The sun, beating down oppressively on the island, seems hotter and brighter than its been any previous day or hour before this current one. Impossible, yet wholly probable to the sentries that perch atop the ramparts surrounding the plantain. The occasional agonized cry reaches the top of the wall from the workers below, the sound ebbing and cresting as if on a current, yet no soothing breeze comes to abate the relentless heat. Sharp eyes, unhindered by the glare, calmly scan the fields of sugarcane for disturbances. The newer faces among the guard peer down frequently, shifting on sore feet as they stand watch. Some unconsciously cringe at the thunderous sound of enormous wings spreading, as a body dives from the rampart. They flinch and look away as a bawling, begging individual is scooped up from scant cover of the sugarcane. Of old faces and new, no one watches as the attempted escapee is flown swiftly up the roads, delivered back to the Governor. The keen eyes and nigh inescapable tactics of the winged sentinels is enough to keep those on the ground cowed for another undefinable amount of time.
An exceptionally striking piece of statuary balances precariously at the edge of the barricade. The unusual stance of the winged female should topple it into the field below, yet it seems to cling to the wall by the curl of it's feet against the stone. An owlish, heavily feathered man approaches the statue, pausing next to it and gazing down into the sugarcane with overlarge, amber colored eyes.
He speaks, seemingly to himself, in a quiet baritone. "The rumors get to you, yet?"
The statue, previously inert, blinks it's pale green eyes. "Not directly." A subtle ripple of movement goes through the statue's body, revealing the smallest wrinkles to indicate flesh, rather than stone. "If I'm hearing it secondhand, you can bet others are, too."
The man chances pulling his attention from the field, his head turning on his neck with little effort as he surveys the woman next to him. He allows himself a moment of silent admiration before returning his gaze to his sentry duty. "Aldous, he has some good points." The man's voice lowers even more. "We're meeting to talk things over during the east shift."
The statue, the woman, scoffs in disbelief. "We?"
"They're meeting," He corrects himself. "Whatever. I'm going to be there anyway, might as well listen in." When the woman doesn't reply, he brushes a feathered wing against her back, following up with: "It could be our chance..."
The woman stiffens, moving further along the wall, making space between herself and the man. "Shit, Keegan," she whispers, reproachfully. "Keep doing stuff like that and we won't need to worry about some flighty Elemental's pipe dream getting us killed." She stretches her own wings behind her, not removing her eyes from the stationary stalks of sugarcane. "Go back to your damned post. I'll see you later."
Despite her rebuff, the corners of Keegan's lips turn up into a small smile. He climbs down from the ledge. "Right. East shift?" His only response is silence, as he seems to be talking to a statue once more. He detracts from his duty again, to glance at the woman on the wall. The sun shimmers and glints off of her, highlighted her pale skin in a nearly painful glare as, eyes cast downward, she nods her head almost imperceptibly.
Shifts change. Bodies move from one side of the rampart to another, with all eyes remaining on the beings working below. Without any sort of official notice or announcement, several of the sentries seem to group closer together. Some stay just in earshot, a visually safe distance away. All are centered around a windswept gentleman, dressed in baggy clothing. The young Elemental, Aldous, keeps his constant surveillance on the plantation as he begins to speak of his plan. A few sets of eyes glance outwards towards the hopelessly far forest. The Maroon. The only place on the island where the sun doesn't manage to constantly scour.
A tall, dainty young woman, her skin an iridescent green, speaks up as much as anyone dares to. "Too many eyes between here and there. No one makes it, why the hell do you think we would?"
Aldous doesn't falter. "Times like now, /we're/ the eyes. If we're all in, we've already got the advantage of a head start."
Another voice hesitatingly pipes up. "We don't even know if it's real. The woods there? What if it's not even real?"
"We-" Aldous is cut off by a broad shouldered man, hulking at the outskirts of the group. His sharp beak clicks together as he speaks. "It's real. I saw it when I was brought in. There's people there, too."
A few others offer their input, and a tentative sort of enthusiasm grows within the group. Voices that have been raised dangerously above a whisper suddenly fall silent as one of the stragglers perched on the wall raises herself onto her toes, attention directed down towards a shape attempting to sneak it's way away from those cutting down the tall stalks of sugarcane. The pale, winged woman watches for a moment, confirming the attempt at escape before she dives from the rampart, membranous wings spread wide. As the deceptively strong woman lifts the other changeling from the field, the audience from above quietly disperse, returning to their usual spots on the wall.
Another shift. Different, despite no discernable passage of time. The winged woman once more perches with an impossible stillness on the edge of the stone wall. A few yards away, the owlish man, Keegan, stands on taloned feet, his head pivoting back and forth as he watches the working changelings in the field. After a few moments, he shuffles slightly closer to the winged woman, flicking a loose pebble at her with one toe. She rolls her eyes, unseen by Keegan, and reaches down for a pebble of her own, stealthily tossing it back at him. It bounces harmlessly off his feathered shoulder and he chuckles. Shuffling another step closer, he quietly asks "Given any more thought to it?"
The winged woman rests her hands on her knees, frowning as she watches a changeling hack at the sugarcane. "Plenty of thought. It's completely insane."
"Not any crazier than doing this over and over again." Keegan kicks more stone loose from the wall. "Have you thought about turning them in?" Wrenching her gaze from the field, the woman gives Keegan a glare that seems equal parts insulted and guilty. He catches the look from his periphery, holding his hands out in suppliance. "Peace, Tolliver. Peace." In a whisper, he continues, "I only ask because, well, its crossed my mind. I guess both options give people like us even chances of freedom."
Tolliver returns her gaze to her work, responding: "Freedom is a running joke around here."
The pair lapses into a contemplative silence, broken only when Keegan asks, almost pleading, "Come with us, Tollie."
In a disbelieving tone mirroring the one from their previous conversation, Tolliver replies: "Us?"
"Us." Keegan confirms. "Aldous is right, no one knows these skies better than us. No one on this island has a better chance of making it to the forest than we do." He glances towards the Maroon. "If the entire east shift guard takes off, it could be..." he pauses, unable to formulate a time frame, "it could be awhile before anyone sounds an alarm. It's not freedom, but it's the closest that we can grab at right now."
A small wrinkle forms between Tolliver's brows, like a worn crack in pale stone. She sighs lightly, the only bit of breeze to cut through the unceasing heat. "When?"
Once more struggling with the progress of time, Keegan answers her, and confirms: "There's a tally carved into the broken column." He gestures down the rampart with one wing and Tolliver nods.
A moment later, a sharp whistle reverberates down the barricade, signaling another change in shift. Tolliver murmurs to Keegan, almost too low to hear, "I'll go with you," as she hops down from her perch and starts to move further along the barricade. He catches up with her a second later, his close presence only noticeable as his hand strokes down her arm, briefly and gently squeezing her hand before he moves away and takes his place down the north rampart.
The hairy, bucktoothed woman in Tolliver's arms is still begging as they begin to descend towards the center of the island. Her calloused hands grip at Tolliver, refusing to release their grasp as the pair lands near the sickly sweet smelling vats. "Please, I wasn't trying to run, it's a mistake, you have to understand!"
Ignoring the woman's pleas, Tolliver half walks, half drags the other woman to a small lean to. Reaching an cluster of goblins, she pries the woman's fingers from her and unceremoniously pushes her towards their eager arms. A chuckle comes from her left, and a gravelly voice comments: "You're really tossin' em' in lately, ain't ya?" Unable to keep the grimace from her expression, Tolliver turns to the goblin seated at a small table under the thatched roof. Undeterred, the goblin grins back at her. "Keep it up like this, someone might tell the Guv'nor. Ya might just end up on his noice list." He winks at her, laughing at she turns away in disgust.
After a few steps, Tolliver turns back to the goblin, much to his delight. "Boor, I might have some useful information for the Governor." She speaks in a low, secretive tone, a hint of shame in her voice.
The goblin smirks. "Do ya, now? Thassa first." Boor gestures her closer into the lean to. "Don't suppose ya wanna give this inf'mation in person, do ya?" He guffaws as Tolliver, stepping around to his side of the table, shakes her head hard enough to send her dark curls flying around her face. "Spill it out then, girl." Bending to the goblin's ear and keeping her voice low, Tolliver tells Boor of the east shift's plan to escape to the Maroon, strategically leaving Keegan's name out of it. The goblin listens, enraptured by the young woman's confession. When she's done, he rubs his pointed chin looking up at Tolliver with something like appreciation. "This is good. Good inf'mation." Boor gets up, kicking the chair back and waving Tolliver away. "Go back to work, girl. You'll find out one way or t'other if the Guv'nor is happy with this." Tolliver hastily ducks out of the lean to, spreading her wings and taking flight as soon as she exits the processing field to make up for lost travel time back to the ramparts.
Seven serrated scratches mar the surface of the broken column on the east wall. No single changeling spends overlong glancing at the damaged stone, yet every changeling's attention remains fixed on it throughout their shift. Eyes scan the sugarcane fields, the processing vats, but the surveillance is perfunctory. There's a near tangible tension in the air as the changelings on east shift wait for their cue.
On his outcropping of stone, Aldous stands up straight, as if spotting a potential refugee. He summons small gusts of winds that fill the loose pockets of his clothing like a parasail, and leaps from the rampart. Instead of diving into the sugarcane, he glides up and towards the black woods of the Maroon.
For a moment it seems as if he'll be alone in his venture, until the air is suddenly peppered with all manner of flying, floating and gliding changelings. Tolliver, her heart in her throat, making the split second decision to follow suit, vaults herself from her perch on the wall. A doleful hooting next to her draws her attention to a large eagle owl, it's amber eyes making the creature recognizable as Keegan. Fighting to keep the panic from her face, Tolliver observes her fellow sentries in flight, each with a hopeful expression as they leave the barricade behind. All eyes are on the Maroon, which, despite the group's speed, seems to draw no closer. No one notices the increased number of overseers in the fields below, no one is concerned about the abandonment of their post until the echoing crack of a whip cuts the air between the fliers.
Panic is immediate, as eyes fearfully search the horizon for the many headed whip of the Governor. Ears perk up and twitch, attuned to the sound of the hydra's screech, preceding flames and fury. Instead, an inescapably long bullwhip licks at the air once more, snatching at a young woman with jewel green skin and translucent wings. She shrieks as she's yanked into the sugarcane, the being holding the bullwhip winding his arm back for another lash as she slams into the dirt. Other changelings are hit with projectiles, a hawk headed man taking several spear-like bolts into his stomach and abdomen. Tolliver muffles a scream and he falls past her, into the field, a stalk of sugarcane impaling him through the gut as he lands. She dips and dives, dodging the bodies of her comrades as they're shot and whipped down in droves around her. From the corner of her eye she sees Keegan, seemingly unhurt, his wings frantically flapping as he flies towards her. He's nearly hit by a bloodied Aldous, who drops like a stone, bouncing off of one of the field machines with a crunch and landing limply by the machine's massive wheels. Keegan reaches Tolliver. Shielding his smaller form with her own, she jets a path through the war zone the skies have become, miraculously avoiding injury as she keeps her attention fixed directly on the copse of trees closest to the edge of the Maroon.
It seems like hours or even days have passed when Tolliver and Keegan are suddenly and brutally thrust into darkness. Tolliver's body hits something solid and unyielding. She yelps in pain, tumbling to the ground and feeling a dull snap as her arm twists under her. Dazed, she lays on her back, blinking up at the bits of black sky seen through towering treetops, willing her eyes to adjust. There's a shuffling sound to the right of her, and Keegan, out of breath, comes into view above her head. "Tollie, are you alright? Can you move?" His lower lip is bleeding slightly, and he has several superficial scratches along his body, but seems otherwise unhurt.
Tolliver groans and pushes herself into a sitting position with her wings. A sharp pain flares up her left arm, and she hisses in a breath through gritted teeth. "My arm is definitely broken," she comments, cradling the injured limb in her lap. She looks up at their surroundings, at the unbroken darkness provided by the trees above their heads. "Holy shit. We- we actually made it." Tolliver turns her gaze to Keegan, reading the somber expression on his face. "Are we the only ones?" He nods, and she's careful to keep her own expression solemn, masking the worry, remorse and confusion that threatens to expose itself. "We need to hide, they'll notice when they haven't caught us, they'll come in here looking."
Keegan nods again, appearing mildly shell shocked. Nevertheless, he takes off his overshirt, fashioning it into a sling for Tolliver's arm. "It'll be safer to get off the ground, the cover is better up there." He gestures to the treetops, which hold an ominous silence. The pair walk a ways before choosing a close group of trees, climbing up and constructing a makeshift sort of nest when the ground seems far enough away for them to feel secure. Exhaustedly tucking into each other's arms and wings, Tolliver and Keegan spend their first indeterminable amount of time fearful, semi-frantic, yet somewhat free.
In time, it becomes abundantly clear that safety is indeed found in higher ground. As Tolliver and Keegan establish their uneasy refuge in the treetops, the woods around them teem with an irregular sort of life. Beasts and insects large enough to see even from their elevated vantage point creep along the forest floor, occasionally moving from tree to tree, though never close enough to be of concern. Several times, the pair spot what appears to be other changelings traveling through the woods. Keegan watches these people with a wistful sort of expression, Tolliver simply wonders how many more beings are moving about unseen.
It doesn't take long for the scraps of food scavenged from former work shifts to run out. The pair bicker as quietly as possible, Keegan being vehemently opposed to Tolliver climbing down to search for something to sustain them. "There's no way," he asserts, "even if you didn't have a broken arm, you're not going to put yourself in danger while I sit up here with my thumb up my ass!"
Tolliver rolls her eyes, undaunted as she tucks a folded up burlap bag into the side of her boot. "I'm a hell of a lot sneakier than you, even if I had two broken arms." She affectionately nudges him with a wing. "Besides, no one said you had to stick your thumb up your ass while you wait."
He ignores her joke, his feathered brow forming almost one severe line. Finally, Keegan responds, "Shit." Frowning, knowing his companion is correct, he acquiesces. " Fine. Just...be careful. If anything or anyone sees you, come right back, we'll think of something else." He reaches his hand towards Tolliver's face, gently brushing away a curl of dark hair that falls over her forehead. She seems to contemplate for a moment, before leaning forward and chastely pressing her lips to his cheek. With the a fraction of a second's worth of further contemplation, she relocates her mouth to his own, kissing Keegan for long enough to briefly distract him from his worries. Tolliver smiles as she pulls away, before abruptly dropping from the branch and, after no short fall, landing softly on her feet almost a hundred yards down to the forest floor.
Foraging in the Maroon is no easy task, and Tolliver finds it a challenge to stay hidden from the forest's other denizens, while trying to discern what is safe to eat. Using the ever present cloak of darkness to hide the near-luminescent pale of her skin, she tracks a furry, yet humanoid being for some time, taking note of what flora and fauna the being chooses to collect. With her attention torn between tracking the being and hiding her own presence, Tolliver fails to notice the approach of a group of goblins that obviously see her person of interest as their quarry. The furry being stops dead in it's tracks, eyes darting back and forth in a panic before it shrinks down and transforms into a racoon. Tolliver keeps her back to the tree she was passing, keeping every muscle completely still, willing the shadows to mask her to near invisibility as half the goblins take off after the racoon. She holds her breath, petrified as she recognizes Boor leading the group. They pass near her, seemingly oblivious until Boor pauses, inhaling deeply through his flat nose. He takes a few more steps, sniffing the air with a smile that slowly creeps onto his face. Allowing the other goblins to meander through the trees without him, he brushes some moss off a nearby stump and settles down, picking under his nails as he almost casually speaks Tolliver's name.
From her hiding spot, Tolliver stands stock still, swallowing around the lump in her throat as quietly as possible. The goblin hawks and spits in the dirt before speaking again. "I know you're 'round here, girl. Best to come out and talk to me, b'fore I call the rest of em back to find ya." Against her better judgement, Tolliver steps from the security of the shadows, facing Boor warily. The goblin surveys her from head to toe, appearing pleased. "Little banged up, but ya look better than the rest of your troop, I'd say." He cackles.
Visibly flinching from his words, Tolliver curtly asks, "What do you want from me?" She ignores the suggestive hand gesture that follows her question, keeping steady eye contact with the goblin.
"S'not what I want, s'what the Guv'nor wants. He needs more eyes in here." Boor smirks at Tolliver. "Your eyes have proven perfect for th'job, it just took longer than I thought for you t'come out of your hidey hole."
Tolliver immediately refuses, her expression growing stricken as she comes to a realization. "Is that why.." Her wings droop, matching the dejected slope of her shoulders. "Is that why I made it over here alive? To be a spy for him?" She angrily wipes her good arm across her eyes. "I won't do it again."
Laughing once more, Boor stands on the stump, almost reaching Tolliver's height. "Look at you, talkin' like you've got a choice! Your freedom ain't free, girl." He gestures towards the woods where the other goblins dispersed. "My boys and I can drag you back, if y'want. We all can watch as you get ev'ry square inch of that porcelain skin of yours whipped right off y'body. People know what you did back there. They'll cheer," he grins, seeing the tears silently roll down Tolliver's cheeks, "Oh, you can trust that they'll cheer, watchin' you get your comeuppance." Boor digs in his pocket and pulls out two coins, rubbing them together as he continues. "Or, you can be a good girl." The coins glow brightly between his fingers. "There's plenty of folks in th'woods. All you need to to is follow 'em, befriend 'em, whatever. Just make sure you've got one for us ev'ry four days." He holds his hand out towards Tolliver, one of the coins resting neatly in his palm.
Tolliver stares at the goblin, at the strange token in his palm, for several moments. Wiping at her face again, she steps forward and takes the coin from Boor. The coin grow dim, as she tucks it into her pocket. Boor hops down from the stump and sneers up at Tolliver. "When that starts t'get bright again s'when we'll come find ya. When we come, better hope you've got someone else t'hand off." He bumps against Tolliver's injured arm, chuckling when she cries out in pain, before swaggering away to rejoin his mob.
Some time later, when Tolliver finally climbs back up to the shared shelter, Keegan bombards the other changeling with concern and chastises her on her overlong outing. Writing off her wan appearance as exhaustion, he allows her to rest, while combining the foraged goods into a passable dinner. Keegan insists on making the next foray for supplies, and Tolliver, hand stealing away to her pocket, begrudgingly agrees. The pair sticks to a turn based and reasonable system, allowing for each of them to explore every two days or so. Neither seem to come across any problems for some time in the Maroon.
Food is scarce again, and Keegan prepares for his turn to forage deeper into the forest. Tying the empty burlap bag around his ankle, he transforms into a regal looking eagle owl and, with an affectionate hoot towards Tolliver, he flies off into the darkness. With Keegan's absence, the woods surrounding their makeshift camp in the treetop seems eerily devoid of noise. Tolliver goes on alert, letting out a near soundless trill that bounces back to her ears quickly. Too quickly. She manages to get her feet on the branch under her, feeling the vibration of the wood as a clawed creature quickly ascends her tree. Looking down, she sees the familiar, if not loathsome face of Boor. The recognition brings her no relief as the goblin climbs close enough to speak. "Your dues is due, girl." He scrambles up the trunk, long nails gripping the bark with ease. "Running late, we oughta charge in'trest." There's laughter in the dark, down near the bottom of the tree.
Tolliver, perched in the fork of the tree, spares a quick glance to the woods around her, gauging an escape route. Bright yellow pinpricks of light dance as innocuously as fireflies among the branches, but the chuckles echoing those from the ground quash any hope of fleeing. Her hand steals to the small pocket in the tunic she wears, revealing the brightly glowing token. She inwardly curses herself for losing track of the days. With an expression on her features akin to a cornered animal, she steels herself and faces the goblin as it reaches a branch perpendicular to hers. "I need more time," she implores. "It hasn't been that long since the last one," she continues, unsure how much time truly has passed. The laughter surrounding her is unsettling, near maddening.
Boor crawls closer to her. "You lookin' to bargain? Make some deals with the Guv'nor?" Tolliver tenses, her wings curling up defensively. "That's not an issue, we'll take you right to him. That way, we're all payin' our dues, ain't we?" The pairs of yellow eyelights grow larger, as the vague shapes of the other goblins in the treetops begin to converge on the winged woman.
A brief glance up and a heartbeat later, Tolliver drops her heels off the edge of the branch and plummets down. The momentary feint is enough to send the goblins further up the tree, rather than the direction that Tolliver's body falls. Hearing the ruckus of the creatures on the forest floor, she grabs at a branch halfway down the tree, her good arm arm wrenching painfully as she swings herself from one tree to another. From above, shrieks and catcalls of equal parts rage and excitement meld with the cries from below, seeming to corral her in a cacophony of tangible sound. Using her wings to compensate for her injured arm as she pulls herself from branch to branch and tree to tree, Tolliver is quickly besieged by the pursuing goblins. Cackling as they take small bites and swipes at her, the goblins allow the chase to go on until a fatigued and bloodied Tolliver tumbles from a low branch, hitting the forest floor with a painful groan. She attempts to climb to her feet, beseeching the darkness itself to come to her aid and obscure her from the goblin's view, but even the shadows seem to have sided with her assailants.
"Please," Tolliver begs as the horde of goblins approach. "Don't take me back there."
"Stupid, stupid." answers a voice.
"Don't take me back there!" Mocks another, to more laughter.
"Oughta kill you right here, trouble you just gave us," says an out of breath, sweating goblin to her left.
The smallest, pathetic glimmer of hope comes to Tolliver when Boor steps forward, out of the horde, appearing derisively contemplative. "Y'know, we don't /have/ to take you wit' us." Mumbling from the other goblins. A few smirk, most just continue to chuckle. Wary, Tolliver doesn't reply. He scratches his chin, a few flakes of Tolliver's dried blood from his mouth catching on his nails. "We don't have to take you if you give us someone else. We know you weren't the only one who success'fly flew the coop." Boor smiles, widely and unnervingly. "Guv'nor knows you weren't the only one, too."
Tolliver remains on the ground, her body aching and bleeding in what feels like a hundred different places. The longer she stays quiet, the louder the laughter seems to get. Her reply is barely audible over the cackling of the goblins, but Boor must hear it, because his smile grows so large it threatens to split his revolting face in half.
The light glow that leads Keegan to Tolliver surrounds an overlarge tree, indistinguishable from any other hulking behemoth in the near pitch black forest. Keegan switches the regretfully light burlap bag from one shoulder to the next, ashamed at his lack of success in gathering food for the both of them. His feathered head swiveling back and forth almost 180 degrees, he's already surrounded before he catches the tiniest flicker of movement by one of the tree trunks. Dropping his bag, he's preparing to transform when something jumps onto his back, sinking a significant mouthful of fangs into his shoulder. Keegan swallows down a cry, glancing up at the tree with single minded concern for Tolliver as another creature latches onto his foot. He attempts to silently wrestle the creatures, not wanting to draw attention to the commotion on the forest floor, not wanting to chance putting Tolliver in danger, should she climb down to investigate. More of the creatures come out from the darkness, tackling him into the dirt with their sheer numbers. It's only when Keegan recognizes one of the creatures, one of the goblins from the plantation, that he screams Tolliver's name. He screams it once more, right before the goblin knocks him out, for ease of dragging him back to the plantain. Back to the Governor.
"Tolliver!"
Up in the treetops, she hears it, despite clamping her hands over her ears.
Tolliver remains as motionless as possible, much like when she patrolled at the ramparts. She swaths herself in darkness, so that there's no way Keegan can see her.
Watching, but refusing to listen. Hearing anyway, but refusing to help. Tears creep from her eyes and she's afraid one might land on him and he'll know she's up here. He'll know what she did.
TOLLIVER!"
She waits until they drag him away. Until they're all out of sight. Somehow she can still hear them mocking her, laughing and calling her name. "Tolliver, Tolliver!" She begins running from tree to tree, her bare feet clinging to even the thinnest branch, her body working in an infuriatingly well manner, considering it's failure to take her from the goblin's grasp just hours before. Tolliver runs until she's sure that the only voice that calling her name is Keegan's in her head. She finds a home high in the trees, making a deal with the night and the cover that it offers.
The goblins come again, but they don't find her. She sees others pass in the forest below, sometimes even in the trees, but they don't find her. Occasionally she hears her name whispered from the shadows, but they don't find her.