“I want that one.”
Even after all those centuries, Mistress’ voice sounded as clear and as commanding to Kishirra’s ears as the first time she had listened to it.
Back then, she had belonged to a fresh batch. Straight out of the Hearthwomb and ready for purchase, Kishirra has nevertheless been given a bit of a makeover, with a thin layer of foundation that highlighted her sable complexion. They had styled her long blonde hair into a straight tail reaching the small of her back. The officiants had covered her body in a thin grey dress that drew out her silvery eyes, and little else.
Judging from the others in the same batch as her, standing next to her in a row, the dress-up was standard, but her coloration was not.
She knew that her name was Kishirra — it had been given to her by the machine of obsidian and star-heat that was the Hearthwomb, and it meant bright horizon — just like she knew how to count, how to use words and how to properly show her respect and admiration for her creators, the exalted people that had built the Hearthwomb and countless other marvels.
And one of them was standing straight in front of her, pointing her dainty finger at her, demanding Kishirra to be made hers.
Of course, Kishirra herself could do nothing to change or influence that decision.
She was an Elf — the Hearthwomb had made sure this concept was engrained into her brain — and Mistress, as well as the rest of her people, was a far removed from her as the Sun was from a worm in the mud.
Another of the exalted people, a Kiengiri male dressed in a sky-blue gown that reached his sandalled feet, grinned at the woman’s interest.
The other Elves around her regarded the scene with apparent calm and disinterest, but Kishirra felt a ripple of hostility reach her from their hardened gazes. She had been chosen, and they had been not.
What was even worse, she realised between their reactions and the dutiful instincts provided by the Hearthwomb, it was the different hue of her eyes and hair that made her stand out.
All the Elves of the batch showed the usual traits of the Kiengiri people: long, narrow noses and thin lips, deep blue eyes, and hair so black and straight that they looked like plunging waterfalls of ink flowing behind their backs.
Kishirra was so much different.
“Your keen eye has blessed you! For you are looking at something exceptionally rare,” her seller pushed her forward. He was Kiengiri, so Kishirra obeyed without a hitch, her long legs moving her to the edge of the marble platform. “She is of a rare breed, an incredible mixture of the highest-rated—”
The Kiengiri woman who had decided to purchase her snapped her fingers and the vendor’s mouth shut like a blinder.
“Do not tire my ears,” she demanded, with that clear voice. She stepped forward and picked up a strand of Kishirra’s hair, coiling them around her jewelled fingers. “I know how it is. Sometimes the Heartwombs make mistakes. It has coloured her hair the shade of sunrise and her eyes… oh, her eyes are gorgeous.”
The vendor bowed his head.
“It is a privilege of the initiated to find pearls where most see baubles.”
“If you keep yapping your mouth I will demand an even better discount — higher than the one I expect for faulty merchandise, mind you.”
The vendor’s eye twitched, but he did not chance a reply this time.
The woman’s hands found her own — something rose inside Kishirra’s heart, a wave of emotions that made her feel like she was coming home, even for one such as hers who had known no home, ever, save for the timeless dark of the Hearthwomb.
Could your home be a person? She was not sure — everything was all so new.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“Look at what they did with your skin, it’s so smooth!” The Kiengiri woman praised her. “But you have the potential to develop some serious muscle here. A combat model perhaps? How exciting! Yes, I will bring you home with me. What is your name?”
“Kishirra,” she replied, as obedient as the grass bowing under the gale.
“That is a beautiful one. I will let you keep it.” The woman’s palm then touched her sternum — a bolt of overwriting light passed between their skin and Kishirra jolted as the light engraved new information into her pliable brain.
Ereshkigalla — Mistress’ name.
She was of course to never call her by her name, unless she was told to.
Ownership — she now belonged to Mistress Ereshkigalla.
Those two concepts settled inside her brain as Mistress made a circle of solid light with her other hand, which floated to the vendor’s open palm. He accepted it with a deep bow.
“Your generosity blinds me. Would you like to receive this one’s recommended choices of attire? Perhaps the handbook on the best habits and practices for Elf-husbandry?”
Mistress laughed in his face.
“This is my thirtieth,” she chuckled, wrapping her arm around Kishirra’s waist. “I will be glad if I never see your face again. Please erase yourself up to three tiers of core relationships from me.”
The vendor, with a grim expression on his face, tapped on his wrist — a few more flashes of overwriting light and he disappeared, never to be seen again by Mistress or her close ones. The batch of other Elves waited in silence for some other customer, now seemingly without a shepherd.
It did not matter. They instinctually knew not to break ranks.
“Let us go,” Mistress purred in Kishirra’s ears, drawing her towards the terrace’s border.
For the first time since she had come out of the Hearthwomb, Kishirra’s brain could properly take in her surroundings, its higher functions now stirring, unlocked by a Kiengiri’s purchase.
As the overwriting light unfolded more and more abilities blooming into her brain, she felt a new emotion in her chest — it felt like she was falling forward into an abyss, but it was freeing, exhilarating, and it made her feel like she was becoming part of something larger.
Only a little later, Kishirra would understand she was feeling awe.
Past a few hanging flowers, the black stone terrace ended on a sheer cliff, as sharp as the edge of a knife. It was not a simple terrace, but the top of a tower, rising as tall in the sky as a hill. There were more like that all around, cleaving sunlight with their geometric shades. Each of them made of the same glistening black stone. People came and went all over the towers and the filigree bridges that connected them like an exquisite beehive where a Kiengiri city lived the zenith of their culture. Kishirra’s ears picked up voices, songs, music and discussions — her nose the smell of flowers, and exquisite scents from the gardens on the lower levels.
She looked down, seeing the ruined terrain at the bottom, where the black stone towers found their purchase in the desecrated soil. Her enhanced senses, waking up one after another, picked up on the desolate quality of the topsoil, on the layers upon layers of de-cognizants, woeful dross and polluting agents left there to brood for long years.
The entire city of glistening towers was like a forest growing out of a forgotten, caustic mire.
The feeling of wonder from before tinged by what lay below, Kishirra turned to look for Mistress’ comforting presence.
“I—” she said, looking for the right words. Her developing brain was trying to catch words, but it was like she was using a net far too wide. “Down there. Not. Not good. Why?”
“Do not worry about it,” Mistress said, her smile like a string of perfect pearls, her blue eyes shining with such conviction that Kishirra felt like someone was washing away her woes, painting better thoughts over them. She relaxed. Her breathing became level again. She moved her gaze towards the beautiful city, and not the abyss that awaited at the bottom. “We have more beautiful things to think about,” Mistress purred, gently pushing her towards the edge. “Do you trust me?”
She might as well have asked which way was up.
“Yes.”
“That’s a good girl,” Mistress chuckled. She took another step towards the edge and jumped into the void, still holding Kishirra by her waist.
Kishirra’s heart jolted into her throat at the rush of wind — and the weightless sensation of falling, she was — falling, she was—
They landed on a smooth and soft texture.
“Wha— what’s that…” Kishirra gasped, looking at the large flying animal that had stopped their fall. It looked like a V-shaped blanket of warm skin, spongy and as black as Mistress’ hair, its body thinning to the sides to two extended limbs.
“This is my transportation mantle,” Mistress explained. She sat on the mantle’s tip, turning to regard her with a smile. The animal began to lazily flap its arms and it flew towards one of the highest towers. The wind caressed Kishirra’s hair as she looked at the glistening city, its tall arches and bridges, and the pleasant, careless atmosphere that seemed to flow from every one of its Kiengiri inhabitants.
“You will like it here,” Mistress explained, and Kishirra found herself agreeing with a mirthful nod. “I will show you the Garden first, so you can meet the others.”
Ah, yes. She had mentioned having twenty-nine more Elves.
“I will decide which one of them pick up as your brother and sister,” Mistress said tapping her delicate chin. “I was looking forward to have a little family there with me. Wouldn’t you like to have a family, Kishirra?”
She beamed — she was not sure what a family even was, but Mistress made it sound so delightful and important!
“Of course!”
“Let’s go, then. I am sure you will love your new brother.”