Chapter 8 - Her Master's Voice

Prince Wikki entered the slave quarters, sword drawn. “You,” he said to the slave master, pointing the tip of his sword at his face, “Out.”

The slave master dropped to his legs and bolted for the door without a word.

Looking around the large enclosed barn, he was genuinely surprised to see the condition it was in. The slave master obviously kept his affairs in order. The floor was well-packed clay, and the stalls the slaves were kept in were built from heavy wooden beams. The wood itself was old and gray, with chips and dings from years of heavy traffic. The rations were kept in a loft; obviously to keep the slaves from eating the entire supply in one sitting. The dung pile was empty, having been taken to market earlier that morning.

Wikki walked slowly around rows of stalls that were built around the center supports. Each stall, with the exception of one, contained a single slave chained to the center wall. He had ordered that the slaves be kept inside today until he could inspect them.

‘Three Sets and Five, ’ he counted to himself, ‘Not counting the wedding feast. So Four Sets even. How interesting.’

Reaching into his purse, he pulled out a long round loop of ornate gold chain. Hanging from the chain was a gold coin. He wrapped the chain several times around his upper left claw, then spoke.

{I know you can understand my speech,} he said. The startled stares from the entire group of slaves confirmed it. {I am here to sacrifice one of you to the great fate, with the exception of that one.} He indicated Paul. {All of you will decide which of your group I will sacrifice. I will return in a moment to know your decision.}

With that, the prince-king left the quarters.

He waited outside only a few moments before returning with the slave master behind him. He didn’t want to give the slaves too much time to think about it. {I grow impatient to appease the great fate. Which one of you is to die this morning?}

“Take me,” said one of the slaves, “But please spare my herd.”

{If it pleases me, I may,} replied Wikki, {But if you refuse what I seek, then I shall kill all of you.}

The slave master was stunned. Did the prince actually think he was talking to one of the slaves? He thought the prince had lost his senses, but he did as instructed and freed one of the slaves to his care.

Wikki took the slave from the quarters and led it to the front gates. Workers were busily working the task of rebuilding the walkway along the entire front of the city. The bodies had been cleared from the base of the wall, and the debris from the gaping hole was being picked up. Wikki tightened his grip on the slave’s restraints as the front gates were opened. He retained control as the slave got its first glimpse of the carnage outside the city walls. Even the worms impaled on the front gates were still there; their color having changed from dusky purple to deathly white.

Leading the slave out into the open field, he wrapped the golden chain around his claw once more.

{You go to your death without fear,} he said to the slave.

“My life is precious to me,” the slave said solemnly, “But I do not fear death.”

{Spoken like a true leader,} he replied, {That is why I brought you here. You are the leader of your people here, are you not?}

The slave hesitated, {I once was.}

It was Wikki’s turn to hesitate, then the gold medallion translated his slight churring noise into a chuckle. {Once a leader, always a leader. Tell me slave; what is your name?}

“Noliea,” the slave replied.

{No-lee-ahh,} the master replied slowly, {I have learned that all the females of your people have names that end with the ‘ahh’ sound. Correct?}

Noliea was becoming overwhelmed with the situation. First, she was going to die. Next, the master had led her out to the middle of the carnage to do it. Then, not only did the master begin to speak in perfect Zeffra, but he carried a totem made by her people to do it!

{Is that correct?} the master thundered.

“Yes,” she said, snapping back to her senses.

{And the slave who was protected by the great fate last night. What is its name?}

“Paul.”

{A male, correct?}

“Yes.”

{And the one who pretends to look like a rotten corpse. What is its name?}

“Her name is Shaniddia.”

{A female, correct?}

“Yes.”

{She is a healer, correct?}

The question caught Noliea completely by surprise. She had always thought that the masters knew nothing of a healer’s abilities.

{I grow impatient with your hesitations,} the master said, drawing his sword, {If you find life so precious, then you will answer me the moment I ask the question. Now: She is a healer, correct?}

“Yes,” said Noliea, praying she hadn’t betrayed her entire race.

The master was silent for a long time as it led her farther and farther into the front fields. Noliea noticed that the flesh-worms were concentrated in an area near the front of the city. The two of them walked well past the last of the carcasses, into an area that had not been stained by blood.

{My name is Prince-King Wikki,} the master said after a time, {I am the third eldest son of king Derit. My city is many days travel from here, beyond the great plains. Do you know of a city named Lendoren?}

A wave of sheer terror swept though Noliea. This master knew of the capital city! She had already resigned her life to the Goddess, and would rather die rather than have an entire city enslaved. ‘Be ready for me, beloved Goddess,’ she prayed.

“No.” she replied curtly.

{It is a large city built by your people,} master Wikki replied, {My people have built a smaller city a half days travel from it. We have established trade with them. As you can see,} it said, holdup up the gold chain and totem, {your people crafted this ornatement, which translates your speech.}

Noliea looked at the medallion as the master held it up to her level. Inscribed on the face, in Zeffrafin, was the city’s translated name: “Summer Home of the Blessed Goddess”. There was another inscription, but Wikki dropped his arm before she could read it.

{My city does not enslave your people,} the master said, almost reading her thoughts, {My father is much wiser than the people of this city. We do not grow complacent while others labor for us. They-}

“Have you come to free us?” the slave interrupted.

Had it been any other time, any other situation, Wikki would have slashed the slave for her insolence. Even his own valet knew better than to speak out of turn. However, Wikki had discovered what he was looking for, and set aside his anger for a chance to entrust this slave to him.

{It is within my power to grant,} said the master, choosing his words carefully, {But the others in this city would object of my doing so. I need to know a few things before I can release your people.}

Noliea knew the master was lying. In the one hundred and four seasons of winter she had been enslaved, she had never once witnessed an act of kindness by a master. Even the slave master had shown none; it was simply a degree less cruel than the others.

“What do you need to know?” she asked guardedly.

{Tell me of the slave named ‘Paul’,} the master began, {Why would the great fate take such an interest in him?}

“I do not know of this ‘great fate’ you speak of.”

{We call our god ‘The great fate’, as he decides our path of glory the moment we are hatched. I believe your people call him ‘the blessed goddess’.}

The master’s pronunciation of the Goddess’s title held no warmth or reverence. It was merely a translation. The master obviously held no regard for her.

“I do not know why our Goddess would hold him in any more favor than anyone else,” she said, “He is not of my birth herd; having traveled from the far north many seasons ago.”

The master stood silent for a time, lost in thought.

{Turn around. Look behind us.}

Both he and the slave turned back towards the city.

{Until last night, I did not believe in your ‘goddess’, nor in the ‘great fate’ himself. I believed that we choose our own destiny. But now...} he paused and waved his arm across the scene before them, {Now I am unsure what to believe. I came within a spears length of the great fate himself, and he wore the face of a slave. He killed thousands of the tunnel worms to protect one slave. When I approached him, he simply sent me back towards the city. And when the king struck down the slave, the great fate killed the king and many of those who paid tribute to the deed.}

He turned and faced the slave beside him, {Now I ask you again, No-lee-ahh; why would the great fate come down from the sky and protect this one slave?}

‘Come down from the sky.’ Noliea repeated to herself, ‘Shaniddia mentioned that the masters were constantly looking up for something. Blessed Goddess, I beseech you, please do not let the god of the masters into our world!’

A wave of calm swept over the terrorized centauress. Her death, the scene of carnage, the master before her, it all suddenly became insignificant. She stopped trembling, and her posture took on a more regal stand. She felt as if the Goddess herself was beside her, whispering words of support.

“I believe the Goddess would have protected any of her own who had been there.” she said with a renewed strength.

The master took a step back in surprise. Looking up at the clouds overhead, he reached up and stroked one of his antenna, lost in thought. {I see. That is something I had not considered.}

‘Indeed,’ he thought to himself, ‘I doubt the great fate would have patience enough to spare me twice if I killed this slave here and now.’

“King Wikki!” yelled a servant as it ran towards them across the fields, “King Wikki! Urgent news!”

Wikki unraveled the medallion from around his claw and put it back into his purse. He didn’t want the others in the city knowing he carried an ornament made by the slaves, and he didn’t want this slave hearing his part of the conversation.

“I gave orders not to be disturbed,” the prince-king said menacingly.

The servant fell to the ground on his back, exposing his underplates, “My king! I being news of the most greatest urgency! Your valet has been killed, and the princess Quee is alive! The entire city seeks your knowledge of this matter.”

“Dung!” exclaimed Wikki, stamping his lower leg in frustration, “The great fate will have my carcass yet.”

Indeed. A large crowd had gathered at the gates of the city, all of them too afraid to advance onto the field. All of them except two.

“You,” said Wikki, pointing to the servant still sprawled on his back, “Get up and fetch me those spears.” He pointed to a rack of spears still standing in their cradle. The servant immediately obeyed. Reaching into his purse, the prince-king cupped the medallion in his claw.

{You will stand next to me as I do battle,} he said in a voice that made a chill run down Noliea’s spines, {They are afraid that if you are injured, the great fate will return to kill them all. If you do anything but stand beside me at all times, then I will see if that is true myself.}

Pulling his claw from the purse, he grabbed the slaves’ restraints and marched towards the city.

Something bumped his leg.

With a huge splash of water, Gabriel was awake and on his feet, frantically searching for his attacker. Looking into the water, he found his assailant: a fish.

It looked like a catfish, with the exception of its sandy-brown coloring, and was about four feet in length. It seemed to completely ignore his presence as it scurried around the muddied water he had created, gulping up mouthfuls of silt through its oval maw.

‘Leeches!’ he thought as he stepped onto the bank. Pulling his shirt off, he found no trace of the creatures. Looking around, he saw that he was beside the bend of a large crystal-clear river running though a forest. The banks of the river were thin and rocky, and in many places the trees made it impossible to find the shoreline.

“Looks like Tennessee.” he said aloud, noting that the only thing lacking was any trace of songbirds. Seeing that he was alone, he stripped completely and checked to see if any leeches were on his legs... or worse.

Finding nothing trying to drain blood out of him, he looked at his clothes. Blood and puss caked his entire body, although his pants were a bit cleaner than the rest of his clothes. Even his socks were a lost cause. His hands were sticky, and he had all kinds of grimy filth between his fingers and under his nails. He looked back at the catfish still nosing around in the spot were he had been lying.

‘I hope you’re the biggest thing in here.’ he though as he flew out to the middle of the river and dove in. Although the water was clear, Gabriel had a hard time seeing to the bottom because the sky was heavily overcast. Still, the water was about thirty feet deep at this point, and he could make out the large oval stones that covered the riverbed. In a matter of minutes, he had company. Several of the sandy-colored catfish were swimming a few yards downstream of him; their open mouths making them look more like bass than catfish. When he tried swimming over to them, they simply turned and swam away, only to resume their posts directly downstream of him a minute or two later.

‘Wonder if they’re edible?’ he thought to himself. How long had it been since he had eaten something? Three months? Longer? When he was in the maze, he never got hungry or thirsty. Now, having been in this new nightmare for two days, he was starting to get really hungry. He gulped down some river water to try and drown his hunger.

‘The centaur.’

His mind wouldn’t let him stop thinking about last night. Try as he might, the nightmare made no sense. The dune-worms he understood. He had watched the movie as a kid and had nightmares about the giant worms coming to get him for weeks afterwards. But the giant insects? Where did they fit into all this? Actually, the more he thought about them, the more he though that they weren’t insects per say, but more like man-sized trilobites. Whatever they were, they weren’t from any nightmare he remembered as a child.

And where did the centaur fit into all of this? And why was there an overwhelming feeling of déjà vu every time he looked at him? In his entire life he had never, never lost his temper the way he had when the centaur was killed.

What was the connection?

The servant had no battle training whatsoever. He simply gathered two armloads of spears from the holding racks and made a straight line back towards king Wikki. One of the two people heading towards them arced a spear at the servant, and it pierced the middle of his carapace with unerring accuracy. The servant struggled forward and managed to drop the spears at Wikki’s legs before it collapsed into its death throws.

Wikki gathered three spears with his lower arms and clutched two more in each upper.

“Princess-Queen Quee,” he said as he got within range of the two, “How splendid you look in your fathers ornaments.”

The insult almost sent Quee charging straight at Wikki. But her father had taught her recognize an attackers bravado. And though this was to avenge her father’s death, she checked her emotions. “I’m glad you think so,” she retorted, “I will make sure you adorn them when your carcass is desiccated.”

“Is that so?” said the prince-king coolly, “Such words from my mate make me want to mount her all the more. Assume your stand princess, and I will seed your spawn here and now!”

Quee chucked her spear at Wikki so fast it was past him before the last word had left his mandibles. He was truly impressed with her speed. However, the spear had been wide of its intended mark and Wikki didn’t even have to move to avoid it.

Wikki aimed his spear straight at Quee’s midsection, only to have it deflected by other opponent standing next to the princess.

“You will understand if I am not grateful for your saving of my mate’s life,” Wikki taunted.

His second opponent wore only the simple adornments of a warrior. However, it was the skill he displayed carrying his weapons and the ease at which he had deflected the attack that now held his undivided attention.

“Kek.” he spat, “You would fare much better today if you stayed out of royal affairs.”

“You would say anything to see me decline this, correct?” Kek replied.

On his own, Wikki could had bested the princess. Her skills were excellent, but she had not the temperament of a true warrior. Kek, on the other hand, was easily Wikki’s equal in combat, possibly better. And the adornments Kek wore told him that this was not a formal challenge; Kek meant to kill him.

“Careful princess,” Wikki cautioned as she readied another spear, “You might hit the slave this time.”

“The slave means nothing to me,” she hissed, “Its death is of no matter.”

“Really?” said the prince-king, a hint of humor in his voice, “I think your father would disagree with you.”

Both Quee and Kek hesitated.

“Ah,” said Wikki, sensing their reluctance, “I see you realize that the great fate has decreed protection for the slaves. Look at the worm carcasses around you. While you two ran for the safety of the city walls, I alone faced them. I alone was the one to face the great fate and emerge with my life. And it is I alone who was chosen by the great fate himself to rule this city!”

The look on his opponent’s faces showed that they too were afraid of harming the slave.

“Of course,” he said taking a step away from the slave, “if you would prefer a clear shot at her.”

The slave nervously took a step and placed itself next to Wikki.

“How do you know it’s a female?” asked Kek, having never heard someone refer to a slave’s gender.

“There are subtle differences in the two sexes,” Wikki replied in reaction to his slip, “I don’t expect a member of your caste to know such things.”

“Slave master!” bellowed Quee, stepping to keep the slave from getting between her and Wikki.

“Yes, princess Quee?” said the slave master from somewhere near the gate.

“Call in the slave,” she yelled so he could hear her, “Take it back to the slaves quarters.”

The slave master emerged from the growing crowd and motioned to the slave to return from the fields.

The slave hesitated, taking a step forward, then looking back at the master next to her.

“If you leave, slave, I will kill you and all of your heard when I am done with this.” Wikki said in a low voice. The slave took another hesitant step away from the master. Wikki realized that he was not holding the medallion. He dropped all but one spear in his lower arms and reached into his purse with his remaining free claw.

{Slave!} he yelled so loud it made her jump, {I warn you. If you leave this field, you assure the deaths of your entire herd!}

The slave stopped. And in the split second Wikki appeared distracted, all three of the combatants unleashed their volley of spears.

Now reasonably clean, Gabriel didn’t look forward to putting his still smelly clothes back on. Unfortunately, he didn’t have a choice. When he returned back to the riverbank, his clothes were gone.

“Crap.” he cursed aloud.

Looking back into the river, he saw that the catfish was no longer in the shallow where he had laid the night before. He seriously doubted the fish could have come this far up the bank only to take his clothes. Had they been washed downriver? Gabriel looked carefully at the area around the large rock he had set his clothes out to dry.

Tracks. They looked like those of a young child, with a large gap between the big toe and the remaining other three digits. Slightly beyond the imprint of each toe was a small, conical impression: claws. Whatever it was, it was small and bipedal. A few feet from the rock, it joined another pair for tracks. Gabriel found a tuft of long blond hairs on a branch a few feet later.

‘Cute Gabriel, real cute. Now you’re running through the woods naked chasing two short blonds who stole your clothes. This isn’t a nightmare, this is a nuthouse.’

Gabriel lost, then found... then lost... then found the trail of tracks until he came across a small game-trail. Here the tracks were easy to follow. He quickly sped up to catch the clothes-thieves.

A noise told him that he was getting within earshot of the two. The trees in this area of the forest were much taller than those by the riverbank. Gabriel flew up to a massive limb overlooking the small clearing he was coming up to.

‘Ewoks?!??’

The two were just nearing the far side of the clearing. Both of them were carrying his clothes as well as what looked like fruits and nuts in two baskets on their backs. There were no distinctive features that could be made out from this view. Only that the soles of their bare feet were black, and the remainder of their bodies were covered with long golden-blond hair.

Swooping down over the underbrush, Gabriel dodged two or three vines, shot across the clearing, and grabbed the two by the baskets on their backs as he landed.

“Okay you two,” he said, presuming they wouldn’t understand what he was saying, “give me back my clothes.”

The two turned and looked at him with wide-eyed astonishment. And those wide eyes were wide! Big soulful Japanese-animation-style green eyes blinked back at him in surprise. They had small black noses and small mouths that were open in shock. Gabriel had half expected feral werewolves with razor-sharp teeth, but these two looked like stuffed animals you would find in a toy store.

A second later the initial shock wore off the two, and they raised their arms and dropped from the straps that were holding them to their baskets. Dropping nearly five feet to the ground, they bolted up the trail and were out of sight in a matter of seconds.

If Gabriel could sum up the entire encounter in one word, that word would be confusing. No blood, no gore, no death... nadda. Of course, he was standing naked out in the middle of a forest, but that seemed almost insignificant. ‘Where's the nightmare in this?’

Pulling his clothes out of the baskets, he dressed. He found that the baskets also contained fruits, nuts, and a small knife. Upon seeing the food, his hunger overcame his sense of caution, and he found most of the fruit to be delicious. The nuts were easily shelled and meat inside was firm and sweet. Gabriel felt a world better. Since the two creatures had not returned, he set the two baskets on the side of the trail, and took to the skies.

As soon as the first sharp-stick was thrown, Noliea bolted for the slave master. The crowd rushed forward, and she couldn’t see what was happening. With the exception of the slave master, they all pretty much looked exactly alike; and she couldn’t tell who was fighting and who was watching.

When she returned to the slave quarters, she related her story to the rest of the herd.

“So Lendoren hasn’t fallen to the masters,” said Ian, relived. “My sister has not had to endure this life.”

“If what the master said is true,” countered Melinda, emphasizing the word ‘If’.

“I agree with Melinda,” said Noliea, “I have yet to see a master perform a single act of kindness. If they know of Lendoren then they will work to conquer it.”

“What worries me is that he knew of healers,” said Shaniddia, “And how did he know I was one? I cannot believe that one of the healers back home would brighten a master!”

“He may have been told,” Paul said, subtly pointing at the slave master, “I don’t think it was coincidence that the slave master picked you to check on me.”

Shaniddia looked back at the slave master. His body lay prone on the mat where he spent most of his time. The plates on his back had started turning gray about ten seasons ago, and now looked the color of ashes in a fire. His unblinking eyes showed no orientation or focus. He could be watching everyone in the room, or he could be asleep.

The first few drops of a rainstorm clacked against the roof as the doors opened and four masters entered. One of them was being partially carried in by two others. The slave master jumped to attention and moved as they placed the wounded master on the mat. The fourth master carried a small cloth bag, into which it pulled out a gold chain and medallion.

Noliea felt her hearts leap into her throat. It was Wikki! He had survived and had come to kill the herd.

“He’s the one who said he would kill us all,” she said in a tone spiked with fear, “When I give the signal, I will block the masters. The rest of you run for the city gates. Do not stay together. That will make it harder-”

{You will stay where you are,} commanded the master holding the medallion, {We have enough guards placed outside the door to kill you all.}

The voice, the inflections, it was very different from Wikki’s. This master wasn’t him.

{The slave master has informed us that you have the ability to heal with a touch,} the master said, pointing a claw at Shaniddia.

“It...it does not work on masters.” Shaniddia stammered.

Outside, the rain began to fall.

{Both of you,} said the master holding the medallion the two masters attending the injured one. {Take that slave and bind it to the whipping pole.}

The master pointed to Henna.

The two masters moved towards the young centauress, who tried to avoid their touch. She became so frantic that the two guards began whipping her in her stall.

“She is only a child,” said Noliea to the master holding the medallion, “Take me instead.”

{Impudent grub,} said the master, slashing Noliea with the serrated edge of her arm, {I will make sure your next.}

Noliea winced in pain as she held her arm against the deep cut across her abdomen.

Henna was screaming wildly as the two guards whipped her without mercy in her stall.

{Whip it until the healer revives Kek, or until the slave is dead. If it dies, start on this one.} the master said, pointing at Noliea. {Keep going until Kek is revived, or all the slaves are dead. But leave the dead one for last.}

Noliea looked on helplessly at Henna as the two masters took turns whipping her.

Outside, the rain came down in droves.

Gabriel had spotted the city after flying around for less than an hour. But as quickly as he had found it, a wall of rain cloaked it from view. ‘All the better,’ he thought, ‘I’ll fly in low and slow and not draw attention.’

By the time he was over the city, the rain was coming down in buckets. ‘This was stupid,’ he chided himself, ‘I can’t even see the tips of my wings, let alone the city.’

Over the droning of the rain, he heard a sharp crack; like someone setting off a small firecracker. Then he heard it again... then again. ‘They have gunpowder, and fight with spears?’ The building it was coming from was a two story wooden structure that looked vaguely like a barn. It even had a second story door with a loft. Seeing no one on the streets below, he flew down and landed on the ledge of the loft.

Henna lay lifeless in her stall, her hands still visible above the divider as they hung from their retaining straps.

{The king grows weak,} said the master holding the medallion, {If he dies, I will have you all put to death. But if you save him, I will show mercy. Correct?}

The entire room would have been silent had it not been for the pouring rain. Shaniddia looked over at the Henna’s stall, then back at Noliea; her tear-streaked face showing fear and uncertainty. For the second time today, Noliea prayed that the Blessed Goddess would receive her openly. And again, to her surprise, she felt a wash of calmness sweep over her. She looked up at Shaniddia, and shook her head no.

“I...” Shaniddia began. Looking back at Noliea, her eyes pleaded for her to change her mind. But again Noliea shook her head no.

“I... cannot.”

{Then I will kill this one myself!} said the master, pulling out a dagger.

Noliea closed her eyes.