Author's Note: Look, this misguided fiction has lived to chapter two.
Amazing isn't it? I should warn you all to be prepared, for there are a few
scattered surprises throughout this fiction.
Chapter Two: Wings of Shadows
Leaving Vellweb had taken more of an effort than I had counted on. It was as if I had been leaving the safest place I would ever encounter, and a sense of heavy foreboding fell across my shoulders. I had defended Shirley's wishes against Kanzas...but I was beginning to wonder whether or not this quest was sheer folly. Could I readily commit another to die the same way I had? Doubt raged in my mind, and darkened my spirit even more.
Suppose that we could not find these chosen seven, what then? It had been difficult enough, as I remembered, for us to find one another in the beginning, and then we had had the Dragoon Spirits to aid us. In this, we had nothing to go by except the strange calling, the pull, and gut instinct. Anger raged through me as I wandered, surveying the damage that had been done to the world. The Winglies lived like gods in their floating cities, while humans were cast to the ground like trash to suffer and die.
I had scarcely traveled more than a few miles outside Vellweb when the wave of pain hit me, when the voice cried out in my mind. I froze as a wave of images washed over my mind. The mine was one I recognized all too well, unchanged even in the years that I had been dead. The slaves ranged from as young as ten or eleven to seventy or so. My heart cried out for them, for all that they had been made to suffer. Another wave of pain, worse than the last, and I heard that voice again.
It was strong, haughty, filled with a sense of spirit that reminded me of my own, it startled me at how clearly I heard her, how clearly I felt, and how clearly I saw her. She was filthy, as most of the slaves were, a small and delicate looking thing with a lithe body, but a battered body. Her eyes were dark blue, very nearly black, and a fresh cut across her right cheek caused blood to make little tracks in the dirt that stained her skin. The dispute had started, it seemed, over a Wingly whipping one of the older slaves, a poor hunched woman who had collapsed under the weight of her work. As the Wingly had raised the whip, the younger woman had broken away from where she had been working and thrown herself in front of it. I had flinched myself the first time that cruel whip had bitten into the flesh of her back, and she had cried out, but it was a cry of rage, and not of pain.
The lashes had come then, falling hard and fast against her straight back, biting deep, drawing blood in thick rivlets, so that it stained the coarse brown tunic. But she never flinched. One hand curled into a fist so tightly that the nails bit into the flesh of her palm, blood welled up around the crescent cuts and dripped to the ground. And then...then she surprised me, for as the Wingly overseerer raised the whip for one last good lash, she spun, letting the end of the cruel thing wrap firmly around her hand. The dark blue eyes glittered dangerously, and she jerked forward on it hard, pulled the man off his feet and onto his face in the dirt. Then, she jerked again, yanking the handle of the whip out of his hand, pulling it into her own.
"Let's see how you like feeling the bite of the whip!" she yelled, rage burning in her eyes. The cruel thing rose and fell ten times over before his screams brought more of the Winglies over. The man's back was just as torn and bloodied as her own, and while he cursed and whimpered she stood stead fast, even as the others brought her to the ground with their own whips and their fists. They might have killed her, except for the appearance of another at that moment, obviously a noble, judging from his garb.
"Enough!" his voice was a deep baritone, cold, and demanding at the same time. Something had to be done, I had to...no, there was nothing I could do, for while I was indeed witnessing the scene, I could not interfere for I was miles away. He swept in, past the tormentors and stooped down and scooped the battered woman up into his arms, "You were informed, all of you, that no harm was to come to this one, because a wealthy noble had special interest in her as a child. He shall be most displeased."
And with that, he was gone, stalking out of the mining camp with the bleeding woman held closely to him, and then, all went black to my eyes.
(Please note that here POV changes to that of Zallia, the slave woman.)
Pain raced through my body, but it was a pain I struggled to ignore. I was confused, and who wouldn't be? I had thought that they would kill me for daring to attack one of their own...and yet, this one had saved my life. I found myself wondering why, and wondering even more where he was taking me. But the pain...dear Soa, the pain was intense. I had been whipped before, but nothing, nothing compared to this. I was beginning to wonder if my back even had anymore flesh to it anymore, and things were blurring around the edges, my eyelids felt heavy...I am still uncertain, exactly, of where I was taken, for things were very much a blur. The next thing I recall clearly, after being taken from that mining camp, was of being placed carefully upon a table, on my stomach, and of something very cold moving across my back.
Before I could protest, not that I was of a mind to anyway, the coarse brown tunic that had been my only possession for so many years was cut away, baring my torn and bloodied back for all to see. I heard someone suck in a sharp breath at the sight of the new wounds criss-crossed over old scars. Someone murmured something about barbarians, and then soothing hands smoothed across the inflamed cuts with a cooling salve. Then, gentle hands were helping me sit and I found myself looking into the faces of a concerned group of Winglies.
"Do you think you can stand?" asked one, busying herself with putting the many jars of salves away. I nodded in response, still trying to blink the disorientedness away.
A cool hand brushed across my brow, and I heard a familiar voice, the one that had stopped the others from killing me, "Zika and Tora will be taking you to the bath, to get you cleaned up and see to your wounds more properly, but before I send you with them, can you tell us your name?"
My cracked lips parted, and I was ashamed at how cowed my voice sounded to my ears, "Zallia,"but they neither laughed nor taunted my weakness. Instead, I was helped to my feet by the two women and led carefully towards a side room where a steaming bath
Chapter Two: Wings of Shadows
Leaving Vellweb had taken more of an effort than I had counted on. It was as if I had been leaving the safest place I would ever encounter, and a sense of heavy foreboding fell across my shoulders. I had defended Shirley's wishes against Kanzas...but I was beginning to wonder whether or not this quest was sheer folly. Could I readily commit another to die the same way I had? Doubt raged in my mind, and darkened my spirit even more.
Suppose that we could not find these chosen seven, what then? It had been difficult enough, as I remembered, for us to find one another in the beginning, and then we had had the Dragoon Spirits to aid us. In this, we had nothing to go by except the strange calling, the pull, and gut instinct. Anger raged through me as I wandered, surveying the damage that had been done to the world. The Winglies lived like gods in their floating cities, while humans were cast to the ground like trash to suffer and die.
I had scarcely traveled more than a few miles outside Vellweb when the wave of pain hit me, when the voice cried out in my mind. I froze as a wave of images washed over my mind. The mine was one I recognized all too well, unchanged even in the years that I had been dead. The slaves ranged from as young as ten or eleven to seventy or so. My heart cried out for them, for all that they had been made to suffer. Another wave of pain, worse than the last, and I heard that voice again.
It was strong, haughty, filled with a sense of spirit that reminded me of my own, it startled me at how clearly I heard her, how clearly I felt, and how clearly I saw her. She was filthy, as most of the slaves were, a small and delicate looking thing with a lithe body, but a battered body. Her eyes were dark blue, very nearly black, and a fresh cut across her right cheek caused blood to make little tracks in the dirt that stained her skin. The dispute had started, it seemed, over a Wingly whipping one of the older slaves, a poor hunched woman who had collapsed under the weight of her work. As the Wingly had raised the whip, the younger woman had broken away from where she had been working and thrown herself in front of it. I had flinched myself the first time that cruel whip had bitten into the flesh of her back, and she had cried out, but it was a cry of rage, and not of pain.
The lashes had come then, falling hard and fast against her straight back, biting deep, drawing blood in thick rivlets, so that it stained the coarse brown tunic. But she never flinched. One hand curled into a fist so tightly that the nails bit into the flesh of her palm, blood welled up around the crescent cuts and dripped to the ground. And then...then she surprised me, for as the Wingly overseerer raised the whip for one last good lash, she spun, letting the end of the cruel thing wrap firmly around her hand. The dark blue eyes glittered dangerously, and she jerked forward on it hard, pulled the man off his feet and onto his face in the dirt. Then, she jerked again, yanking the handle of the whip out of his hand, pulling it into her own.
"Let's see how you like feeling the bite of the whip!" she yelled, rage burning in her eyes. The cruel thing rose and fell ten times over before his screams brought more of the Winglies over. The man's back was just as torn and bloodied as her own, and while he cursed and whimpered she stood stead fast, even as the others brought her to the ground with their own whips and their fists. They might have killed her, except for the appearance of another at that moment, obviously a noble, judging from his garb.
"Enough!" his voice was a deep baritone, cold, and demanding at the same time. Something had to be done, I had to...no, there was nothing I could do, for while I was indeed witnessing the scene, I could not interfere for I was miles away. He swept in, past the tormentors and stooped down and scooped the battered woman up into his arms, "You were informed, all of you, that no harm was to come to this one, because a wealthy noble had special interest in her as a child. He shall be most displeased."
And with that, he was gone, stalking out of the mining camp with the bleeding woman held closely to him, and then, all went black to my eyes.
(Please note that here POV changes to that of Zallia, the slave woman.)
Pain raced through my body, but it was a pain I struggled to ignore. I was confused, and who wouldn't be? I had thought that they would kill me for daring to attack one of their own...and yet, this one had saved my life. I found myself wondering why, and wondering even more where he was taking me. But the pain...dear Soa, the pain was intense. I had been whipped before, but nothing, nothing compared to this. I was beginning to wonder if my back even had anymore flesh to it anymore, and things were blurring around the edges, my eyelids felt heavy...I am still uncertain, exactly, of where I was taken, for things were very much a blur. The next thing I recall clearly, after being taken from that mining camp, was of being placed carefully upon a table, on my stomach, and of something very cold moving across my back.
Before I could protest, not that I was of a mind to anyway, the coarse brown tunic that had been my only possession for so many years was cut away, baring my torn and bloodied back for all to see. I heard someone suck in a sharp breath at the sight of the new wounds criss-crossed over old scars. Someone murmured something about barbarians, and then soothing hands smoothed across the inflamed cuts with a cooling salve. Then, gentle hands were helping me sit and I found myself looking into the faces of a concerned group of Winglies.
"Do you think you can stand?" asked one, busying herself with putting the many jars of salves away. I nodded in response, still trying to blink the disorientedness away.
A cool hand brushed across my brow, and I heard a familiar voice, the one that had stopped the others from killing me, "Zika and Tora will be taking you to the bath, to get you cleaned up and see to your wounds more properly, but before I send you with them, can you tell us your name?"
My cracked lips parted, and I was ashamed at how cowed my voice sounded to my ears, "Zallia,"but they neither laughed nor taunted my weakness. Instead, I was helped to my feet by the two women and led carefully towards a side room where a steaming bath