will be wary of my trying to take it from him.

No, I will take one of the small knives he keeps in his saddlebag. That will be enough to slit his throat.

The human Jace does not try to communicate with me again for some time. He lights a fire, muttering about the need to cook the meat before it spoils. He looks sad as he cooks, and I realize with horror that it’s the Lóke. Bile rises in my throat. How could he eat his companion?

If he offers me the meat, I will throw it in his face and spit on him.

He does not offer me the meat. Instead, he cuts up pale green strips of a fruit I do not immediately recognize, puts them on a plate, then offers them to me. I take the plate and sniff the strips carefully. Ah, it is Cacti meat.

“I figure you’re a vegetarian. Most elves are as far as I know. At least, that was the case before the world went to shit. A lot of your people don’t have a choice nowadays, do they?”

He looks genuinely sad. It distresses me. What trickery is this? Is it his magic? He is clearly trying to connect with me. I will not allow this.

I eat the cacti. It has the texture of dry bread until I bite into it. Then it drips down my chin, sweet and juicy. It is much better than the dry fruit I had to pick out from the Lóke’s feed bag.

Without preamble, the human Jace rolls to his side and goes to sleep.

I am left alone and unguarded. Has he no fear that I will attack him in the night? He should have bound my hands and feet, but he did not.

When I lay down, I notice that my tattered robes have been tampered with. They’ve been repaired by an unskilled hand. The thread pattern is crude, but functional. It keeps my clothes from falling apart and leaving me exposed. Also, a filthy cloak covers my feet like a blanket. Now that I’ve noticed it, I become aware of the pungent odor that I have thus far ignored. I throw it aside, disgusted.

That is until the cold desert night begins to creep in and the fire begins to die down. Then I don’t care how it smells. I pull it over me and its temperature regulation enchantment kicks in. I instantly warm, and shortly after, the exhaustion I feel hits me. I am not yet fully recovered. If I am to kill this human, tonight is not the night. I will do it tomorrow.

With that happy thought in mind, I drift to sleep.