Emmy

As the ship glided into the giant harbor, Emmy’s mouth gaped. The Althemerian port of Athomur was majestic, nestled between two huge spurs of land. The water glimmered like gemstones as sunlight sparkled on the waves. The twisting buildings glittered too, made of sandy stone that caught the light.

‘It’s so beautiful,’ Charo breathed.

Emmy nodded. Countless vessels cut the water, from the smallest of galleys manned by females with faces eroded by decates of salt air to ships with impossibly tall masts, built in the new fashion. Their gigantic sails caught the wind, propelling them for hundreds of miles.

The liberated Masvam boat approached the shore through a floating forest. The ships split into distinct sections. To the right were the merchant vessels, their colored sails furled, unloading wares into shallow shore boats. To the left the ships were darker, with sleek lines and rows of cannon. Their decks swarmed with blue-garbed Althemerians.

‘I’ve never seen ships so huge,’ said Charo.

‘The Masvams want the title but the true masters of the sea are the Althemerians,’ Emmy said. She shifted, casting her eyes away. ‘Now they’re our masters too.’

Charo made no reply.

When they reached the city, they were swallowed whole. Enormous walls soared upwards, their tops patrolled by marching soldiers. There were towers at intervals along its length, a cannon in each belly.

The princess disembarked first, attendants trailing on her heels. Pesmam’s head newly dangled from her belt. When she reached the gangplank, she thrust it aloft and let out a fearful battle cry.

‘Long live the queen!’

Every face on the dock snapped towards her. A chorus of elation followed, all those on the shore crying their allegiance. The princess threw the head at a soldier she passed.

‘Mount that somewhere,’ she said.

Then she was gone, swept off on a wave of royal attendants and cheers.

There was no time to gape at the spectacle. Emmy and the others were herded ashore by new guards.

‘Alright,’ one yelled, ‘follow me! And be quick about it!’

Emmy and Charo jolted as the crowd surged. Mounted Althemerians on huge feline vaemar formed columns beside them. Soon they marched through a thick archway, into the city proper.

They snaked between tall stone buildings covered in carved serpents and along cobbled pathways. Filthy younglings pulled faces and screeched at them. The more well-to-do shied away. The scents of foreign food, foreign air, foreign skin, were pervasive.

‘Where’s Zecha?’ Charo asked, pressing into Emmy’s side. ‘I can’t see him.’

Emmy scanned the jostling crowd, her height giving her clear sight above others’ heads. She could see no trace of Zecha. Let him be safe, she thought. I don’t know what I—what we would do without him… She shook her head, winding her talons around Charo’s.

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘We can only hope he’s getting help.’

As their journey continued, the stark reality of capture bit like a knife. There was no welcome for them. City folk jeered at the snake of slaves.

‘We own you!’

‘Your lives are ours now’

‘You’re nothing but life-debtors!’

Emmy jerked as a rain of pebbles and nutshells fell on them. As they wound on, the taunts grew louder, the missiles heavier, and it wasn’t until the mounted guards stepped in that it ceased.

‘Get out of the way of the queen’s possessions!’ one of them bellowed. ‘If you don’t step back, Sharptooth here will sort you out.’

As if on command, the huge vaemar bared its fangs and growled, the sound coming from deep within its cavernous chest. No one dared defy it. For Emmy, Sharptooth wasn’t the frightening part. It was the soldier’s words. Possessions. That was all the Metakalans were. They don’t care about our lives. Just our use to them.

Charo grabbed Emmy’s filthy arm and twisted her by the shoulder.

‘Emmy, look!’ she cried.

She pointed to something a little way off. A cart bumped along, carrying bodies on stretchers. It was pulled by a stout and shaggy vaemar, much less impressive than Sharptooth.

‘It’s Zecha! Zecha!’

Their friend lay entirely still. Charo’s elation faltered.

‘Is he…?’

The question hung unfinished. Emmy shook her head.

‘No, he’s alive,’ she said, her heart quickening. ‘Look at who’s leading the vaemar. That’s one of the Althemerians from the boat!’

It was the healer who had tended Zecha on the boat, in her black tunic with the red heart-in-eye symbol. Bags and satchels still hung from her belt like ripened fruit, heavy with what must have been medicine.

‘She wouldn’t be with him if he was dead,’ Emmy said, her grin blooming. ‘They must be able to help him.’

A voice cracked through her happiness.

‘Move along!’

The mounted soldier atop Sharptooth glowered at them, digging her heels into the beast’s sides. The infamous teeth were immediately bared. Immediately, Charo and Emmy fell in step with the other Metakalans again, their hearts racing.

‘Not that I wish they did things differently,’ Charo said, ‘but I don’t understand. Why are they tending the wounded?’

Emmy shrugged as they kept walking.

‘Perhaps they don’t want to be like the Masvams, or the Valtat,’ she said. ‘If they make a habit of looking after their slaves, even if they don’t need to, they look more compassionate.’

Charo shook her head, her lips pressed into a thin line.

‘A slave is a slave, no matter how you say it,’ she said. She lifted her arms, baring her scars. ‘It doesn’t matter if they say they’re kind. They’re not.’

Emmy’s head was filled with memories of Krodge.

Now dead.

She shook off the thought as the healer slapped the vaemar’s rump. It growled but picked up its pace. Soon the cart and Zecha were out of sight. The procession of Metakalans was left behind, weaving through unwelcome streets.

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The walls of stone were less oppressive than the walls of jeers. They passed through gate after city gate, winding through different parts of the city. They passed through a wide square filled with market stalls, surrounded by grand buildings. The Althemerians who entered and exited through the grand carved doors were dressed in luxurious clothing. The males, curiously, were veiled, and wore decorative chains around their waists. It seemed the richer the male, the heavier the chain.

Eventually they passed through the final archway into a wide expanse of green. As they tracked the coast, the Althemerian countryside swept outward. To their left, smooth hills gave way to forests of the tallest trees Emmy had seen. To their right, the sea stretched out blue and silver. Some of Emmy’s tension uncoiled. Freed from taunts, the quiet of the land outside the city was sweet. She gulped in the scenery, curiosity overwhelming fear for a blissful moment. Emmy’s trained eyes roamed over the flora and fauna. Arraplant, valkern, twistwart, skella, she thought.

They walked south for half the day and, as the sun rose high into the clear sky, many of the captives wilted. Regardless, they were forced to march on. It wasn’t until dusk began to encroach that they arrived at their destination.

Tendrils of smoke curled against the starlight, rising from somewhere in a dip. Hidden by the swell of a yellow hill, not far from the sea, a strange settlement appeared, its boundaries marked by wooden walls lit with bright torches. Emmy glanced around, trying to take in every detail. The ground was of packed earth and the structures within the walls looked cobbled together from whatever could be found. It was like a miniature city, complete with a smithy and row upon row of barracks. Its population was made of folk of many colors. They weren’t all Althemerians but they all wore the blue, with the twin serpents on their chests.

The Metakalans were shepherded to the middle of the wooden city. Emmy and Charo were jolted and pushed, finally coming to rest in the middle of the crowd. There was a smell of greenery from the forest that stood to the side of the camp. There was another smell, too. A danker, more insidious stench. Fear, Emmy thought. It’s fear.

In front of the crowd, three figures stood on a large podium. A female and a male stood at military attention, flanking a second female who had her arms crossed. She had dark skin and armor and her blue eyes shone with unveiled contempt. The evening breeze wasn’t strong enough to pluck the red braids that licked her back like flames.

‘Pathetic,’ she said. ‘You are all pathetic.’

There was no sound from the captives. Emmy’s mouth was dry. The female was dressed in the same blue tunic but wore a padded leather surcoat over it. She showed her rank by the silver bars at her neck, and the thick buckle at her waist. Many bracelets shimmered on her arms, more on the right than the left. Her braids swung as she spoke.

‘I am Commander Pama and this is the Hutukeshu Encampment. You have been liberated by the Hand of the Queen.’ Her voice carried across the flatness of the camp. ‘Consider yourselves lucky that you were not killed alongside our other enemies. You have been saved from certain death under the boots of the Masvams, who would no doubt have subjected you to torture, maiming, and even death.’

Her words fell on Emmy like lead.

‘This favor comes with a price,’ the female continued. ‘Each of you now owes Queen Valentia a debt. You will stay in her service for a decate. Once your debt has been paid, you will be free to stay here or return to your own country—or what remains of it—for your service makes you non-blood citizens of Althemer.’

‘We won’t stand for this!’ someone shouted.

Emmy couldn’t place the voice without the face. She turned, squinting through the crowd.

The female on the podium clicked her claws. Two soldiers rushed in and seized the speaker, dragging her to the front. It was one of the butcher’s apprentices from Bellim, a female renowned for having a loose tongue and an empty head. Shoved to her knees in the dust, the glint of a knife appeared at her throat.

‘Your words mean nothing here,’ braided Commander Pama said. ‘What is decreed by the Queen is law, and you must obey that law, or die.’ She laughed and leaned forward. ‘Tell me, what is your name?’

‘Drenna Haldra,’ the female said, ‘of Bellim.’

‘And what is your profession?’

Drenna’s throat pulsed under the threat of the knife. Even so, she tried to answer with confidence.

‘I am a butcher.’

‘A butcher, providing food and doing dirty work that most seek to avoid,’ the commander said. ‘Well, Drenna Haldra of Bellim, you will now butcher only Masvam meat.’

She straightened and signaled for Drenna’s release. The butcher clutched at her grazed throat and stumbled back into the crowd. Lips curling, Commander Pama continued.

‘In this camp, you belong to the queen, but you answer to me. Each of you will be asked your name and your profession, just like your companion Drenna. If you have a purpose that we deem useful, you may well retain it. If you serve us faithfully outside combat for a decate, your debt will be repaid. Most of you, however,’ she continued, ‘will join our military might.’ She narrowed her eyes and dropped her voice. ‘Be warned. You should be honest when asked your profession, for liars will be sent to the front lines of our armies.’

A shiver rattled from the tip of Emmy’s tail to her neck. She glanced at Charo, who shook her head and mouthed, ‘What am I going to say?’ Emmy said nothing but planted a comforting hand on Charo’s shoulder.

Commander Pama went on.

‘Even if you have a profession, you may choose to fight, for it is be the quicker path to freedom. We require only five cycles of loyal service in our army.’ She chuckled but the sound was cold. ‘However, it is also the quicker path to death. You will train to fight in the Queen’s Army and if we require you for battle, you will go. If you die, then you will go to your goddess as heroes. If you live and serve your five cycles, your debt will be repaid and you will be free.’ Pama drew herself upward, her last words spoken with an air of finality. ‘Remember: your debt must be repaid. Those without honor, who try to escape, will be killed.’

With that, she strode from the platform, disappearing in a whirl of blue tunic and red braids.

She left a bustle of activity in her wake. Althemerians brought tables and chairs onto the podium. The air trembled.

‘I’m going to be sent to the front,’ Charo said, looking up to Emmy. ‘What profession do I have?’

Emmy squeezed the hand on Charo’s shoulder.

‘You’ve got a lot of skill, Charo,’ she said, ‘whether it’s a profession or not. Tell them about your past and they might assign you to someone as a maid.’ Charo pulled a sour face at that. ‘Or,’ Emmy offered, ‘you could say you’re my apprentice. That way we might go somewhere together.’

‘And what happens when they find out I lied?’ Charo asked. She gave a rueful smile. ‘I only know how to sweep the floors.’

Emmy shook her head.

‘You know more than that,’ she said.

Charo didn’t reply.

Around them the crowd began to move again, urged on by Althemerian soldiers. Emmy slid her hand from Charo’s shoulder to her talons, grasping them firmly.

‘We should try and stick together, Charo.’

Charo interlocked her claws with Emmy’s and stared through the crowd.

‘What about Zecha?’ she asked. ‘What will happen to him?’

Emmy’s words died in her throat. She shook her head. There was only one place for Zecha if he lived. The army. It was his only choice.

The crowd was herded forward, this time to the platform. Althemerians peered down, armed with scrolls, quills, and ink, poised to rewrite the course of the Metakalans’ lives.

Charo grunted as she was shoved up the stairway, stumbling onto the plinth. Emmy followed, pressed on from behind. For a moment, everything stilled. There was no wind. The flames did not flicker. Faces didn’t move. Bodies were frozen. Emmy watched, taking it all in. How had it come to this? In the noiseless camp, there was no response.

Charo was beckoned forward first, too far from Emmy for her words to be heard. Emmy gnawed her bottom lip. Don’t send her to the army, she thought. Let her be safe.

‘Next.’

That single word pulled Emmy forward. She stopped in front of the male—a Linvarran with green and yellow colors like Charo—who glanced up from his parchment. He regarded her with indifferent orange eyes for a moment. Then, as realization unfolded and he saw that Emmy was not a usual Metakalan, he leaned forward, quill poised.

‘You’re not like the others,’ he said.

Emmy suppressed a grunt. Even here, being processed by the Althemerians, she was still an outsider, a stranger.

‘I am Metakalan,’ she said. ‘I just look different.’

One of the other scribes leaned into the first and whispered, his eyes focused on Emmy. The first scribe nodded and returned his attention to his charge.

‘Name?’

‘Emmy.’

She watched as he scratched her name on the parchment, never taking his eyes from her.

‘Profession?’

‘Apothecary.’

The scribe raised an eyeridge as he scratched the word into the column beside her name.

‘I see,’ he said. ‘Very interesting…’

Emmy, not caring whether the scribe thought she was interesting or not, looked up the length of the podium. Charo was already being led away. She glanced over her shoulder, catching Emmy’s eyes for a moment, before she disappeared down the wooden stairs. Emmy cast her eyes upward, mouthing a prayer. Please let Charo be safe. It was a vain attempt to pray to the Lady of Light, a deity in whom Emmy didn’t really believe.

The scribe set down his quill and stood. Emmy, her attention back on him, blinked and furrowed her brow. None of the other scribes had risen.

‘You’ll have to come with me,’ he said.

‘Why?’ Emmy asked.

The scribe showed a flash of irritation as he stepped from behind his table. He was a short male, with close-cropped brown fronds and an officious demeanor.

‘Just do as you’re told,’ he said, ‘and follow me.’

Sweat began to seep from Emmy’s palms as the scribe led her across the plinth and down the same stairs Charo had descended. Dust whirled from the parched ground with every step they took. She glanced around, seeking any glimpse of her friend. She paused, her feet heavy with fear.

Darkness fell on Emmy’s shoulders. Charo was no-where to be seen.

The scribe looked over his shoulder and tutted at her slow pace.

‘Come along,’ he said. ‘You need to report to your new post.’