The first thing Hermione felt when she woke up was an excruciating smell. A mixture of manure, dung, blood, filth and acrid urine assaulted her nostrils. Painfully, she opened her eyes, dizzy from the pain in the middle of her forehead. Struggling to remember what had happened to her. She blinked once or twice, struggling to focus her gaze before looking around. She was lying on the ground in a corner of what appeared to be a cave against a rough, damp, mossy stone wall. In the dim light of dancing flames outside the cave Hermione could see that in places the floor was covered with piles of straw, branches and grass giving off that awful smell. The ceiling was high and the cave rather large. Many stalactites hung from the ceiling but no stalagmites. Finally her eyes fell on a huge, vaguely humanoid form snoring with eardrum-shattering force on one of the piles of leaves.
At this sight her eyes widened and something clicked in her head. Suddenly she was assailed by a flood of memories. Her parents abandoning her, her journey through the woods, her escape from the creature in the forest, her encounter with André, and finally, the large creatures that had attacked her in her tent. Her breathing quickened as the panic began to rise. She could feel the rough rope now clutching her poor ankle and wrists, her eyes running over the interior of the cave noticing new details. A pile of clothes at the back, a pile of miscellaneous objects. Bones, lots of bones, too many bones, tibias, femurs, ribs, skulls, animal but also human... Too many human skulls, their empty sockets seeming to stare at her. A shiver of horror ran through her, she had to run away, otherwise she would die in this foul and nauseating cave.
Behind the monster's snoring she heard deep, husky voices talking from the cave's entrance.
A deeper voice said: "You not understanding! Crushed human better! No need to chew!"
An higher voice replied, "No! You not subtle! Human in pan on fire! Then jump! Until CRACK! ahahaha."
"Crushed better! Dig a deep hole! Put human in it with grass and tree branch! Then Big rock in hole ! Wait a long time then get human back! Human then all soft and mushy!"
"Long time be too long!" If pan-fried human broken we can eat human right away!"
"But crushed human more tasty! More delicious! Pan-fried human spoiled."
Another more nasal voice joins in the debate. "You don't know! You fools! You stupid! Me more intelligent! We sit on human! Human then crushed and seasoned at the same time!"
Hermione was really starting to panic. The monsters were discussing the best way to cook her! At least if their abominable proposal could be called cooking, which was debatable. Branches as seasoning? Hermione was beginning to lose her mind, the pungent smell of the almost unbreathable cave air was making her want to puke and making it difficult to breathe. She needed a distraction. Something. She looked around the cave again. Nothing that could be used as a weapon. And against these great, vile creatures what could she do? She was completely defenceless. But out of the corner of her eye she saw a hole in the ground at the back of the cave from which a stench was coming out. A plan began to form in her head as the trolls' discussion continued.
The big voice resumed! "But crushed human awaits for long best! Gorg you must understand! You intelligent so you understand subtle! Under big stone human rot! Human become more gouty!"
The nasal voice answered! "Crog you right but me HUNGER! Under buttock of me ! Human gouty too! And human underbutt fast crushed! Human fast ready!"
"But me liked taste rotten flesh..."
The high-pitched voice interrupted him. "But don't you like to hear human screaming? When human in pan smell burnt flesh, when human jump, hear broken bones…"
Hermione was no longer listening to their horrible debate. Her plan had taken shape. If all went well she would manage to escape. Hermione concentrated with all her might. Gathering her energy around her ankles, pushing, shaping her energy into the form of flames around her ankles. She felt the flow of her energy run through her and the ugly rough rope around her ankles heat up. Soon a glow appeared at her feet as the flames manifested. The rope around her ankles quickly caught fire completely reducing the rope holding her captive to ashes. She did not let go of her concentration, repeating the operation with the rope around her wrists. The flames caught again, but this time she extinguished them the instant the rope was broken.
Good. The creature in the cave was still asleep, the other three outside were still deep in their heated debate about how best to eat her. They had almost come to an agreement that it would taste better crushed under their filthy butts, but fortunately for her the debate was reignited when the ideas of roast and stew were suggested.
Now she had in her hands a good yard of dirty, rough rope. She could put her plan into action. She would just have to hope that her distraction would be enough to give her enough time to escape. She approached the foul-smelling pit and let one end of the rope hang down into it. All she had to do was light the fuse of her time bomb and enjoy the panic from the noise and smoke of the explosion caused by the contact between the flame and the obviously methane-filled pit. She concentrated again, placing her hand on the end of the rope outside the hole. A flame appeared at her fingertips and after a few seconds the rope caught fire. Well now she had to act fast. She wouldn't have much time before the big bang.
She walked towards the exit of the cave. The tunnel was still wide and given the state of the ground the big things had passed through it countless times. The entrance to the cave revealed a most terrifying sight. Three of the huge creatures that had attacked her in her tent were sitting in a circle around a fire in a small clearing in front of the cave. One was visibly obese and completely naked, its deformed jaw hanging open, making it look even more stupid when it wasn't talking. Crog the subtle, she recognised by his voice. He was now advocating impaling her on a flaming branch to give her more taste. His words made her shudder with fear. The smallest, Gorg, with a nasal voice claiming to be intelligent, was dressed in a fern loincloth and was twisting a vicious looking knife between his fingers. The last, by far the tallest (at least five metres standing) dressed in an animal skin, or an animal more accurately as the skin did not appear to have been cleaned and the bones not removed, was the one with the high-pitched voice. He was waving a gigantic, rough shapped frying pan in his hand, defending the idea that it would taste better if he banged it on her until she was all squishy or something. Thankfully. None of them were facing the cave and all were too absorbed in their heated debate now revolving around the apparently tempting idea of making her a skewer. She slipped out of the cave and hid behind a bush to the right of the entrance.
She was about to slowly and quietly walk away when Gorg raised his hand, interrupting the others. Hermione's heart was pounding. Cold sweat trickled down her forehead as she watched the big things through the gaps between the leaves of the bush. Hopefully her diversion would happen soon. She clearly wasn't capable of running faster than one of his things.
Gorg said, "Can you smell that? Human scent!"
Crog looked up and wrinkled his nose. "Yes me smell human. Me more hungry now."
"Another Human for eating ? Said the taller one with the shrill voice.
Gorg stood up abruptly. "No me know human smell! Human we have in cave fle..."
Just then a huge bang shook the ground, as a black stinking mist and greenish flames erupted from the cave along with a huge cloud of dust immediately covering the whole clearing in a thick fog of dirt. The power of the blast had knocked Hermione backwards as her ears were ringing from the noise. She was stunned, unable to hear anything, her ears too abused by the noise of the explosion but it was now or never. She got up and ran madly through the forest climbing the slope in the hope that the creatures would think she had decided to go down into the valley for the sake of it and not find her. The description of the unspeakable torment they called cooking drove her to run faster and faster. The slope became steeper and steeper, the previously deciduous forest was now pine as she continued her ascent. If her memory was correct she must have been on the side of the lone mountain she was heading towards before her capture.
Soon the slope became less steep again and the trees more sparse as she slowed her already breathless run. Soon unable to run as her legs ached, she began to walk. Her senses came back to her, her sense of smell abused by the powerful stench of the creatures gradually returning, the vile smell replaced by that of pine resin, and bark. Her ears gradually stopped ringing and her hearing returned as well. The thundering snores and proclamations of unspeakable tortures in place of cooking, replaced by birdsong and the sound of wind in the branches. She suddenly felt light, a wave of intense relief replacing the dread and terror.
If she ever got out of this place alive she could never thank Hélène enough for her more advanced chemistry lessons. And Madame Louise for allowing her such free access to the library. Without it she would have known nothing about the properties of methane and would have died devoured by those monsters. When she returned to her real home in England she would give them both a present.
But now was not the time to think about such things, she had to get out of there. She had to get away from the monsters as quickly as possible.
Soon she saw the light between the trees as the slope continued to get less and less steep. She forced her pace, eager to get out of the darkness of the forest. A few steps later she emerged from the woods, squinting to give herself time to get used to the light. She was at the edge of a forest bordering a meadow of wild grass and mountain flowers. As she had suspected, it was just a flat area. The slope steepened again at a hundred metres or so, starting to climb again towards the rocky peaks and screes. In the distance, in the rocky heights of the mountains, she could see the eternal snows glinting in the sunlight. She could see what must have been very large black birds circling around one of the highest peaks.
If there were no man-eating monsters roaming the woods she could almost really love the place just for its great beauty. She began to move towards the heights again, perhaps at a higher point she would have a better vantage place from which to pick her way back to civilization, and of course if possible avoid the cannibalistic monsters in the woods.
Her walk was much shorter than expected when she stopped dead in her tracks. There, a few dozen meters away. That pile of stone. Overexcited, hope flooding her, Hermione started to run towards it. If her theory proved to be correct, it would be great news. She soon reached the pile, panting. A smile spread across her face. Yes, she had been right. There was a dirt road right next to the pile. Her reading of travel and adventure novels was finally serving a purpose. It was a cairn. A pile of stones used to mark the location of a path. The forerunner of the markers on the hiking trails. She was no longer so lost! She observed the two ends of the path. It seemed to follow the curve of the mountain side. On one side it climbed gently up the slope and then laced up and disappeared into a scree and between rocky peaks far above her, on the other side it continued into the alpine meadow, descending gently and disappearing into the curve of the mountain.
The question now was which way to take it. On the one hand the path seemed to lead directly to the snowy peaks, and she was not equipped for either alpinism or the cold, and besides she doubted that it would take her out of this place. On the other side the path seemed to lead down the side of the mountain. She shuddered at the thought of going back down to the altitude where the man-eating monsters were, but the exact direction in which the path went reassured her. If it really went down hugging the mountain like this, she would reach the forest elevation on one side of the mountain where the cannibal giants would not be.
Hermione nodded, determined. She would go down the path. She began to walk briskly, tired from her flight but determined to get out of there. It was much easier to walk down a path, no roots or rocks to get her feet caught in, no tall grass soaking her clothes, no brambles tearing her trousers and legs. She sighed, she had to remember to check for ticks. And with luck she would find a stream or river big enough to wash herself. She winced at the thought, the water would be cold, but it would be worth it to get rid of the dust and grime and dirt she'd probably accumulated in the monsters' lair.
Just then, she heard the sound of running water behind that stone over there. She approached and discovered a small stream cutting the path. Far too thin to really wash, but enough water to at least refresh and quench her thirst. She approached the running water flowing along a large, flat, mossy stone just below a scree and drank, in the palm of her two clasped hands. She would have preferred to drink water that had been boiled beforehand, but she didn't have the resources to do that now. Besides, it was better than getting dehydrated and risking much worse. Besides, spring water at this altitude was often directly drinkable, without the need for prior treatment, and her crystal clarity swept away her last doubts.
Oh how good it was. To feel the cool water against her parched lips and running down her bruised throat. To feel the coolness spreading in her chest, as her blood refreshed by the water running down her throat continued to flow, giving her the pleasant sensation of feeling every vein in her chest as a line of coolness. She shuddered with pleasure. It was really something to realise how deprivation could make something as simple as a sip of fresh water so pleasurable.
She continued to enjoy the little joy of the stream, dipping her hands in the water and wetting the back of her neck with the cool water, feeling the weight of the sun that had crushed her during the last hour's walk lessen as she came into contact with the coolness. She ended up spraying her face profusely, feeling her features relax as the water washed away the soot, grime, dust and sweat.
She stood still for a moment, enjoying the sensation as she felt the last remnants of the terror that inhabited her when she was at the mercy of the monsters in their cave. Then deciding to take a break, deeming the monsters far enough behind her, she sat down on a rock at the edge of the path, to look out over the valley, perhaps spotting a path or a way back to civilisation. From where she was, the forest limits being much lower, she could see the river of André that she had crossed a short while ago, the umbel plain looking almost white from the distance. Finally the other mountain on the other side of the plain, much lower and entirely covered in trees except for the thin ridge of grass at its summit. Perhaps she should try to go back this way... She quickly abandoned the idea as she thought of the huge reptilian creature with fiery eyes that seemed to have made this long mountain, stretching out like a great sleeping creature, her domain. Yes, her best bet was still to try to go around the lonely mountain and see what was on the other side and try to get out that way.
Her moment of calm was abruptly interrupted when she heard footsteps approaching at the bend in the path. Immediately tensing up, Hermione ran towards the scree to hide behind one of the large rocks there. There was no point in taking unnecessary risks. This bloody mountain was home to psychopathic man-eating monsters. She had no desire to end up again in the clutches of a similar creature that would want to swallow her or something. Maybe André had been good to her and allowed her to cross the river despite the strong current (even if it had cost her an ornament and several hours drying in the sun that she could have spent moving forward and avoiding the monsters). But she didn't want to take any risks and had acted somewhat reflexively. The memory of the trolls was too recent for any other more measured reaction.
So she remained crouched behind the rock, listening for footsteps and praying that she would not be spotted and that whoever or whatever was approaching would pass her by without noticing her. She frowned. The footsteps were accompanied by metallic noises, like metal plates clashing and voices in a language that was unknown to her.
Hermione gritted her teeth and listened, hoping that they would pass and continue on their way. Suddenly the footsteps stopped and the voices fell silent. She held her breath and braced herself, praying that she was not the reason for the halt. Silence settled down, heavy, for a few minutes. Time itself seemed to stand still.
Then she heard the footsteps and the clattering of metal accelerate as if running in the direction of her hiding place. Hermione tried to run towards the scree, but too late, a large humanoid shape was in her way. She came to a sharp stop feeling the cold, hard, smooth touch of steel against her throat.
In front of her was a most unlikely sight. Three large cats, easily six feet tall, stood before her on their two hind legs, all clad in armor of dark steel plates resting on medieval-looking garments, slightly baggy trousers, striped in black and red, falling to their knees, thick, tough tops cut for combat also in black and red. They were armed to the teeth, each with a large halberd with a blade as eccentric as it was vicious and deadly, and all had a longsword at their waist and a shield on their arm. Two of them had fur as black as night and bright green eyes, the third was light grey with black stripes and amber eyes.
Feeling the blade of one of the halberds against her throat, Hermione swallowed and raised her hands in the air in surrender. The two black cats (twins?) began to talk to each other in their strange language (a form of ancient French mixed with Latin? With additions of words of Celtic origin? The consonances and the organization of the words in the sentence gave her that impression).
After a few minutes of discussion between the cat men in armour, a very uncomfortable moment for her as the iron of one of them's halberd was too close to her throat for her liking, the grey cat man addressed her in their strange language. Hermione cocked her head slightly to the side, unable to understand. The catman paused, making a sound like a sigh before he began to speak in a strong French accent that she did not recognise. Probably a regional accent.
"Who are you? What are you doing here?"
Hermione answered immediately preferring not to incur the wrath of the group of heavily armed cat men. "Hermione, I am a lost traveller."
At this the grey cat-man addressed the other two, Hermione deduced that he must be translating what she had just said, or something similar. They talked to each other for a few minutes, but this time the three cat men had placed their weapons in a much less threatening position, Hermione was really relieved to no longer have the steel at her throat.
The grey cat man addressed her again. "Did you have anything to do with the explosion that took place a few hours ago in the area?"
Hermione hesitated for a moment. Should she tell them the truth? Lie to them? After a few seconds of hesitation she decided to speak the honest facts. If she had to make an assumption she would say that these cat men warriors had been sent here to investigate the explosion. Explaining the situation to them would allow them to finish their mission if her guess was right and possibly explain her problem at the same time and hopefully they might be more willing to help her after her show of honesty.
"Yes indeed."
"Explain." he said as he squinted his eyes, his pupils thinning to a thin vertical slit in his eyes.
"Last night I was attacked by huge, cannibalistic, malformed giants who kidnapped me and took me to their cave to eat me. I managed to escape by blowing up a gas pocket at the bottom of their cave as a diversion. That must be the explosion you are talking about."
"How did you manage to escape? They tend to tie their victims securely to the bottom of their caves," he said suspiciously.
Hermione found herself hesitating again. Should she show her powers? She had no reason to hide them, at least not here. Frankly, if six foot tall cat men in plate armour speaking an ancient French dialect were surprised by a few flames at the tip of her fingers she would eat all her clothes. Besides, it was better to go on with the truth than a flimsy lie that would make her even more suspect in their eyes.
"I have powers, I can make flames appear. I used it to burn the ropes and set fire to a wick dipping into the gas pocket," she finally said.
" Sorcery? " asked the grey cat man.
"I don't know."
"Show me."
Hermione complied, at this point anyway... and then she didn't want to feel the blade of the catman's halberd against her throat again. She turned the palm of her hand towards the sky and concentrated, pushing the power through her veins, forming and shaping the energy into the form she wanted it to take. After two or three seconds an orange flame appeared in the palm of his hand. The catmen's eyes widened.
"I see. We must take you to the citadel for further interrogation and find out what to do with you."
At this the two black cat men approached and before she could react one grabbed her by the shoulders to restrain her while the other placed heavy black iron handcuffs around her wrists that looked old but strong. Hermione was then forced to walk towards the path flanked by the two black cat men and walking behind the grey.
Hermione bit her lip to stop herself from screaming or breaking down in tears. Enough horrible things had already happened in the last two days. What had she done to fate? No sooner had she left the lair of the vile man-eating giants than she found herself captured by cat men in armour. Her life had gone mad. She was going to wake up, it could only be a dream. It was impossible for such absurd things to happen in reality. To be able to do small magical things with her strange power, why not. Seeing strange and elusive creatures out of the corner of one's eye at times, nothing to worry about. But ember-eyed monsters, cannibal giants, cat-men in medieval armour apparently leading her to a citadel as a prisoner... It was too much. It couldn't be real. Maybe she would finally wake up in her room and discover that her parents hadn't actually decided to abandon her in the middle of nowhere.
But to her horror the cold steel of the handcuffs and their painful rubbing on her wrists already bruised by the rough and cruel ropes of the cannibals, the pain in her limbs, the dust still covering her clothes. The feeling of discomfort. These were all reminders of the reality of her situation.
The journey was long and silent. The cat men watching her from the corner of their eyes, looking suspicious, the landscape invisible to her eyes turned to the ground, focused on trying to calm her approaching panic attack. She barely saw the crossroads. The bright, curious eyes watching from the shadows of the woods nearby. The way they followed was beginning to climb. The beaten earth, soon, gradually replaced by stones.
After she couldn't tell how long their group stopped, Hermione, wondering what could be going on, looked up. She stood still for a moment. She was stunned. In front of her was a large fortress with dark, stark, weathered stone walls. The fortress seemed to be embedded in the mountain, the building half troglodyte if the windows and arrow slits in the cliff face were any indication. The fortress was huge, massive, a titan of a wall of towers and battlements leaning against the cliff, growing to its summit and surpassing it by some high towers and bastions. The fortress, massive and impressive as it was, seemed to be a relic of another age, with many of the towers in ruins, serving as homes for the armies of crows circling around them. The main defensive structures seemed to be well maintained but the rest seemed to be slowly crumbling under the weight of centuries or millennia. The 'citadel' as its captors called it had obviously once been a majestic and resplendent city, a symbol of majesty. But its present state gave it a gloomy aspect, more grandiose in its regality, but crushing in its secular power.
Between her and the huge gate of the fortress lay a wide canyon of unfathomable depths, the grey cat seemed to be communicating by sign with someone on the rampart. Probably to ask them to lower the drawbridge, she thought. Hermione had studied the various sign languages out of curiosity a few years ago when one of her classmates had turned out to be deaf. And what she saw did not please her. The sign language used was obviously made for purely military use. The precision of the movements, the impression of a pure passage of information, precise and without nuance. A way of giving orders and not of holding a conversation. This only confirmed what she had already feared when she had noticed the ease and skill with which the cat men moved in heavy armour and wielded their halberds. The culture of these creatures seemed to her to be terribly militaristic for her at the moment.
A few seconds later the huge drawbridge began to lower, the sound of the heavy black chains sliding was almost deafening. As soon as the drawbridge was lowered the grey cat man stepped onto the bridge. A jab of the staff of a halberd on her back urged her to move forward, and not wanting to make things more difficult Hermione did so.
Two minutes later, Hermione entered the inner courtyard of the fortress. The place was quite large and open, houses of all sizes and styles, probably built in different periods, leaned against the wall. From the inside the place looked more like a large town than a fortress. Amongst the dwellings she could see shops and craftsmen's workshops. Many people were out and about, mostly other men cats as well as women cats of all ages. She saw a group of children, kittens? Crossing an alleyway laughing.
Cat people were not the only inhabitants of the citadel. Far fewer in number, but still present, she spotted all manner of creatures as she was led through the narrow streets, between the timbered houses, up to the heights of the fortress. A bewitchingly beautiful woman with large white wings on her back seemed to be accompanying what must obviously be her daughter, given the small red wings and the obvious resemblance between the two. She also saw a group of green-skinned people with horns on their heads talking to a stall in a language unknown to her and different from that of the cat people. A group of strange four-armed creatures, dressed in simple, soberly coloured clothing, each with at least one tail (one of them had four), with purplish skin and eyes hidden under strange caps of obvious cultural significance, sat at a bar. A little further on, a similar creature, except that his head was simply turbaned and his three eyes were uncovered, (yes three eyes, one of them was vertical in the middle of his forehead, the surprise made her stop walking for a fraction of a second), was standing behind the counter of a stall selling what seemed to be all sorts of clothes with cuts far more diverse than anything she had ever seen in normal human shops. She also saw some strangely dressed humans, but they were clearly not the majority here.
The fortress seemed to be full of life and seemed to be living normally but several details, big details, made her very uncomfortable. In the streets she had seen several creatures and humans with collars around their necks working, all wearing some kind of cream burlap uniform. Finally, the sheer number of cat men and cat women in arms on the streets at a particular post or patrolling was disturbing. She had been rendered speechless with surprise once again when the unrailed staircase she was climbing up to the city's heights was almost brushed by a huge winged reptilian creature ridden by an armed catman.
Finally, after several flights of stairs and several circles of walls passed Hermione arrived at what seemed to be their destination. A square, dark grey stone building on top of a bastion, austere and with a flat, crenellated roof and windows closed with thick metal bars. The building looked like either a barracks or a guardroom. The grey cat man knocked on a heavy oak door reinforced with iron. A few seconds later the door was opened by a large cat man with brown fur striped with black, he wore an eye patch and several scars on his hands and face. Part of his right ear had been torn off. He was dressed in thick red and black canvas clothing reinforced with leather. There was no trace of armour, but a long sword similar to that of the other cat men, but a little more elaborate, hung at his waist. His remaining eye glowed a deep amber and was fixed on her as he exchanged a few words in their old incomprehensible old french with the grey cat man. After a few words the latter left in the direction of a staircase leading up to the upper circle of walls as the two black cat men pushed her inside the austere and ominous barracks.
The interior of the building was like the exterior, stark, bare stone walls lit by lanterns containing strange luminous crystals with a cold white light. She was led down a corridor before being pushed into what appeared to be a military office. A black wooden table stood in the middle of the room, various papers piled on it in a very orderly fashion, an archaic writing instrument placed on the table next to a sheet of what appeared to be an ancient, slightly yellow paper. Surely made by a process long since abandoned by the people of the world she knew. On the bare stone walls were displayed various medieval weapons. Several swords, daggers, a mace... in a corner of the room was exposed an armor similar to that of the other cat men, but more finely worked and with more gilding. The person she was talking to was obviously someone of higher rank. Hermione swallowed. She had a feeling that something very important was going to happen here.
The old scarred cat man sat down behind the table in a green upholstered seat. On her side of the table Hermione had a small stool. One of the black cat men pointed to the stool and pushed her forward slightly. Hermione sat down on it, trying not to show too much fear, and agitation.
The old Cat Man stared at her for a moment before addressing one of his guards. A short exchange took place before he nodded and turned back to her.
"Your name," he said in normal French with a heavy accent.
She swallowed, trying to keep her expression neutral. "Hermione."
"Your full name."
"Hermione, Sam, Taylor," she said, the advice she'd read in adventure novels and books about ancient European legends fresh in her mind. Never give your full name to anyone who is not human.
Fortunately the old cat did not seem to realise the deception and nodded, having turned his eyes to some documents which he had just pulled from the drawers under the table. He took his pen and prepared to make notes, apparently to make a file.
"Your age."
"Eleven years old."
"What were you doing in Matag Forest earlier today?"
Hermione held back a sigh of displeasure at having to tell her story again. She stuck to the facts, monsters had kidnapped her to eat her. The old man's questions became more and more precise. Yes, she is connected to the explosion in this part of the forest. Yes, she was directly responsible. No she did not know how powerful it would be. Yes she had fled directly. Why to the mountain? Because she had theorized that the monsters would be more likely to look for her down a slope than up one. The questions then became broader. What was she doing in the valley away from other humans, why had her parents abandoned her, what was she planning to do to get away. Yes, she had seen the strange stones covered in runes after she had broken camp the day her parents abandoned her. No she didn't know what they were. No she had never heard of the kingdom of Ulthar. The interrogation continued with a few more questions, including whether she had had any other possessions before the troll attack. (The old cat had taken a few seconds to name them, apparently exasperated by her use of the term monster or cannibal. )
After one or two final questions of minor importance he put down his quill and gave a long, tired, sad sigh.
"Miss Taylor, yesterday you entered the territory of the Kingdom of Ulthar illegally. From what you have told me you are a witch born of non-magical parents and therefore know little about the real world. As you saw as you drove through the city there is a whole world of magic now hidden from the eyes of humans without the gift by a world-wide law and ritual called the Statute of Secrecy.
Yes, because as obvious as it may seem, after all she had experienced and all she could do, magic seemed to be very real and used here like any other law governing the universe, just as scientists used the laws of physics to make planes fly. The realisation had been quite brutal but Hermione got over it easily enough as now many, many things suddenly made a lot more sense. She nodded silently waiting for him to continue. The story sounded exciting but she was beginning to fear where it was going to lead.
"About three centuries ago the Statute of Secrecy was proposed by several groups of extremist traditionalist wizards who saw non-magical humans as a threat to their culture. The idea has spread and been emulated, especially because of the existence of certain religious groups with beliefs incompatible with magic who have taken violent action against wizards and magical creatures."
"Christianity?"
"Yes, for example. The point is that the policy of the statute was anything but a unanimous decision of all magical governments. Status is at the root of a global war between the Statusarians, the anti-Statusarians and the Subjugationists. I'm not going to go into detail because it's not my role here. I'll just say that it was a horrific and deadly war and that entire species came close to extinction and others never recovered.
A shiver of horror ran down Hermione's spine. 14-18 was apparently not the first world war but rather the second, if she understood correctly. And the first one, the magical war, had apparently been terrifying, the implication of more or less successful attempts to genocide not races but entire intelligent species was horrifying. She couldn't imagine the kind of destruction magic could be capable of if non-magics had managed to make weapons as devastating as nuclear bombs.
"The fact is that the statutarians have won a victory. A mixed victory, but a victory nonetheless. Mixed in the sense that some countries and kingdoms did not fall and were still powerful enough at the end of the war to conduct tough negotiations on the exact terms of the statute. The Matagon Kingdom of Ulthar where you are now is one of the anti-statutary countries that resisted. The terms that were negotiated at the time stipulated the expulsion of all non-magicals from Ulthar, that Ulthar would be entirely hidden from the non-magical world and that all entry to the territory would have to be done with official permission from the kingdom amongst other things. All violations of these laws have very heavy penalties. The kingdom of Ulthar suffered terribly during the status war and the kingdom's defiance of the magical nations that supported the status is such that all of these laws are still in force and followed nowadays.
Hermione nodded. A less intelligent child than her would probably not have understood any of this, but she had got the gist of it. In short she had broken a very important and ancient law without realising it. A law which if broken apparently carried terrible punishment.
"Miss Taylor, do you understand your position?"
Hermione nodded and said, her eyes glistening with tears that were difficult to hold back. "I understand yes, but I... I didn't mean to trespass, there was that creature that stopped me from turning back and my parents were gone and I didn't know anything about it..."
The scarred old cat man put his hand over his face with a frustrated sigh. "That's why I'm here in a difficult position. The law must be followed, the Treaty of Ulthar's Laws of Protection was a magically binding treaty, I can't not enforce it."
Hermione began to lose her footing and panic completely. The events of the day had already worn down her emotional capacity almost entirely, the rope holding her back from completely panicking and dissolving into hysterical crying was extremely thin. What was he going to do to her? Kill her? Torture her? Put her in a dungeon for the rest of her life with only the rats for company? A tear rolled down her cheek as her breathing became rapid and erratic.
The old cat man stood up and walked over to her, putting a hand on her shoulder, his tail wagging anxiously. "There, there, little one. It's all right. The law is pretty tough, but some mitigating factors and sentence reduction clauses have been added over time. It won't be anything too terrible."
Hermione looked up at him with her big, tear-filled eyes, pleading and desperate.
The old cat man looked completely ill-equipped to handle children on the verge of a panic attack. The best thing he could think of to say was: "Don't worry little one, you'll get the lightest sentence in the law. You have all the mitigating circumstances on your side. It's just ten years of servitude in a Matagone family."
ten years... servitude. Hermione's breathing quickened even more, her heart pounding in her chest, the memory of the trolls, Hermione being eaten, killed, impaled, tortured, the slaves in the streets, the abandonment, she collapsed from the stool with uncontrollable sobs, the stress, the explosion, she could still see the skulls before her, the vicious knife in the hands of the sadistic looking troll, all coherence in her young mind shattered, ten years, servitude, slavery, torture, images flashed before her eyes, a thousand images of horror, of trolls disembowelling her, of ember-eyed monsters, skeletal Hermione dressed in rags, empty eyed, empty looking, carrying stones, working night and day under whips and insults. Blood, tears, screams, pain, trolls, bones, ember eyes, bones, skulls, blood, screams, her death, her thousand deaths, horror, abandonment, no mother, no father, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing. ... ... ...
Suddenly everything seemed calmer, like a sheet over her feelings. She felt light, as if nothing had any consequences, as if she could let herself be guided. Her vision, which had begun to blur, refocused, and she saw the vial that one of the cat men had placed under her nose, its strange vapours interrupting her panic attack... With each breath she felt further away, lighter, less connected to her body.
She retained only a few memories of the hours that followed, vague impressions, imprecise sensations. She remembered being taken to a cell, where she had since waited, staring at the bare grey stone walls. The calm forced upon her by whatever the cat men had done slowly evaporating, her rationality slowly returning while her gaze was still lost in the distance. The words of the cat men slowly coming back to her at the most the effects of the drug? Yes it could only be some kind of drug, a morphine derivative perhaps? was slowly wearing off. She had had a panic attack. All her previously suppressed feelings and fears hitting her at once made her lose her mind at the tactless announcement that she would spend the next ten years of her life as what she had directly assumed was slavery in its worst form with all the horrors that such a thing implied.
But under the effect of the drug, the cat man had explained to her in more detail the exact ins and outs of her situation. It was strange that she could remember it so clearly. Morphine tended to almost completely prevent the formation of clear memories. So it must have been something else.
All this to say that her worst fears were apparently unfounded. The cat men, Matagots as she had learned their name, were not monsters with a completely unfair legal system. Her case was apparently an exception, a rarity for which their law had no exact clause. But as the law had to be applied. Security chief Matagot was apparently magically bound by contract to apply the law to the letter with just enough freedom to adapt the sentences to the particular case. Some cases required to be taken to the court system and judges but hers, although exceptional, was clear enough to be addressed directly.
Therefore Chief Matagot, his name escaped him, had given her the lightest possible sentence for the offence of illegal entry into the territory of the Kingdom of Ulthar. That is, ten years as a servant in a Matagon family where she would be treated well and have the rights and duties of a normal servant, except for the pay. She would be housed and fed and would be the responsibility of the family that would take her in and their other servants. The explanation had calmed her down quite effectively. She had gone from seeing her future as the worst hours of the transatlantic triangular trade to a fairly light if very long sentence of community service.
Hermione didn't like the idea of spending the next ten years as a servant, uneducated, without seeing the people who mattered to her, without communication with the outside world. But running away would be completely impossible. Oh how she wished she could just be sent back to England where she could go and live in her real home, see Helene, Louise and Mark again. But how could she leave? She had seen with her own eyes how dangerous the area was. In the event that she managed to escape, she would find herself outside the walls of the citadel of Ulthar, at the mercy of all the hideous creatures roaming the plains, mountains and forests who would not hesitate for a second before devouring her raw, literally. And she didn't even know how vast the kingdom was. She had heard of other smaller towns in the corridors leading to her cell, and if she walked all day every day without any bad encounters it would take her days or weeks to reach the border.
So she was resigned, hoping to be treated well by her future masters. An hour later she heard footsteps in the corridor leading to her jail. Soon she saw a tall Matagot woman dressed in a large deep burgundy dress with black borders, obviously of excellent quality. She wore several gold and silver bracelets on her wrists, two silver rings encrusted with small blue gems on her fingers and a silver necklace around her neck. Her fur was a very dark grey with black stripes, short and well-brushed, her amber eyes watching her. Her posture was straight and elegant, and she had a certain regal air about her in the way she held herself. Hermione had noticed that it was difficult for her to judge the Matagots' age, surely something to do with their differences being too pronounced for her to be able to pick up on the really telling details of such things. Moreover, she had not yet had the opportunity to observe enough Matagots up close to notice their differences from each other, apart from the colour and pattern of their fur and the colour of their eyes.
The Matagot woman looked at her for a few more seconds before saying. "My name is Nepeta Cateris of the noble family of Cateris. You must be Hermione Taylor."
Hermione nodded. "Yes Lady Cateris."
Nepeta made an absent gesture with her hand. "You may call me Lady Nepeta."
" Yes, Lady Nepeta."
"Efelis explained your circumstances to me, which I must confess are most unusual. Unheard of. I, Nepeta, on behalf of the Cateris have agreed to take over the enforcement of your sentence for the next ten years.
Hermione nodded again as another armed Matagot in a slightly different uniform, this time blue and black, unlocked the door and waved her out. As soon as she stepped out of the cell, Lady Nepeta began to walk down the corridor, beckoning her to follow.
Soon they emerged from the guardhouse and Lady Nepeta began to guide her through the narrow streets of the citadel, explaining what was going to happen to her. Apparently she would be living in the servants' quarters and would follow the same rules and duties as they did except that she would have no pay or leave and would live completely on the premises.
Soon she arrived in a place with richer and more opulent housing and cleaner, wider streets. As they walked through the city Hermione became more aware of the diversity of the inhabitants. The majority of the population seemed to be made up of Matagots, and they also seemed to occupy most of the guard and security posts, as well as running most of the shops, not surprising given their proportion in the population. The rest were a cosmopolitan conglomeration of all sorts of creatures, some more or less humanoid in appearance, others not at all. She was fascinated when she saw a giant insect of some sort, vaguely resembling a praying mantis in a long silk robe, pass by in the street beside her. She could not take her eyes off the creature for a few seconds before hurrying to catch up with Lady Nepeta. In this non Matagonian population, from what she could see in the streets, many were purplish-skinned beings with four arms and one or more tails, some wearing strange caps covering their eyes as she had seen earlier, and quite similar clothes between them, surely cultural, others, their three eyes uncovered and sporting much freer styles of dress. The rest she could not formulate a clear majority... just that humans seemed to be quite rare. Since leaving the guardhouse she had only seen four. And even then one of them had strange black tentacles for a left arm and really disturbing insectoid legs, but he was unmistakably human in every other way... She preferred not to dwell on that.
The houses here were larger and more spaced out, the space overall more open and airy. This must have been one of the nicest areas, she thought. A few minutes of walking later Lady Nepeta stopped in front of an iron gate leading to a garden at the end of which stood a large manor house of grey stone, slightly lighter than the other stones of the city. Its style appeared to be high Gothic, contrasting with the older Romanesque style of the remaining stone buildings and defensive structures. The manor must have been built a few centuries after the first foundations of the citadel.
Lady Nepeta placed a hand on the gate and it opened at her touch as if recognising the lady of the house. She held out her hand to Hermione explaining that the touch was necessary for the magic protecting the house to let her through. Hermione took her hand, her eyes widening in surprise slightly at the touch, Lady Nepeta's fur was silky, much softer than she had imagined, and the underside of her fingers, the palm of her hand... Hermione had touched cats' paws before, and she knew the texture of paw pads when she felt them.
They passed through the gate, Hermione feeling as if she had just passed through an invisible wall of water but without getting wet, the sensation was really strange. Just then Lady Nepeta let go of her hand and they continued down the long driveway leading to the manor. The garden was quite large, with many trees and plants. Hermione spotted a vegetable garden in the distance, it seemed to be full of various herbs unknown to her but even from here she could recognise one of them. Catnip, seriously. She hesitated, wanting to ask Lady Nepeta but stopped herself. Lady Nepeta had a really stern look on her cat face and was too intimidating for her to dare to speak up or voice an opinion without being asked.
Up close the manor was really more impressive. It was divided into two wings framing a central courtyard, and from here she could see all the details, the gargoyles, the towers and turrets jutting out from the large pointed roofs, the venetian windows. It was obvious that the family was wealthy enough to maintain servants and that the manor, given its size, certainly needed them to be kept in good repair.
Lady Nepeta was explaining to her, showing her the garden, that her duties would vary from tending to the plants and the garden as well as the domestic chores depending on what her superior asked her to do. For it seemed that she would have a superior. Another older and more experienced servant to tell her what to do and how to do it.
They entered the manor, a large entrance hall with two staircases leading up to the first floor and a place to leave shoes and coats, and a large space giving access to the rest of the manor. The floor was made of grey-green stone slabs and the entrance was richly furnished. A display of wealth and power but not overwhelmingly so. No overflow of gilt and jewels and carvings but simple and tasteful entrance furniture that emphasised the noble materials used. On one wall hung what appeared to be the family crest. Yellow background, two green catnip sprigs crossed below a helmet that seemed to be typically used in Matagon armour. Typically recognisable by the shaped cat ears on the top of the helmet.
Lady Nepeta picked up a small bell from one of the pieces of furniture in the hall and rang it. A few seconds later, footsteps were heard coming from the back of the manor. Then a Matagot woman appeared. She was small in stature, with a plain brown fur and blue eyes. She was dressed in a simple, unadorned blue-grey cloth dress. She greeted Lady Nepeta respectfully before turning to Hermione and looking at her with a curious expression.
"Carmine, this is Hermione Taylor, she was discovered in the lands of Ulthar illegally after getting lost, having been abandoned by her parents. You know what happens in such cases, she will be your subordinate from now on. Teach her well and explain everything to her."
The curiosity in Carmine's eyes turned to pity and she nodded politely before taking Hermione by the hand and leading her through the manor to show her around and explain how things would work. She will be working at the manor mainly doing domestic chores or tending the garden. She would have a room and be fed. She would also have one day off a week. The manor was really big and had a certain austere beauty. Apparently her arrival would be welcomed by the rest of the servants. No reason to turn away someone to divide the work further with.
That evening Hermione met the rest of the servants, mostly charming people. The servants were mainly Matagots although there was one other human. Old Jack, the gardener. An austere man with a cold look in his eyes. Hermione was a little afraid of him. Another particular servant was a forest nymph, Nailla, a beautiful young woman with light green skin, golden eyes, and a voice as sweet as honey. Of course she worked mainly in the garden with Jack.
That night, alone in her little maid's room, a bed, a desk, a wardrobe and a small shelf, empty of all forms of possessions. Hermione collapsed on her bed, her eyes fixed on the lines of the wood of the ceiling planks. She would be a servant in this house for the next ten years. No chance of regaining her freedom, in the middle of a kingdom she knew nothing about, full of unknowns and danger. And that was also obvious to the Matagots she now served. She now wore a collar around her neck indicating the family she belonged to, no one in the city would help her leave and she had nothing to trade for her freedom. Her guardians were quite rightly convinced that Hermione could not leave without indirectly causing her death by the dangers and horrors lurking outside the citadel walls as the security preventing her to flee was rather lax. She shuddered at the idea of being alone, in the forest beyond the walls, The memory of the trolls still fresh in her mind.
And then as much as she wanted to regain her freedom, to return to her real home in England, to see the people who mattered to her, those who had practically educated her while her parents neglected her, to do what she wanted, to continue learning, to live her own life. Here, in Lady Nepeta's manor, she was housed and fed. Her fate could have been much worse. For now she would wait. To see how things would unfold and when an opportunity presented itself, she would leave.
The next three days went by quite calmly and simply, to Hermione's surprise, no degrading stains, no insults, she was really treated like any other servant in the manor. She just followed Carmine around and helped as best she could with the household chores. At noon she would go and eat with the other servants, often the leftovers of the noble family's meals rearranged. (Nailla proved to be an excellent cook) Before resuming in the afternoon until the evening. She had helped in the kitchen, in the garden, in the laundry... (some enchanted fabrics had to be washed by hand and not by magic so as not to disturb their enchantments. ) and other tasks. Hermione was an extremely quick learner and the next day was given more autonomy in her tasks. Carmine would only drop by regularly to check on her and give advice.
Hermione was beginning to get into a sort of routine when on the evening of her third day of servitude she was surprised to see that a second bed had been installed in her room. She barely had time to start wondering when the door to her room was opened by Carmine. Carmine wasted no time and said to her. "Hermione my dear, we have found someone in an extremely similar situation to you and Lady Nepeta has agreed to take her into her service as well for the duration of her sentence. You will be her referral and explain the ropes to her. Think of it as a test, will you?"
Hermione nodded in shock. Someone like her? As lost? Someone who's been subjected to their harsh laws too?
Carmine resumed. "Hermione, this is Aster Legravallina. Aster, this is Hermione Taylor. Get along with each other," she said before closing the door behind the newcomer.
Aster, from what Carmine had said, stood motionless in the doorway of the room, arms crossed over her chest with a strangely cute pout on her lips, mumbling something about: "fucking Matagot... stupid laws... had to... why are they complaining if I'm blowing up trolls... get the fuck out of here..." All in very flowery language.
She was wearing the same blue-grey dress as she was, the uniform of the maids. Her skin was completely white, like porcelain, her long red hair falling down her back in loose curls. She had a very pretty face adorned with two beautiful piercing green eyes (didn't one of her eyes just glow? No, it must have been a trick of the light. ) and looked about nine or ten years old. Which was rather strange, given that the way she held herself suggested someone much more mature than such a young child.
Suddenly, Aster raised her head and stared straight into her eyes. Her right eye began to glow unearthly. A toothy grin played on her lips. "Good evening Miss Hermione. So I'm not the only unlucky one to have fallen into Ulthar's clutches. A pleasure to meet you."