A/N: Whew, this one took a while! Now, I won't give anything away, but the character featured in this chapter is, quite possibly, my favorite original dragoon other than Rose, so it was quite difficult for me to write this piece and get it right. Sorry it's so long. I just didn't find it fit to cut any of what I have here. Anyway, keep hanging on, the story's starting to get good!
Everyone knew it was common practice among the higher eschelons of Wingly society, and particularly in those where intelligence and curiosity were highly prized. It was unconventional, if not exactly illegal, but the research was cheap, the results were free, and ultimately, the authorities had thus far chosen to ignore the whole operation.
Using thousands of hand-selected Human men and women, the Wingly scientists and researchers in Mirr had developed the technology for laboratory conception, using the knowledge and equipment to produce stronger, healthier, more loyal slaves. Their newfound capability for gene selection permitted virtually endless possibilities, for Winglies and their Human slaves alike.
Babies borne of the research were auctioned off according to the supposed traits with which they had been bred. Obedience would fetch anywhere from seven hundred to a thousand gold, whereas strength would bring in five hundred gold or more. Humility and loyalty were highly prized among bidders, while those with particular skill sets, like cooking or gardening or woodworking, were a dime a dozen.
However, gene selection research was still in its infancy, and one problem continued to arise. There were those infants who managed to escape the watchful eye of the Birth Committee, and were subsequently born with undesirable traits, like wit, humor, and spirit. Worst of all, though, the experiments Winglies conducted on their subjects repeatedly confirmed that maybe-just maybe-Humans happened to possess a modicum of intelligence.
And thus our story begins. With the planned development and test-tube birth of a special Human boy they named Syuveil.
His name actually means 'warrior' in the ancient Human language, a name so archaic we must have developed time travel to find it. I suppose it was the Mirr team's way of hiding the fact that his IQ far surpassed any of ours. Rather than auction him off like the others, though, the research team at Mirr gave him to us here at Aglis, for the purpose of undergoing magical testing. Likely embarrassed that his birth proved their research a farce, they destined him for life as a lab rat.
Of course, like any normal child, he met all his milestones (and then some, actually); remarkably, he spoke in full, well-constructed sentences by age one, read by eighteen months (though it was an activity we rarely permitted him time to enjoy) and developed several aesthetic and epicurean skills, like piano-playing, by age three. He was quite curious and interested in the world around him. It never ceased to amaze me that the little thing seemed to marvel at the experiments conducted on him, rather than fight them.
And though it was my duty to continue the research on him, I found myself charmed by the little boy ...
I worked in a portion of Aglis labeled Sector Five, an area inclusive to all scientists and dedicated to the research of Wingly magical superiority. Humans were frequently used in testing, most of them having been a lab subject nearly their entire existence, and having been so, exhibited strange new behaviors, developments and mutations wrought by the experiments. I felt sorry for them but at that point in my life, I was still young and naive and a job was a job.
There was a high-ranking magical chemist by the name of Yaerdel who often worked in Sector Five. He was a tall, stiff, daunting man with no sense of humor, little tolerance for mistakes and a perpetual sneer on his lips. He was good at what he did, though, and it showed. He'd received numerous awards and accolades for his research, and developed many of the technologies Winglies used on a regular basis now. It was my misfortune to assist him on this particular day.
"Savan, would you fetch the sodium selenate solution, please?"
The boy was in his cage, quietly observing his surroundings and the Winglies performing various tasks. It was an 'off' day for him, a day free from experiments and torture. I found myself staring at the little creature, confused and amazed by his abilities. On one hand, he was Human, and my entire life I'd been taught that Humans were filthy, dim-witted and helpless. On the other hand, Syuveil was just a child, one certainly in dire need of the love and affection he had never received.
"Savan?"
Syuveil caught my eye and smiled a little, then he must have realized who I was and the smile immediately disappeared, only to be replaced by a scowl as ugly as a little boy could muster.
"SAVAN!"
"Huh? Oh yes ..."
I retrieved the solution and brought it to the table. Yaerdel snatched the solution and jabbed a needle into the bottle, drawing the clear liquid into a syringe.
"What're you planning to do with that?" I asked.
"Inject it."
"Where?"
Yaerdel rolled his eyes and nodded his head toward the little boy in the cage. It took a moment, but when the information sank in, my stomach suddenly did a somersault.
"But isn't this his off-day?" I protested. "He's already had two injections of sodium selenate this week! You have no idea what this one will do to him! Why do it?"
"For the sake of research, of course," Yaerdel snapped.
"Well yes, but what is the purpose of injecting the poor boy with selenium ions when you know he's no magical creature?"
Yaerdel looked flabbergasted. He shook his head and frowned at me.
"You know as well as I do that our magic is largely a function of the way our bodily systems absorb, process and store selenium and sodium, Savan. Or ... haven't you been paying attention?"
"But it'll kill him!"
Yaerdel shrugged and continued his work with the needle, now tapping it to remove the air bubbles.
"You've obviously no intention of growing your potential, Savan," he said coolly. "True advocates of science would not stand in the way of progress."
"But it's not progress," I said, growing bolder. "It's murder!"
Yaerdel snorted. "You're concerned about my disposal of a Human?"
"No, I'm concerned about your murder of a child!"
Yaerdel calmly set the syringe down, walked to Syuveil's cage and opened the door, reaching in to pluck the boy up. It appeared as though Syuveil tried to bite him, and I would have chuckled had it not been for the circumstances. Yaerdel carried the boy back to the work table and set him upon it, then proceeded to methodically roll up Syuveil's sleeve and treat his elbow with rubbing alcohol.
"You're not serious ..." I mumbled.
"Oh, but I am, Savan!" Yaerdel said, picking up the syringe in one hand while holding the boy down with the other. He pushed down gently on the plunger, sending a spray of liquid out of the needle. He then turned to face me, his eyes ablaze.
"Now, you can either choose to help me, as a Wingly man of good sense would, or you can leave. Your choice, Savan."
I shook my head and planted myself firmly between Yaerdel and the boy. I took a deep breath and looked up, directly into Yaerdel's face. His expression was blase, disinterested.
"I won't assist you," I said, a finality to my voice I'd never known I was capable of. "I refuse to be a part in the senseless murder of a child."
"I think you'd better leave," Yaerdel said coldly, but he remained in position to inject the child with the solution.
My blood boiled at the notion and I leapt forward, grabbing the syringe and wrenching it from his grasp. Yaerdel cried out in rage, elbowing me hard in the ribcage and sending a series of beakers crashing to the floor in a whirlwind of glass shards. I made my move while he was temporarily preoccupied with the child and rammed the needle deep into the soft, fleshy part of his back. His scream of rage became one of anguish, the solution temporarily paralyzing him. He collapsed to the floor, drooling and mumbling nonsense.
The boy on the table emitted soft, whiny whimpers. I approached him slowly, holding my hands where he could see them and whispering softly.
"Shh," I crooned. "Shh ... There, there now ... I won't hurt you."
Slowly and carefully, I lifted the boy from the table and immediately he buried his face in my shoulder, clutching my neck like a lifeline. He seemed to understand I'd just saved him from a very likely and painful death. Now cradling the boy in my arms, I turned to face Yaerdel. He struggled to prop himself on his elbows to look at me, but the sneer on his face was so sinister, I couldn't regard him for long.
"I'm leaving," I said. "With Syuveil. I believe both our time and energy would be better spent with the species research squad in Sector Eleven. Consider this my resignation."
"Good riddance," Yaerdel snapped, and he collapsed back onto the floor with a groan.
I left and never looked back.
Syuveil and I moved to Sector Eleven, where I eventually landed a position as the leader of a team conducting research on dragon magic. Syuveil subsequently became a sort of lab assistant to me: filing documents, labeling chemicals and solutions, solving the simple mathematical equations so I could do the dirty work of putting them to use. He took care of the duties I was much too busy to complete as the director of a research project.
I suppose he was like a slave. Fulfilled duties like one, came at my beckon call. The others likely assumed he was a slave, though my own personal battle with the institution left me undecided as to what Syuveil really was. I never filled out the paperwork of ownership, never registered him with the Human Breeders' Association. I never bothered to write him off as a reduction on the property section of my tax paperwork. Rather, I believe I became more of a surrogate father.
After the episode with Yaerdel, I took care of Syuveil. Feeding him, cleaning up after him, making sure he was content and well-adjusted. I did my best to make him forget his first three years of life, instead placing emphasis on what he could now do and what he would become. He took great interest in my work, frequently watching procedures and often assisting with them. It seemed like he never tired-never lost interest in the world of science. While I often came home feeling exhausted, burned out and quite hopeless, Syuveil was eager to plan our next experiment or conduct research of his own.
By the time he turned ten, he and I were practically inseparable. We would have lengthy and deep conversations about society's plights, dreaming up new ways in which we would one day change the world. He was a wonderful boy, intelligent, curious, polite and well-spoken: exactly the way I would have wanted my son to be, had I ever had one. He never questioned me, never doubted the legitimacy of my parenting or of our relationship.
At least, that's how it was until he was eighteen, and all of it changed.
I'd always known there was something different about me.
Savan had informed me we were of different species. I'd known all along he wasn't my biological father. Genetics alone told that story plainly by the features of our faces, even beyond that he could be counted a member of the flying magical species and I, among the ground-dwelling nomads. But something still set me apart from the rest of the researchers and scientists at Aglis, though I could never quite put my finger on it. That is, until one day, around age seven, when I first heard the word 'slave' in reference to my being Human. In reference to me.
I'd asked Savan about it, but he always assured me I was no slave. I neither performed menial labor, nor lacked permission to do I as I pleased. Still, after that day, I continually called into question my relationship with the other scientists. We regarded each other differently somehow after that.
But it was a few years later, that I discovered what had been disturbing me all along.
It was the end of the work-week and time again for filing the documentation of the week's experiments. Savan had remained in the lab while I made my way to the archives. I spent the larger part of an hour transcribing the day's procedures and placing them together with the corresponding materials, and finally labeling everything and filing it away. Some time into my task, I ran out of ink and went in search of it on the clerk's desk in the far, secluded corner of the room. But on the desk I found something much more interesting than a bottle of ink.
On the desk lay a plain file folder, but one that looked quite unlike the ones I normally used for filing lab procedures. It was just a folded slice of heavyweight paper wrapped around a series of documents and tied with string. It wasn't conspicuous, but the fact that it was there at all piqued my interest and I picked it up.
My name spilled across the top of the file. My heart skipped a beat out of surprise, and my hands trembled with trepidation and curiosity. Gingerly, I lifted the folder's binding and removed the sheaf of papers within. The top slice of parchment sported a detailed family tree, and emblazoned at the bottom in fancy calligraphy, was a rendering of the Wingly symbol for 'Human male,' and beneath that ... my name. My heart skipped a beat.
I spread the parchment on a table, bending over it to get a closer look. It suddenly seemed as though time had stopped, waiting for me to make a discovery of truth. The family tree showed nine generations, not including me; I pored over the details of the tree, finally alighting on my parents.
My mother, I thought, running a finger over her spot on the tree. The tree listed her as: Celia, aged twelve; blonde hair, blue eyes. My heart hurt. Still a child ...
The tree listed my father as Jogn, a forty-three year-old field laborer, a sentence placed upon him as punishment for general misbehavior under none other than Ignatius Faust.
The stack of documents accompanying the family tree described numerous laboratory procedures, techniques and anthropological conjectures, each relating to the meeting and copulation of Celia and Jogn. My entire birth story lay in front of me, retold in analytical, scientific fashion to be preserved and revisited by interested parties years from now. For me there would be no listening to the recounting of a momentous occasion in my mother's life. No wondrous speculation about the way I came into the world. None of it. Just documents and lies. Scrolls and the cold, unforgiving truth of my existence.
I heard footsteps on the hallway tile, and hastily I stood and turned around to watch my mentor enter the room.
"Savan, what is this?"
I thrust the papers toward him, my grip so fierce I thought my fingers might break. I felt tears stinging my eyes but somehow managed to hold them in check. I brandished the stack of papers like a weapon; his shoulders slumped and his face fell.
"They're the documentation of your birth and pedigree."
"My ... my pedigree?"
"Yes. Your bloodline."
"I know what it is, Savan. I'm asking why." My voice sounded foreign to me. I'd never had occasion to use such a tone.
"You were intelligently designed," the Wingly man replied dejectedly, suddenly looking very haggard and thin.
"You mean I was bred?! Like a racing horse or a prized dog?!"
Savan nodded weakly, now avoiding my eyes. "Such is the blight of this terrible society. Please, Syu ... I hadn't meant for you to find those. Please ... hand them to me."
I shook my head and chewed on my bottom lip. "But why?" I asked, my voice squeaking and eyes now spilling tears onto my cheeks. "Why? Humans aren't dogs or horses. We think for ourselves."
Savan looked up. "Because that's the way things have been for hundreds of years."
I'm not certain of the reason, but Savan's reaction hurt the worst. Even worse than discovering the truth of my birth story. For the first time in my life, the world was split in two: black and white. Right and wrong. Me and Savan. Humans and Winglies. Us and them.
"Syuveil ..." Savan said, gently. "I'm ... are, are you ...?"
I sighed and rubbed my eyes, as if closing my eyes would somehow make this sudden misery go away. Finally, I dropped my hands to my sides and looked up.
"There's something about learning that your entire existense is a farce," I said, the bitterness in my voice plain. "It's not all right and I'm not okay. I now have to come to terms with the fact that my life wasn't wrought by Soa, created with love and-"
"Nobody's life is created with love, Syuveil. The world is a terrible place!"
"-hope. No, I was bred. In a lab. With a specific duty and my future already planned out for me by another person. Not a god. A person. There's something inherently unethical in that, Savan ... beyond the mangled ethics of slavery."
"But your birth had purpose!" Savan protested. "If only half the births in this world were purposeful, we would have a very different world, indeed."
"The single flaw in that argument is the world to which you refer. One where a species owns another and makes those purposeful decisions independently."
"Syuveil ..."
"No, Savan," I snapped, cutting him off. I turned my back to him, unable to look at a man whom I had admired and adored only moments ago. "You know I'm right. My existence holds no purpose except to assist you and your race in upholding the terrible injustices thrust upon my people. My entire life is a lie."
"You were bred to be a warrior, Syuveil."
For a moment, I wasn't sure I had heard him correctly, if at all. I almost thought I'd imagined it. But when I turned to face him, he still stared at the ground. I knew from my childhood that Savan looked others square in the face when he lied, as if to dare them to contest him. When telling the truth, however, he remained the meek, humble man I'd always known him to be.
"A warrior," I scoffed, rolling my eyes. "You've got to be joking! I've got the pedigree of a village idiot!"
Savan shook his head slowly, still avoiding my gaze. "I'm afraid it's true," he said calmly, then finally brought his eyes to mine. "Your grandparents, parents ... your entire family tree came together with the intention that it would turn out a warrior for the arena."
"A losing one, no doubt," I retorted.
Savan just continued to shake his head. I had every intention of taking a deep breath and sorting through my emotions logically, but it just wasn't possible in this situation.
I managed a derisive laugh and said, "Hunh. Warrior, indeed. I suppose now you'll want me to believe their sending me here was all part of their plan."
Savan shook his head. "Your birth upended that research, Syuveil. It was abandoned after you were born."
"For more profitable ventures, I assume."
"Please ... don't be this way. As I said, I would that you hadn't found those..." Savan motioned toward the documents.
I sighed and thrust them toward him, forcing myself to look the other way. Savan came forward and took the papers dejectedly.
"Syuveil, I-"
I turned to look at the Wingly man, and my stomach turned. Without another thought, I shrugged off my lab coat and handed it to him.
"What's th-?"
"I would say that I'm quitting, Savan, but I can't, for the fact that I don't work for you. You own me, and have all along. So I suppose, then, that all that's left for me is to come to terms with the limitations of my Humanity. I need some time alone. You can, at the very least, grant me that."
I didn't wait for Savan's response. I didn't need to. He knew he owed me that much. As a Wingly master. As an intelligent being. And as the only father figure I'd ever known.
.o.-O.-0-.O-.o.
It was later that evening, after I'd skipped dinner, that I heard a knock at my bedchamber door. I knew who it was.
"Come in," I mumbled, not bothering to turn away from my desk.
The door creaked open and Savan poked his shiny bald head through the crack.
"Would you mind if I came in, Syu?" he asked gently, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I said come in. Would you like a formal invitation?"
I turned toward him, and watched as Savan squeezed through the door and shut it quietly, as if he thought I might explode and maintaining distance would keep him safe. It was at least a relief to again see the Savan I'd known for so long, rather than the cold, objective one.
"I understand you're upset with me," he said. "Hurt. Angry, even. I apologize. Again, I hadn't meant for you to find those."
"Really?" I snapped, ignoring the apology. "You left them on the desk in the filing room! Right in-"
"Plain sight," Savan interjected. "I know." He looked up and met my eyes. "I was expecting to do the filing that day."
"But it's usually-"
"Your job, I know. But I'd come across the document folder and I didn't want you to see it. I set it out to remind myself to get rid of it. I had every intention of destroying those papers."
"But-"
"You left the lab before I could suggest you take the afternoon off."
I fought to maintain hold of my anger. I knew I was being childish. Thus far in my life, I'd managed to avoid the teenaged angst that plagued so many of the other researchers' progeny, but I was willing to grant myself just one opportunity to be selfish and ridiculous, even if it meant temporarily sacrificing logic to emotion.
Savan walked to my bed and motioned toward it with a hand.
"May I?" he asked.
I nodded nonchalantly and he sat, patting the bed next to him. I regarded him for a moment, then rolled my eyes and slowly rose, making my way to the bed and flopping down next to him, arms folded across my chest.
"There," Savan said, the smile on his face evidence in his voice, "that's better. Now, look at me Syuveil."
I hated the fatherliness in his voice, but I turned to face him.
"It was a mistake. I screwed up," Savan said firmly. "For the past thirteen years, I've done nothing but try to protect you-"
I narrowed my eyes and shook my head, but Savan grabbed my arm.
"-No, hear me out. I'm serious," he went on. "I've raised you as though you were my own and I care about you and your welfare."
"You don't," I snapped, tears stinging my eyes again.
"I do," Savan insisted, now more firm than I'd ever heard him. His eyes flashed. "And it hurt me when you said I own you. I don't, Syuveil. I don't own you. I never have."
"What? You're a Wingly. Winglies own Humans. You said it yourself. It's the way of the world. The way things are."
"Yes, I said that, but one mustn't always subscribe to secular norms. Had you read through all of the documents in that stack, you would have found a set of ownership papers. They're blank. I never filled them out."
I shook my head again. "Wh ... what?"
"It's true. I don't own you, Syuveil. You're a free man. Perhaps not in principle, and for that I'm sorry. Legally however, you're as free as I am."
"But ... but the research department at Sector Five still owns me then, doesn't it?"
"Documentation of ownership was destroyed after I rescued you. I made sure of it."
"Can't you be arrested for harboring a fugitive?"
"You're no fugitive. You're my son."
I remained quiet for several minutes. Savan allowed me the time to consider all he'd said. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, stroking his goatee in thought. I knew he was right, but even without the papers, principle mattered more in this age than legality; I was a Human, and being such meant one was a slave with few exceptions. Nevertheless, though we were still different species, he'd treated me as an equal my entire life and had given me everything I'd ever needed or wanted. He was the closest thing to a father I had.
"I'm sorry, Savan," I said finally.
He looked up, surprise written on his face.
"I didn't ... I mean, I'm still angry about the documents-that you kept them from me for so long-but I suppose I can look past it. It's what I am now that matters most, not what I used to be or could have been."
Savan smiled. "I'm glad you understand. You're so smart, Syuveil. Smarter than me, certainly ... but even the most intelligent of us don't know everything, and that includes the innerworkings of others' minds. We're still learning ... from each other."
He stood up, offering me a hand. I took it, but instead of shaking his hand, I pulled him into a hug. And when we separated, tears clouded the Wingly man's eyes.
Not two weeks later, Savan remained in the lab while I sought a few fresh supplies, but on my return, I encountered something quite unexpected. Before I rounded the corner into the building's atrium, I heard voices, and most importantly, distinguished my mentor's name. I paused, cautious to remain hidden by the wall, but I tuned my ears carefully to the conversation.
"... assistant to Savan."
They're talking about me, I thought.
"But isn't he just a Human?" another Wingly asked. "He can't possibly carry out the duties of a lab assistant. He's Savan's slave, I thought."
"No, I don't believe so," the first replied. "Not once have I ever seen Savan punish him. And he's quite educated. Much too smart to be a slave. Word has it Savan stole the boy from Sector Five and is hiding him here."
"What, he's raising him then? Like a father?"
"That's what I hear."
The second Wingly snorted loudly. "Well we can't stand for that! Humans will start to get the wrong idea. Something must be done."
My stomach churned and I suddenly felt like vomiting. I turned and fled from the atrium, back toward the laboratory, where Savan met me in the doorway.
"What took so long, Syu?" he asked, but immediately he saw my distress and grabbed me by the shoulders.
"What's wrong?" he demanded, shaking me gently.
"The ... the researchers," I gasped. "They're suspicious."
"Suspicious? Of what?"
"You."
"Me?!" Savan shook his head. "Syuveil, calm down. You're not making any sense."
I took a few deep, calming breaths and went on, "Yes. They suspect you stole me from Sector Five and are teaching me. ... which, you did ... and you are."
Savan dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. "Yes, well ... Perhaps they know, but they do not understand. Besides, what business is it of theirs who you are or what you do? Or, what relationship you have to me, for that matter? It is of no consequence to them whether I teach you or beat you."
"No, Savan," I protested. "They mentioned that they won't stand for it. And..." I hestitated, knowing full well the gravity of what I'd just uncovered.
"And?" Savan prompted.
"And that something must be done."
The words tumbled out, end-over-end, and I wondered if they'd been coherent. Savan paused for a moment, staring off into the distance. I knew he was thinking. He always appeared absent when he thought, like he travelled to some distant dimesion or something.
"What ... 'Something must be done'-what does that mean?" I asked.
Savan sighed and turned away from me. "It means I've done a poor job of keeping you and your situation a secret. They are aware I don't own you. It's problematic."
I dropped my gaze to my feet and Savan again fell deep into thought, stroking his goatee and pacing about the room.
"Well ... what are we going to do?" I asked, after some time had passed. Savan stopped pacing.
"I guess there's only one thing I can do now," he said, the sadness in his voice overwhelming.
"And what's that?" I was almost afraid of the answer.
He looked up and met my eyes. "I have to let you go."
After much speculation as to what 'letting me go' entailed, Savan and I finally agreed on a plan that left me leaving Aglis, or at least only for a time until Savan could repair the damage we'd caused.
"We'll get you out of here," Savan declared. "First, however, we must disguise you."
I thus submitted myself to Savan's hand. He made up a dye and treated my hair, then developed a solution which he proceeded to draw into an eye dropper and apply to my eyes. And while all of it was relatively painless, it made for a great annoyance when I realized it was only for the purpose of getting me out of Aglis without suspicion, and more importantly, alive.
When I was finally able to observe my new appearance, the reflection in the mirror revealed an entirely different person. I could have been a younger brother to Prime Minister Dorian Thayus. My thick mop of mousy brown hair was now bright platinum, and my irises now a vivid orange instead of blue. I turned to Savan, too awed to speak. He smiled.
"It's only a temporary disguise," he said. "Three days at most. It's enough time, though, to get you to safety."
"But ... won't everyone realize it's a disguise when I can't fly anywhere?"
Savan shook his head. "I don't believe so. Most Winglies choose to walk rather than fly. It expends less energy. Still, it would be best if you remained clandestine. Impersonation is a crime punishable by death for Humans."
I nodded, having nothing left to argue or say.
"Come," Savan said, waving me to follow him. "We must get you packed."
.o.-O.-0-.O-.o.
Once preparations had been made, Savan and I stood just inside the doors of the atrium of Sector Eleven. Wingly scientists entered and left the building quickly, trapped in their own thoughts and tasks. I was thankful they ignored us.
I now carried everything I owned in a bag slung over my shoulder, including several books, an inkwell and pen, a few pieces of parchment, a candle, and enough food to last me three days. However, that I was actually going to set off on my own terrified me, perhaps even more than the prospect of punishment. I'd known nothing but Aglis and its research facility my entire life. In fact, I'd scarcely been outside in the city.
"Head for Kadessa," Savan said. He must not have seen the point in stalling. "The teleporter is just outside the complex, before you get to the residential area."
"But what will I do once I'm there?" I asked, panicked. "Where should I go?"
Savan placed his hands on my shoulders and bent slightly to look me in the eyes.
"Go to the Frahma Memorial National Library," he said. "You'll find sanctuary there. Ask for Teverus. He's the head librarian and a close friend of mine from university. I've already contacted him. He'll be expecting you."
"Will I be his slave?"
Savan shook his head firmly. "No. He's prepared to give you a job. A real one, with a salary."
"Then what?"
Savan's eyebrows knit together, and he managed a small half-smile.
"You'll work, of course. Live, like the free man you are."
"But I'm only eighteen!"
"And more educated than most thirty year-old Winglies. Until this situation blows over, you will stay with Teverus in Kadessa and assist him at the library. Then, once things have cleared, you will be free to come back with me."
"Can't you just fill out the ownership paperwork, Savan?" The audacity of my own inquiry shocked even me.
His mouth dropped open and he uttered a small cry of surprise. "Is ... is that what you really want, Syuveil?"
I considered it for a moment. It was certainly the easy way out, and I would probably have given anything to remain with Savan, just to avoid my fear of the unknown. However, I knew deep down that I could never stand for slavery. I couldn't picture myself the property of another being, especially when said being had raised me and treated me with such respect for so long.
"No," I replied. "Not really."
Savan breathed a sigh of relief.
"All right," he said. "I suppose you'd best be on your way then. Head east, out of the research complex, and you'll find the teleporter outside." Then, he leaned down and pressed his forehead to mine and wrapped his arms around me.
"Good luck, my son," he said, his voice waivering. I could tell he was fighting to choke back sobs. Frankly, I was doing the same.
When he let me go, I turned and exited through the glass barrier of Sector Eleven's entrance and bounded down the steps, picking up my pace to a brisk walk. I forced myself not to look back. I knew Savan would be standing there, watching me go until I was beyond his line of sight, and I wouldn't be able to stand seeing him so torn.
"Good day, Savan."
Looking up from the stack of papers I'd been glancing through in the lounge, I found myself eye-to-eye with Yaerdel, my former boss and the man I'd assaulted over Syuveil's future. He smirked at me, waiting for a response.
"Good day," I replied, turning back to my papers, but Yaerdel apparently wasn't satisfied.
"I'm assuming you've heard the news," he remarked, pouring himself a mug of steaming coffee.
I darted a glance at him, both curious and worried.
"No," I said. "I haven't."
"Real-ly."
Yaerdel let the drama of the moment linger while he sipped his coffee and doctored it up. I struggled to still my trembling, made all the more obvious by the papers I held. But if Yaerdel noticed, he never let on.
"Teverus Swete was discovered in his office dead, yesterday," he said, casually, turning to face me. Then, as if an afterthought, he added, "He was an old friend of yours, wasn't he?"
He regarded me smugly over the rim of his mug. I suddenly felt the urge to faint and my pulse quickened.
"N, no ..." I mumbled, swallowing hard. "I ... hadn't heard."
Yaerdel pushed away from the counter and strode calmly to the doorway.
"So sorry for your loss," he said, only the slightest hint of sarcasm to his voice.
And he slipped out the door as quietly as he'd entered.
I quickly left the lounge, nearly sprinting back to my quarters, where I phoned Teverus' office. My heart sank with every ring, and after twenty of them I hung up. I tried his home as well, but still, no one ever picked up. The encounter with Yaerdel left me feeling apprehensive. I sensed somehow that I'd just sent Syuveil into danger-into a trap.
And I had absolutely no way to warn him.
I was in Kadessa almost instantly.
Compared to Aglis, the city was busy, bustling and wonderfully aromatic. Various food shops lined the streets immediately surrounding Town Square, where I'd arrived in the teleporter, and the sights and smells associated heightened my senses. Winglies of all ages and sizes walked the streets, heading this way and that, jostling each other as they went. The by-product exhaust of technology scented the air, and towering above it all, on Palatial Hill near the north end of town, stood the dazzling Palace of the Winglies, Melbu Frahma's sparkling residence.
I'll never be suspected of anything here, I thought excitedly. Everyone's too busy to notice anyone else!
Hoisting my bag a little higher on my shoulder, I approached the next Wingly I saw, a rough-looking rotund man with a few days' growth of beard on his chin. Then, implementing by best assimilation of a Wingly accent, I spoke.
"Good day, Sir. I'm afraid I'm from out of town, and I'm having quite the trouble locating landmarks. Might I ask you where I could find the Frahma Memorial Library?"
The man grunted at me and jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. I thanked him and headed off. After asking directions twice more, I eventually emerged onto a beautiful, wide thoroughfare, lined with fanciful, landscaped trees and bright brick sidewalks. What looked like a college campus loomed at the end of the street, and numerous cafes, bakeshops and restaurants dotted the area. Directly before me, however, stood the magnificent structure of the library.
It was a short, square building with a brick facade and decorated in typefied style, with numerous arches, high vaulted doorways and beautiful stained glass windows. Stone gargoyles kept watch over the library's patrons as they left and lingered about, reading or chatting on the front stoop.
Feeling great relief at my success, I jogged up the steps and into the building.
Much to my surprise, there weren't nearly as many people inside the library as there had been outside. In fact, I saw only one: a young Wingly boy who was just checking out a stack of books. He proceeded to leave, and I made my way to the main desk.
"E...ex, excuse me," I said.
The librarian on duty, a thin, wiry woman with frizzy hair, a long, hooked nose and sunken cheeks typed endlessly in an electronic database. Her glasses slid lower and lower on her nose until eventually they fell off entirely, prevented from smashing on the floor only by the thin gold chain that held them around her neck. I cleared my throat several times, until finally she turned toward me, looking quite annoyed.
"Can I help you?" she asked haughtily, in a high nasally voice. She picked her glasses up and set them back on her nose.
"I ... I'm here to see Teverus Swete. Is he around today?"
The woman sighed heavily and pressed a button on her desk. A loud beep sounded, and she spoke into the speaker of an intercom.
"Mister Swete, there's a young man here to see you. He'll be right up."
She turned back to me and laced her fingers together before her on the desk, giving me a sarcastic smile.
"Go ahead," she said. "He'll be in his office. It's the third door on the right once you take the teleporter to the second floor."
She pointed toward the back of the library. I thanked her and headed toward the teleporter, feeling giddy that Savan and I had successfully fooled everyone. Once on the second floor, I counted the doors to my right and knocked firmly on the third one. No one called to me from inside, however, and my second knock unlatched the door, making it creak inward slightly.
She told him I was coming, I reasoned. I'll just go in.
Pushing past the door, I entered Teverus's office and was immediately hit with a pungent odor. After wrestling with my gag reflex for a few moments, I stepped further into the office, around the door and to the elegant walnut desk beyond. Bookshelves lined the walls, each of them packed full with colorfully bound volumes and tomes, and elegant sculptures relating to the history of Endiness stood about the room at carefully placed intervals. It was the office of a true academic.
"Mr. Swete?" I called. "Mr. Swete? It's Savan's friend, Syuveil ... Hello?"
The closer to the desk I got, the stronger the odor became until finally I peeked over the edge and found the clear source of the smell. Sprawled behind the desk was a bloody corpse, likely dead for more than two days, and by the robes of office it wore, it could be none other than Teverus Swete.
Frantic, all I heard was the pounding of my own heart as a rush of adrenaline flooded my bloodstream. I had no other options. I had to get out of there ... and fast.
I dropped my bag, turned and took off for the teleporter, heading back downstairs to the front doors, but finding them now locked and the librarian gone, I was suddenly struck with the idea that this entire plan had been a setup. I turned and ran for the back stairwell, darting around bookcases, tables and filing cabinets, all the while turning over a mass of ideas in my head.
I'd just become the butt of an elaborate ruse, all of it designed to either get me killed or at least locked away for the rest of my life, where I'd never again call into question Wingly law. They'd caught me, and there was no way out. The authorities in Kadessa had the library surrounded, all of them prepared to frame me for a murder I neither committed, nor knew about until just minutes ago.
I was struck with another thought then. Savan had orchestrated my entire escape. Was it possible that he-the very man who'd acted as my father for so long-dreamed up my destruction? That he'd planned everything and seen me off, just to watch me crash and burn in the end? Just the thought of it made me suddenly weak.
Feeling defeated, I slumped to the ground in the rear stairwell, my back pressed to the cold brick of the exterior wall. I brought my knees to my chest and buried my face in my hands.
Think, Syuveil, think! my brain shouted.
After a short period of feeling sorry for myself and fighting back tears, I realized that my only route of escape was the only one for which I lacked the ability. The sky provided a means out of my situation, and because my Wingly disguse afforded only looks and not wings, I would be stuck until the authorities found their way in. That was, unless ...
Quickly, I dashed up the stairs to the top floor in archives, where I burst through the door and charged toward the fire escape ladder. I pressed the button so it dropped to shoulder level, backed up for a run-up and took a flying leap onto the ladder. The old wrought iron hadn't seen use in years and it creaked and groaned under my weight. I managed to shinny up the ladder and throw open the hatch to the roof, where I was met with blinding light and the blare of sirens.
After a brief survey of my surroundings, I saw no Wingly guards and climbed out of the fire escape. Another quick decision, and I was running full tilt toward the closest building, mentally preparing myself for the ridiculous jump across the chasm between them. Then, when I was a mere thirty feet from the roof's edge, a voice called from behind me. One so cold and calculating, it could only have come from a Wingly.
"Halt there, Human."
I stopped dead in my tracks, my heart racing, and turned slowly to come face-to-face with the end of a rapier. Two guards hurried forward, wrenching my arms behind my back and shackling my wrists and ankles.
"You're under arrest," the guard with the rapier said. "For impersonation of a Wingly."
I'd been growing steadily more worried as the days passed and I still hadn't heard from Syuveil. The newspapers confirmed the terrible tragedy I'd been denying since speaking with Yaerdel. Teverus was dead, and with his passing, there was no longer a safe haven for Syuveil. Convinced of the worst, I'd been preparing myself for the possibility that he was now likely dead as well. It broke my heart to know I was to blame for both of them being gone.
Then one day, as I exited chemical storage, I overheard two researchers from my department, Phineas and Zol, discussing the daily news.
"-can't believe it," Zol was saying. "He was here just the other day!"
"Right? And I never pegged the kid for debauchery like this!"
"What's going on?" I asked, approaching.
The two men turned to face me, both of them blanching like they'd just encountered a ghost.
"Savan ..." Phineas mumbled, and Zol stammered through a hasty apology.
"W, we ... we were just ... just discussing current events, Sir," he said.
"And what might those be?" I asked.
Phineas and Zol exchanged glances, then Phineas said, "Th ... th,there's b,been an ... arrest. ... In Kadessa."
"An arrest?" My heart skipped a beat. "Of whom? For what?"
Phineas and Zol both dropped their gaze to the floor.
"Of your assistant, Syuveil," Zol said. "He was discovered in disguise at the Frahma Memorial Library yesterday."
"What?!"
Phineas nodded, dejectedly. "Sorry he ran away, Savan. I wasn't aware he felt he'd been treated poorly."
"He wasn't treated poorly," I snapped. "How do you two know about this?"
Zol extended his arm, showing me the newspaper he clutched in his hand.
"They found a body in the library too," he explained. "I guess they were going to blame the murder on Syuveil, but the evidence turned out the guy had been dead long before Syuveil arrived. Too many witnesses said otherwise, or I'm sure they would have-"
"Give me that!"
I snatched the newspaper from Zol and quickly scanned the article, learning and memorizing every detail. Syuveil had been caught in his disguise and arrested, and the trial was set for two weeks hence.
"My god!" I gasped. "I've got to do something!"
I spent the next two weeks in an area they called the "Prison Hole" in Law City Zenebatos. It was a dark, dank chamber made of stone and designed to provide nothing but misery to the criminals contained there. With no windows or doors to let in light, one had no idea what time of day it was. Without food, one quickly lost weight and energy, and the cracks and gaps in the stone wall allowed the cruel winds through, chilling me to the bone and producing in me a persistent, hacking cough.
At first I'd struggled against my shackles, pounding on the stone walls and screaming to be released, but prison has the effect that eventually, you realize no one cares about your misery and no one is going to come help you. Such was true in my case. I was so weak and so accustomed to the conditions in the prison, that by the time my trial rolled around, I was rendered nearly immobile. Perhaps that's the way they wanted it.
The guards unchained me from the wall, forced a hot, gooey mess of something like gruel down my throat, then teleported me and themselves from the prison to the Great Court.
I was led into the court in shackles and chained to two wooden posts on the left. The jury, consisting of four lapto robots, descended with the judge, a large amorphous robot creature running on artificial intelligence and likely controlled from some far-off power generator. Had I not been on trial and subsequently scared out of my wits, I would have found study of the robot creatures fascinating.
"I am Nomos," the large robot said. "I am the Justice. My word is the only Truth."
The jurors buzzed and whirred in approval, and the court went utterly silent.
"Trial number One-Zero-Two-Seven-Nine: Wingly jurisdiction Kadessa versus Human male Syuveil." Nomos' pronouncement was followed by a bunch of buzzing and whirring from the jurors. Then:
"Defendant accused of impersonation, a crime punishable by death under Wingly Law, Code 298: Any Human found in the guise of a Wingly, whether costume or otherwise, or found imitating or impersonating any known Wingly, whether or not under the influence thereof, shall be convicted of felony against the Wingly nation and put to death."
Whether it was my own sudden indifference to life or something the guards had put in the gruel, I had little reaction to the reading of the law, even the portion regarding the death penalty.
"The defendent," Nomos continued, "was found wearing a disguise resembling the appearance of one, Wingly Prime Minister Dorian Thayus on the fifth day of the sixth month, in the year 554. Charged according to due process of the law."
Nomos turned to the jury.
"The verdict!"
"Guilty! Guilty! Guilty! Guilty!" the lapto jurors chanted.
"I, the Honorable Judge Nomos of the Great Court of Zenebatos, hereby find you, Human Syuveil, guilty of impersonation of Wingly Dorian Thayus, and sentence you to death-"
A loud, cheer of approval went up from those in the court.
"-Bring out the winged executioners! Come, Selebus, Vector and Kubila!"
Three strange-looking Winglies appeared out of thin air. The first, a woman, possessed six feathery wings and no arms; I might have mistaken her for an angel, had it not been for the ugly, vicious grin she wore. The second executioner, a diminutive man with a long, platinum ponytail and wearing nothing but a green loincloth, a pair of spectacles and an earring, carried a large pair of gardening shears. And, wielding a huge scythe and a grimoire, the last Wingly was clearly the leader of the trio; he wore the traditional executioner garb, complete with the 'kerchief covering the lower part of his face, and he sported an ominous set of black wings.
"Start the execution!" Nomos boomed.
"WAIT!"
The entire court turned to face the entrance, and there ... stood Savan. He made his way briskly into the center of the court, everyone's eyes locked on him the entire way.
"You dare interrupt the progression of justice?!" Nomos asked, as though he were more surprised than irritated that proceedings were interrupted.
"My name is Savan ... and yes."
There was a collective gasp from the crowd, but Savan continued before Nomos could object.
"I am here to confess something," he said, hanging his head momentarily. Then he looked up, locking his eyes on the judge.
"What you now accuse Syuveil of is really my fault."
Before the crowd could react, Savan held a hand up, silencing them, and then went on.
"I never owned Syuveil legally. I possessed the documentation and refused to turn it in. I admit to my assault of Yaerdel Hasal, and to my open appropriation of laboratory property. I stole Syuveil from his rightful owners, the research team at Sector Five. Now, I would ask that you forgive me, for my judgment was clouded by what my mind registered as justice and good will, but today I ask that you forgive Syuveil-"
Savan motioned toward me with a hand, but went on.
"-for he's truly done nothing but accept my will as his own. He's performed his responsibilities as dutifully as any legal slave would and better. I ask that you acquit him of any and all charges. The responsibility for the offenses he's committed belongs to me."
The silence following Savan's speech seemed to draw on forever. A part of me-perhaps my common sense-wanted desperately to thank Savan for coming to my aid, but the rest of me, pegged by emotion, resisted. I sincerely wanted nothing more than to be put to death. To rid myself of the suffering of this life. To no longer be forced to face a world of inequal liberty. Finally, Nomos spoke.
"And this is all true?"
Somehow, though he had no eyes or expression, I knew the judge had addressed me. I hung my head, both furious at Savan for feeling the need to rescue me after all the grief he'd already caused and shameful that I'd allowed it all to happen.
"Speak, Human!"
"Yes," I said, so quietly I'm certain even the guards nearby didn't hear.
"Verdict?" Nomos turned back to his jury.
"Guilty! Guilty! Guilty! Guilty!"
My stomach turned and I caught the look of astonishment on Savan's face. It only made me angrier.
"I, the Honorable Judge Nomos of the Great Court of Zenebatos, hereby find you, Wingly Savan-"
The crowd gasped in shock and Savan jumped as if to get away. A nearby guard stopped him.
"-guilty of theft, assault and collaboration to commit a felony. Sentencing to solitary living until further notice-"
The guards placed Savan in chains, but paused for Nomos to close court. He didn't, though. Everyone turned to face me, anticipating what was probably the most publicized trial since Diaz.
"And you, Human Syuveil," Nomos continued, "I find guilty of failing to yield to Wingly law. Sentencing to slave auction at Kadessa. Case closed!"
And before we were both marched out of the court, Savan met my eyes with a look so sorrowful and pitiable, it couldn't mean anything but that he was sorry. It satisfied me that this time, I managed to cling to my anger. I neither responded to him nor acknowledged his support. And with that, I let the guards lead me away.
Considering the reputation of the Wingly court system, I had half expected to be put to death anyway, and honestly, it would have been preferable to the circumstances I acquired at the slave auction.
I was purchased for four-hundred and fifty gold (a very small sum, considering other male slaves my age often sold for as much as eighteen hundred gold) to a sharply dressed Wingly man named Adelai Lortey. He led the conservative party in Wingly Parliament under Dorian Thayus; the irony almost made me want to laugh. Almost.
A mere two hours later, when we arrived at his elaborate estate in Kadessa's richest neighborhood, I discovered the details of my new position. I became, from then on, Adelai Lortey's stableboy.
Allowing me time to freshen up before assuming my duties was, in all likelihood, the nicest act Lortey ever afforded me. Upon facing the looking glass, the man staring back at me was not at all who I used to be. In just a few short weeks, I'd become dirty, grizzled and unkempt, and I certainly looked much older than my eighteen years. I sported nearly a month's growth on my jaw and my hair had grown out past my ears, framing my angular features rather nicely: my baby-faced visage was gone.
I picked up the disposable razor I'd been given, then turned back to the mirror. The hand holding the razor moved to my cheek, but before I made the first swipe, I set the object down. There was something about my new appearance that spoke to the pain I'd just been through. I didn't want to lose touch with that emotion. The facial hair somehow lent me a new ruggedness I'd never seen before in my face and I rather liked it. I was half-tempted to trim it down to a goatee, but then I was reminded of Savan and refrained. I merely washed up and walked outside to meet my new master at the barn for him to explain my duties.
Almost immediately, I understood what Savan had once meant when he'd told me I was no slave.
Lortey's slaves all lived in a shared hovel behind the stables, except for me, who slept in an empty stall in the stable, keeping company with his collection of prized, Arterian racehorses. My first day in my new role as stableboy was simply terrible. An unfamiliarity with horses led to an apprehensive skittishness around them at best, a complete terror of them at worst. The horses weren't exactly comfortable around me either, and I frequently ended the day bruised, battered and emotionally scarred.
On more than one occasion, I'd had to dodge a horse's flailing hoof, and often I wasn't quick enough, landing perfect horsehoe-shaped welts on various body parts. Once, a horse struck me in the cheekbone, knocking my glasses off. He proceeded to stomp all over them in his panic, and I made due without a pair for a good two months until Lortey finally saw that my job performance suffered without them and purchased me a new pair. I'd just been lucky the horse hadn't been sporting horseshoes.
But a lack of spectacles was the least of my worries.
My athletic ability left much to be desired, especially when it came to lifting hay bales and toting them around the barn. I often had to drag them, one-by-one to their proper places. I was clumsy at feeding time, the horses frequently knocking the grain from my hands so it spilled to the floor, and my ability to polish a saddle often displeased Lortey, who would dirty the saddles just to make me polish them again.
And if it weren't enough that my responsibilities often escaped my level of skill, Lortey's other slaves frequently poked fun at me. Unable to find a suitable outlet for their agression toward their master, they satisfied their urge for nastiness by making my life miserable.
"Shoveling shit again, eh stableboy?" they'd ask. "You missed a spot!"
They'd then throw a pile of manure onto an area of the barn floor I'd just rendered spotless, and would finally walk away, their raucous laughter ringing in my ears long after they were gone. It didn't surprise me that Humans had yet to obtain their freedom: so many of them refused to work with one another. They'd rather snap at each other's throats and cause each other pain and misery rather than unite over their common plight. It was a tragedy, really, in every sense of the word. Not a one of Lortey's slaves (and most other ones elsewhere, I would assume) was aware that Humans had originally survived through teamwork after they'd fallen from the Divine Tree.
Things continued this way for another two years. My nineteenth birthday came and went with not even as much as an acknowledgement, let alone a celebration. My twentieth birthday passed in much the same way, and the longer my servitude grew, the lonelier I got.
Fed up one day, with both the loneliness and my situation in general, I marched straight into the slaves' hovel and demanded to know their reasoning for excluding me. They all stared at me for a time, as though I had three heads.
"'Cause you's a purdy boy," one man in the corner finally offered.
I raised my eyebrows. "E, excuse me?"
"You know. A pretty boy," a slight blonde girl added. "You've never had a real job in your life." She got up from where she'd been on her bed pallet, walked to me, grabbed my arm and led me outside.
"Your name's Syuveil, right?" she said, squinting up at me through the sunlight. I was thoroughly surprised she'd pronounced it correctly.
"Yes, why?"
"Well, Syuveil ... if you're looking for friends, you'd better find a different profession."
"Slavery isn't a profession," I protested. "It's misery."
"Exactly."
"B, but ... but shouldn't we stick together? Support one another?"
The girl rolled her eyes and laughed. "Yeah right. It's every man for himself out here."
She turned to walk away, but I grabbed her arm.
"Wait, no," I said. "It ... it shouldn't be that way."
"And why not?" She whirled to face me, hands on her hips, her ponytails bobbing.
"Because," I said emphatically. "We'll never get out of this unless we do."
Her mouth curved into a sort of half-smile, then she dropped her eyes and nodded, though she remained silent.
"What's ... what's your name?" I ventured then, so eager for intelligent contact I was willing to do just about anything to keep her there talking to me.
She brought her gaze up and regarded me strangely for several minutes, eyeing me up and down and smirking.
"Stella," she said finally, thrusting her hand out for me to shake it. "I'm the maid around here."
I grinned, and taking her hand, bent and kissed her knuckles. She giggled girlishly and I laughed right along with her.
We became instanteous friends. Through her, I learned the other slaves' names and stations. There was Bartel, the rough old man with missing teeth and a thick drawl, who acted as a sort of handyman around the estate. He'd been in Lortey's care as long as any of the rest of them could remember. There was Kirin, the gardner, who had once been owned by Charle Frahma before she'd been sold to Lortey. And there was Asrael, the cook, and Yanis, the butler. And Stella had once been the ladies' maid for Lortey's wife, until she passed away last year. He'd liked her enough to keep her on as a maid. I shared my own story with her; it seemd to both sadden and impress her.
.o.-O.-0-.O-.o.
In the coming months, I grew to love Stella. She was smart and clever, learning quickly and willing to spend extra time studying with me. She took an immediate fascination in astronomy and astrology, begging me to stay up late with her so she could stargaze. We would often lay out on the grass together, beside the slave hovel, staring up at the heavens and wondering what lay beyond our little planet. She adored reading as well, and she read aloud to me frequently. I enjoyed the melody of her voice.
She helped me convince the other slaves to allow me to instruct them in small things, like reading, writing and arithmetic. Every last one of them had been slaves their entire lives; most had never had any kind of instruction. It enraged me that none of them even knew how to spell their own name, and I threw myself into my new role as undercover professor when I wasn't battling my everyday stablehand tasks. My life had taken a sudden turn for the better, and I was loving every minute of it.
At least, until shortly before the second anniversary of my service to Lortey.
The first time he discovered us, I shouldered all the blame and he took me into his study. There, he brought out an enormous bullwhip, stripped me of my shirt, bent me over a chair and beat me. Searing pain like nothing I'd ever experienced ripped down my back with every crack of the whip. Lortey raged as he struck, many of his sentences lacking coherence.
"I never should have bought you!" he cried. "I knew you were trouble, you little bastard!"
All the while I screamed bloody murder. My obvious anguish must have satisfied him because he stopped beating me long before I'd expected him to. Still, his chest heaved with the effort, and his eyes flashed in fury.
"Get out of my sight," he snapped. "I went easy on you this time, boy. Don't let it happen again."
I didn't stick around to protest. I grabbed my shirt and stumbled back outside to the stable. Stella met me in the barn doorway.
"Are you okay?" she asked, gently, but her eyes widened when she saw the new stripes I wore. "Oh, god ..."
She ran to the hovel and back, bringing with her a tin box full of first aid supplies. I slumped onto a stool and she set to work treating my wounds. She was gentle and attentive, cleaning the blood away and applying a healing salve.
"We should stop, Syu," Stella said quietly once she had finished. "It's getting too da-"
"No," I said, cutting her off. She turned toward me, apprehension in her eyes.
"We can't stop now." I stood up, shrugging my shirt on. "You-all of you-have come too far to quit. And you ... you're so smart, Stella. I'd hate to take that away."
"But you wouldn't be," she protested. "I know things now! I won't-"
I shook my head. "It's a moot point. I'm committed."
"Are you sure?" Stella came forward and laid a hand on my chest.
I nodded resolutely. "I'll take the blame and punishment."
Then she leaned up and kissed me soundly.
.o.-O.-0-.O-.o.
So we continued running what had become our little school, and of course, we were caught again. This time, several of the others stood up to accept blame. Lortey was much less accommodating this time, and he not only beat them but cut several of their fingers off. Then, not satisfied that would work either, he burned their eyes out with acid, rendering them blind and unable to read or write any longer.
The memory still gives me nightmares.
Still, the slaves came back for more. I was frankly shocked they still trusted me enough to be the glue of our little group, but education and learning had somehow drawn us together. They knew information lent them the power they had lacked for so long, and even blind and maimed, they begged me to teach them something new.
But Lortey must have meant business the third time he discovered learning under his roof. He made sure none of his slaves would ever learn again. I still can't understand how I managed to escape his wrath this time. He should have killed me, knowing full well I was the entire reason his slaves had learned anything at all. Then again, perhaps he knew that destroying the only thing I cared about was punishment enough.
When he entered the barn, we all scattered, racing from him like he was some kind of hell-bound devil. Stella and I took off in opposite directions, she heading toward the great house, and I for the hay loft. Lortey left me and followed her. I'm sure the screams I heard only moments later were hers, and they made my blood run cold.
Stella wound up nearly beat to death. Lortey broke her nose, her left humerus, both tibias, her clavicle and bruised her sternum. Additionally, he'd seared her beautiful eyes shut and burnt her hands so severely, her fingers melded together. He then left her to die. I didn't find her until nearly a day later, at which point I struggled to return the favor she'd done me, but I lacked the medical knowledge so necessary in such circumstances, and she steadily grew worse. She became feverish and restless, clear evidence of infection. I did what I could to make her comfortable, but I'm sure it eased her pain no more than it did mine.
Two days later, Stella succumbed to her wounds.
Later that evening, I sat in my stall and by the flickering light of a single candle, examined the only weapon I'd ever owned: a small, rather dull knife, acquired when I began working for Lortey. Not an assault weapon my any stretch of the imagination, it had originally been intended for use in my position as stablehand: cutting sections of rope, carving wood implements and slicing treats for the horses.
Now, though, I began to consider its ability to kill a person. No, not Lortey or any Wingly ... Myself.
As suddenly as my life had improved, it had all been ripped out from under me. Things were back to the way they'd been two years ago: me living in complete solitude, dreading the dirty looks and glares of the other slaves. Utter loneliness. Having known Stella at all somehow made the pain more bearable, but still, her memory did nothing to dampen the terrible weight of the guilt and shame.
I found myself blaming Savan for much of my suffering. Had he not ever let me go free, I wouldn't be a slave; I'd still be a semi-scientist in Aglis, living a perfectly sheltered, micro-managed life. Had he not rescued me-had he not done what he thought was 'right'-I wouldn't be in this mess. Would I likely be dead? Yes, but I wouldn't be trapped in the continual hell I lived every day now, a train of thought that led me right back around to my own sentience.
I wondered how many slaves had ever attempted suicide to sever their chains and how many had actually succeeded. I wondered what became of them then. I wondered what it was like to die.
What exactly happens when we die? I thought. Do we go somewhere else or do we simply cease to exist? Is there some other world or dimension where souls reside after they've left their mortal bodies in this life? Do souls even exist at all? Is life just a meaningless existence, truncated by a cold and impartial death? Or is there some order to the universe; some being greater than ourselves who gives direction to life and plans deaths carefully and lovingly?
I'd watched Stella die. Sat by her bedside as her life ebbed and flowed like the tide. Cried over her loss and the fact that her death was on my shoulders. I'd listened to her delirious mumblings as death approached, and heard the last terrible, gasping breath she'd drawn before expiring. The silence that followed was so ominous, it was like her soul had damned me for failing her. I'd promised to shoulder the blame and instead ran like a coward. I failed her.
The thought was too painful to continue. I sighed deeply, swallowing another sob that fought at my throat, and turned my attention back to my knife. Slowly I ran my thumb along the blade, then dragged it along my jaw and brought it down to inspect it. The knife had successfully removed some hair without irritating my skin; it wasn't nearly as dull as I'd originally assumed. A perfectly deadly weapon.
I wrapped my fingers tightly around the knife's handle, preparing to drive it home-hard, into my chest. Then I rethought, and loosened my grip on the knife. Perhaps it was better to slice my carotid arteries lengthwise and slowly bleed to death, depriving my brain of much-needed blood and oxygen. Certainly less painful... but also more cowardly. I gripped the knife fiercely again, pointing its sharp end toward my heart. I jerked my arm toward my chest ... but stopped myself suddenly short.
No, I decided, letting the knife fall from my grasp. It clattered to the floor. Death is not the answer. I cannot do anything if I die, including carry the memory of Stella. Perhaps I am too cowardly to take my own life, too afraid of the unknown; but death is not the means to an end, its an end to the means. What lies beyond life is only more uncertainty... at least here, in life, I have some small bit of control.
Now feeling more resolute in the matter, I stood, brushed myself off and set about managing my nightly duties.
"Listen, Syuveil," Lortey said, sitting me down one day about two weeks later.
He rested his elbows on the table, folded his hands and leaned forward, as though he were sealing a business deal with a cohort. Grateful that he wasn't speaking in the usual cruel tone he used with me, I obliged and sat across from him, listening patiently.
"You know as well as I do that things aren't working out between us-"
I cringed at his expression; he made it sound like were were in some kind of romantic relationship.
"-so I'm giving you to my brother, Daelyn."
I raised my eyebrows in interest, but that was as far as my enthusiasm went. I was too afraid if I expressed much emotion about the change, Lortey would rescind his decision and keep me here, miserable and mourning the loss of a life I'd never know again.
"He's in dire need of a governor or tutor for his son," Lortey went on, "but unfortunately, he's unable to afford any good ones. It seems you possess a reasonable amount of skill to provide him what he needs."
Lortey brought his gaze to me. "Regardless of whether or not that pleases you, get used to it. It's your new lot in life. You're dismissed, Syuveil, but be ready bright and early tomorrow morning. Daelyn will be here to pick you up."
"Yes, sir," I said, standing and bowing.
I turned and left, grinning wildly and not feeling this giddy in nearly three years. I went back to my quarters, and the first thing I did was alter my appearance. Governors and tutors were not rugged people, and when I was clean-shaven once more and my hair had been cut, I looked at myself in the small, broken shard of mirror I kept in my stall.
I again resembled the clean-cut-and, as Bartel had said, "pretty"-boy I used to be ... but somehow, the hardness remained with me. I'd acquired strong, lean muscles through my position under Lortey, and my face, though beardless now, no longer appeared so fresh and boyish; there was no mistaking it. I'd become a man in the past two and a half years.
I hadn't thought it possible, but Daelyn Lortey somehow managed to make my life worse. Once I left the care of his older brother, I became the tutor for Lortey's young son. Though just wealthy enough to afford a slave or two, even the most questionable Wingly governors were beyond the reach of Lortey's means. Thus, a Human tutor, probably the only one ever in existence, had to suffice.
Such circumstances were surprising, considering the fortitude of his brother's bank account, but when I saw the way in which the family lived, I understood.
The mistress of the household, Dina Fratt, was not married to Lortey, but she spent as lavishly as though she were, and Lortey, though a high-ranking official in the Wingly army under Faust, made very little salary. The portion of it not allotted to Ms. Fratt was tied up in the family's living arrangement, a high-profile flat in downtown Kadessa, only a short teleportation away from the military base.
Though this position was essentially a promotion, life became even more stressful. When I wasn't tutoring, I continued to fulfill other duties, like cleaning, gardening and even acting as a butler every now and then. I was afforded very little to eat or drink and I slept and studied in a small broom closet near the west bathroom. That I was permitted to keep a stack of texts and reading material was a small concession to Daelyn Lortey's kindness; put plainly, the man was a bastard.
He was jealous and possessive, and, having heard horror stories of Wingly madams enjoying illicit sexual intercourse with their Human charges, locked me in my broom closet on a regular basis during the day while he worked. Not that I would have done anything; Ms. Fratt was a repulsive woman. He whipped me severely if I looked anywhere but at the ground in his presence and backhanded me for speaking without permission. In addition, Lortey withheld food from me if he felt the day's lessons with his son weren't up to par, which occurred frequently in his opinion. I highly doubt a Wingly could have done any better.
But even Lortey's breed of cruelty was tolerable. His son, by comparison, was more akin to Melbu Frahma in that department. Julian Lortey was an absolutely intractable little brat. Spoiled rotten by his father and step-mother (or whatever Ms. Frat was), Julian never asked for anything. He demanded it, and often in a high, shrieking voice that could easily be mistaken for a scream of torture. I was blamed for that very thing on numerous occasions, in fact. The boy wholeheartedly believed every ignorant thing he'd ever heard about Humans, and frequently whined to his father that he was disgusted by my presence and wheedled his way out of lessons, claiming I was certainly too stupid to teach him anything.
Lessons with young Julian almost always progressed the same way:
"Why are you here, Soo-ville?" he would ask, hotly.
"It's Syuveil," I corrected. "And I'm here to provide you with the extra instruction your father finds necessary."
"I don't need extra 'struction! I'm smart already!"
I would always roll my eyes at this point and bring out the lessons, which he would continue to refuse for a good ten minutes until I got up to leave. This usually prompted Julian to beg me to stay, because the one thing he apparently hated more than education and Humans was being alone. On those days he felt particularly spunky, I'd leave the lesson with bruised shins, scratched arms, and once, a black eye and smashed spectacles, which Lortey blamed on my clumsiness.
But the misery I faced on a daily basis changed one day, when Lortey came home with a new task from his superior and a determination in his eyes that told me I would very soon be facing something quite beyond my qualifications.
.o.-O.-0-.O-.o.
The next day, I found myself tagging along behind Daelyn Lortey as he marched through the subterranean basement of the military complex. The maze of hallways, rooms and laboratories spread for what must have been miles, but we finally came to a stop outside a set of metal double-doors which led into a white, sterile room beyond.
"This is the weapons lab, Syuveil," Lortey said, as though explaining to a child. "As chief weapons engineer for the Wingly army, Head Magician Faust has ordered me to develop a concrete set of magical weapons that can be carried into battle and used by those men who've temporarily drained their magic stores. That job now falls to you because I'm much too busy to complete it."
He paused then, as he punched in his passcode for the door. It beeped, asking for a fingerprint scan, and Lortey obliged, then stepped back as the computer prepared to unlock the security mechanism. The doors buzzed, hissed and then opened, allowing us passage into the lab.
It was like coming home to me. I hadn't seen the inside of a laboratory for nearly four years, and the sights and smells made me overjoyed. The equipment and acoutrements, the chemicals and compounds, the sterility of the environment ... all of it excited me.
"Don't get too comfortable here," Lortey said, apparently recognizing my enthusiasm. "You'll only be here four days. The task I've given you must be completed by then."
"Yes, sir," I said, but my brain was still marvelling at the fact that I was again in a lab.
"Good. I'll be leaving now. I trust you now have everything at your disposal that you could possibly need to fashion me some magical weapons. Remember, Syuveil... Four days only. I'll be back then to see your progress."
And with that, Lortey turned and exited the lab, closing and locking the doors behind him.
Eager to be completely alone in my comfort zone, I simply sat down and enjoyed my solitude for a time. Then, once I was ready, I surveyed my equipment and supplies. If I'd heard Lortey correctly, I would have four days away from him and his horrible family. Alone, in a laboratory with nothing to keep me company but my own experiments and projects.
Almost immediately I set to work developing the weapons Lortey demanded. It was a task for a simpleton, really, and I knew it would take me no time at all, given the advanced technologies available in a Wingly facility. I came up with the idea of harnessing Wingly magic in small vessels, that, when broken, would release the magic on the desired opponent. I forged glass containers in a variety of colors, each corresponding with an elemental base, then further labeled the vessels with either a letter 'M' or an 'S,' indicating whether the attack was meant for a single person or multiple ones.
From there, it was only a matter of harvesting the Wingly magic, fusing it with a tangible solution such as sodium selenate, and then carefully pouring it into the glass bottles. Finally, I corked the bottles, named the spells and labelled them properly, aligning them neatly in two rows on a cart. All in all, my development was brilliant.
I then settled down for my first night's rest in the lab. My leftover time was spent continuing the dragon magic research I'd orignally begun while still in Aglis, under Savan's tutelage.
Four days after I'd begun my endeavor in the weapons lab, I heard the doors' airtight seal release and the barrier slide open, then footfalls on the sterile tile floor. By their sound, it was my master. I hadn't seen him at all the past four days. It had been a welcome relief to work in solitude and silence, but here he was again. He entered quietly and stalked about the room. I glanced up long enough to see the expression on his face: eyes narrowed in scrutiny, nose up in arrogance, mouth turned down in derision. With hands clasped behind his back, he slowly made his way around the room, inspecting every last device and discovery I'd made since four days prior.
It seemed to last an eternity. I pretended to continue working while he observed my research, but all the while I kept a silent eye on him, watching as he poked and prodded my inventions, snorting in disgust.
"What is this?" Lortey snapped finally, gesturing widely with his arm toward my research.
I turned to him and opened my mouth to reply, but he cut me off.
"This is bullshit! You didn't do what I asked at all! I give you four days to work and you come up with nothing but a few fancy glass bottles! I didn't ask for spirits, Syuveil, I asked for weapons!"
My stomach churned, and my face flushed with irritation. "But Sir, these are-"
"Shut up! I gave you four days. Four ... days," Lortey ranted. "A person of your supposed intellect ought to be able to complete such an easy task, but you've managed to make it difficult! I asked for portable magic weapons. Something that can be carried in a pouch into battle-"
"But these can-"
"-not ... not whatever these are! They'll break in a second!"
"Sir, can't I just demonstrate-"
"SHUT UP! And no, you can't demonstrate anything! I ought to destroy these! Throw them in the trash! Pathetic! I wanted magic, not mixed drinks! It's ridiculous! Damned child's play!"
With each new insult, my temper had grown, and I, suddenly not content to placate anyone anymore, let it bubble up. Every injustice I'd faced in the past four years came pouring forth in the form of rage. Every whipping, every deprival of a basic need, every cruel, ignorant expression. Lortey continued his rant, but I was suddenly trapped in a torrent of miserable memories.
Child's play indeed, I thought bitterly. I'll show you child's play ...
Without thinking, I reached down and closed my fingers around the first thing I touched: one of my magic bombs. Its red glass container, marked on the side with an 'M,' told me it was a Gushing Magma, but before I could stop to think and consider the consequences, I reeled back and launched the weapon across the room toward Lortey.
Almost immediately, I regretted my actions, but it was too late. The magic bomb exploded and pillars of fire erupted from the floor, spraying sparks and sending flames at anything in its path. The explosion blew Lortey backward, into a cart full of beakers and vials which clattered to the floor and added the tinkling of glass shards to the music of the chaos. Though much of my research had just been destroyed in a matter of seconds, I marveled at the success of my development. It worked. The effort had paid off.
When the spell died, however, my master lay crumpled against the far wall. Too stunned to move, I watched in silence as he groaned in agony, struggling and floundering about, trying in vain to get traction amidst the destruction and climb to his feet.
"Sir!" I cried, shocked to see him still conscious.
He met my eyes, wearing an expression I thought I'd never see on a Wingly: utter terror. Slowly, his line of vision fell to where a spray of glass had pierced his chest. Then, from either horror or pain, he collapsed again; his chin fell to his chest and his head lolled to the side. Unconscious ...
I ran to him then, and not pausing to consider the best course of action, grabbed the exposed portion of the biggest glass shard and yanked. Blood sprayed from the wound, covering me in red and tainting the air with a faint, metallic note.
It pierced his aorta. It felt like I'd just been kicked in the abdomen. No ... no, no, no... what have I done?!
Suddenly struck with my own atrocity, I threw the glass shard to the ground like it had burned me, and my hands flew to my face, temporarily hiding the carnage from view.
I did this, I thought, horrified. I killed him ...
This is all your fault, you idiot! my conscience raged. You let your damned vanity get the best of you! You murdered a man in cold blood!
No. No, no, I protested, silently. I didn't! It was an accident! I'm no murderer!
But somehow, deep down, I knew it was true. I'd wanted to murder Lortey and his horrible brother the day I'd met them. Murder them. Exact revenge for my own pain and suffering. I'd wanted to do it each and every time they'd whipped me, slapped me, cursed me and belittled me. It frightened me to suddenly come face-to-face with my own violent nature. It was a baser side of me that I'd never known I was capable of, yet for some reason, it sickened me less than my cowardice.
I turned back to my master, his breathing now labored and rasping. I watched until it finally stopped and he went still. His blood now trickled from the wound in his chest, staining everything its glaring shade of crimson and finally pooling on the floor.
Overcome, I choked back a sob, collapsed to my knees and threw my head back to stare up through the glass ceiling to the blue sky beyond. The scream of despair I'd wanted to utter for so long and kept supressed finally escaped.
Soa, what do I do?!
Did I surprise you?! Woo-wee! A pretty epic beginning for our favorite intellectual, I think! Keep reading to find out how he gets out of the mess I created for him, haha. Let me know what you thought; reviews are greatly appreciated! (And if you're wondering, yes, Stella was an incarnation of Princess Lisa.)
