To Save a World Ch. 02

Feed her sleep? Interesting choice of words. "Will you have enough?"

She paused again. "Yes, I think. Barely. I'll have more left, if you do it quick."

He nodded. The wagon was the largest he ever saw it, and in the back of his mind Aaron thought that it shouldn't be physically possible for a pair of horses alone to pull it. He imagined it would have been a cozy place under different situations, with lots of cleverly designed storage spaces and bolted surfaces that reminded him more of modern trailers than ancient horse-powered vehicles. The whole back half of the wagon was occupied by a large comfortable looking bed where their target slept. His footsteps on the lushly carpeted floor may as well have been thunder-cracks to his high-strung mind.

Finally reaching the low bed, he turned to Lydia in surprise. "I thought you said this is both Herry and Serry's wagon?". His companion nodded. Aaron looked back to the single bed with its occupant.

"But she's naked."

Lydia looked at him and again nodded meaningfully. "Sort of an open secret. Anyone who questions it disappears." She whispered.

Aaron shook his head. Just another one of these crazy things that he's slowly getting used to.

Tying up a peacefully sleeping, naked enemy was an especially nerve wracking affair. Without the menace perpetually clouding her eyes and the condescending sneer on her lips, she actually looked quite alright. Well, more than all right. He kept stealing glances at her large gravity-defying breasts as he wrapped her with stringed cloth, which earned him accusatory glares from his partner.

He breathed a deep sigh of relief as he tightened the last knot. He had to trust Lydia about their captive not waking up unless they make loud noises - he thought it would be pretty uncomfortable sleeping in a tightly bound cocoon.

Aaron turned to Lydia. Without a word passing between they both in unison began their determined search of the wagon.

The pair would then forget the details of their search, just the fervor of ever-nearer goal and a mess of random everyday objects. It was all the more jarring for Aaron, finding objects that didn't look quite right, or modern, or things that he never really thought he would see used in real life. He once stared at a set of quill and ink stone that he found on a mounted table with a kind of surprise only reserved for unexpected snakes in your cupboard.

It suddenly occurred to him that he doesn't even really know what he was looking for. There's a binding crystal, which he has to assume would look, well, crystal-y, but when knives don't even look right with wooden, bone and leather handles - would he really recognize magical implements?

Turns out he didn't need to. Beside him Lydia gave a small gasp. She was holding open a small chest which she found under one of the bolted tables. Crowding in beside her, Aaron saw that it was full of objects - and none of them he's ever seen before. The first thing he saw were the crystals, curiously symmetrical prisms of meticulously shaped black stone that seemed to emit a dull green light. Looking closer, he saw that the lines of runes carved into its sides were the ones glowing, as if the marks in the stone served only to reveal the inner light. There were nine crystals scattered haphazardly, as far as he can tell, each glowing dully in the dark confines of the chest.

The crystals rested atop pages of paper, and at first glance Aaron even thought that he could read it. But peering at it closer, a chill came over him as he realized one fundamental fact:

He couldn't even read this world's letters.

The page looked familiar enough; he could identify paragraphs, where sentences ended and where they began, and even a couple of marks he thought were for punctuation. But the words themselves are lines upon lines of meaningless scrawls.

"Shit" he said through gritted teeth.

"What? What does it say?" Lydia whispered urgently at his side, staring at him.

"I can't fucking read this! Here."

"You can'twhat?" Lydia held the paper as if they were snakes. "If you can't read this, then what do you expectme to do? I grew up in the streets! With rats... and, and garbage! I didn'tlearn my letters!"

Aaron stared back at her, trying to arrest his mounting panic. "Okay, what the hell, we'll just break them all. One of them is bound to be ours, right?"

Lydia stared at him, unsure. "But what happens after that?"

His mind raced. Slaves without a magical slave seal weren't slaves, they were enemies inside wooden boxes, and especially in this case where they were captives forcibly imprinted. These enemies will be a hazard, and besides are unmarketable without the magic to assure their complete obedience. The masters of the caravan wouldn't let such liabilities live for long. And the blood will be ontheir hands.

They have to get them out. Beyond that, they'll probably have to take care of them, and bring them along their escape. Even though they had no step-by-step plan, he could just imagine the faceless, weakened people he would supposedly free desperately running away scattering in the dark forest, starving and freezing and -

"Shit. We have no choice. How do we break them?"

Lydia hesitated. "Destroying the objects themselves should be enough..."

He nodded tersely. "Outside."

The night seemed to be holding its breath as they exited the wagon. Aaron thought that it was still - too still. Shouldn't there be something by now? It was the moment between hearing the loud sound of gunfire and looking down at his body to discover just where he'd been hit. The gun has already been fired, Aaron just doesn't know where they've been hit yet. And he has a gut feeling that they will know soon.

But it seemed that Lydia's magic still hung heavily in the minds of everyone in the camp.

"So..." He began. Lydia was standing in front of him, looking doubly afraid with the crystals and papers perched on her trembling hand, unwilling to grasp the instrument of her torture.

Suddenly a fierce look came over her features. The crystals fell to the ground as she tilted her hands, the papers were grasped and crumpled - and then fiercely eviscerated with quick tearing motions until they rained down in useless shreds. Her attention landed on the glowing crystals lying innocuously on the ground, and then she raised a dainty leg - andstomped. Once. Twice. Over and over until the delicate crystalline evil which had dictated her life for the past few months were nothing but scattered dust.

Aaron looked at the trembling young woman before him, watching the symbol in her forehead suddenly flare into life and fizz out. She did not even flinch, but her chest kept rising and falling in heavy breaths, her shoulders tightly bunched up, fists clenched shut. As if stomping to dust a couple of finger-sized rocks was the most exhausting thing to happen tonight. And perhaps it was.

His hand delicately cupped the side of her face. She was warm, her skin slick with a thin layer of sweat, her breath hot little puffs of air. Aaron watched as she flinched at his touch, but then melted unto it. All her tension seemed to leave her all at once, and she took small steps only to sag into his embrace. He caught her delicate frame as he held her close and observed her, fascinated at the interplay of emotions on her being, panicked thoughts of their on-going escape temporarily shoved aside.

"You're free." He whispered into her hair.

"Yes."

And then a raging howl split the night.

* * *

The slave seal is one of the most terrible magical implements ever developed in the face of the world. One of the shortest, and therefore most complicated, warded script known to man, it was developed as an actual industry before the Great War of Kinds, in the olden days. Not much is known about its development, or the highly advanced magic which crafted it into being out of the minds of some twisted Warder, or even the motivations behind it.

The only thing everyone seems to be sure of is how effective it is.

Each country, race or tribe had their own flavors and methods of enslaving their chosen. Humanity, for example, liked to keep things simple as a general rule. No special effects. No special words to activate pain. No unique variations of said pain. Just pure mental agony, like fire eating away at your bones, but all the worse for it being only on the mind. Humans were efficient like that.

But no matter the race and kind, the formula is really a simple one; either obey the commands of your owner to the letter, or face excruciating, mind-numbing pain. The procedure wasn't vague about its own effects either - the activation of a slave seal itselfrequires this kind of torture, as magic (twisted by ancient formula to cause the most terror on the body short of killing it) coursed through the hapless victim, lodging itself deep into the mind. The Warders call this theun'lan, thefirst taste. Cruelly named after an Old Tongue parlance on the first sip of good wine.

The seal itself was like a presence. Not as a watcher which observes your actions and punishes you for doing something not aligned to the wants of the master, but something more like an arrow embedded in a wound - it causes constant psychological pain until you move the wrong way, and then it causesphysical pain of the worst kind. It wasn't a malignant intelligence, but a lifeless tool. A metal stake stuck in your mental faculties. Cruel in its impassivity and efficiency.

Like an arrow, too, it is easily felt when the seal on your mind is... gone.

The first thing to click into place is the physical sensation of the ward symbol on one's body burning away, causing burning pain which - if you've managed to live until you felt it - would be as if nothing. Next will come the realization. The mental burden of the threat of pain and death lift, and with this one feels as if one can do everything -everything. The euphoria of being free will run deep, and hard, and fast. It is not uncommon for suddenly freed slaves to experience extreme emotions, from manic elation to deadly, insane killing sprees.

The People of the Forest caged within the prison boxes, however felt nothing but white hot rage.

And they let the world know.

The howls that ensued from each abducted Kin echoed each other until it formed a dark melody that resonated throughout the Hills of Peace, towards the deep forest. Each and every creature, big or small, felt primordial fear upon hearing those high, lilting notes. Fear that came from survival instincts honed from eons of avoiding the worst predators of the forest. A fear that screamed at them torun.

And humans felt it too. The villages on the very edge of Searle heard a slight sound that made their skin crawl, and in the depths of the cold night heads instinctively turned towards the dark night. The old ones remembered the tales of the past, and hurriedly got out from the comfort of their warm beds to check the locks on their doors, the latches on their windows. The oldest of them fervently wished they had seven long bushy leaves of the foxes' tail, for that was the ancient symbol of peace between the humans and the Kin. And who else could cry a song so full of rage from so far away, but one of the Kin of the Forest People, out for blood?

* * *

Aaron's hairs stood on end, feeling Lydia stiffen as he held her. The night was suddenly brighter, as if the thin magical strands that Lydia wove around the place dulled the light. Screams erupted as people, now woken by the dreadful howling, realized that something was terribly, terribly wrong.

"Uh, please tell me they weren't just keeping dogs."

"No way. The slave seal is way too expensive for animals. Besides, I don't even think it would work." Lydia looked at him. Aaron saw her swallow audibly.

"Then... what's making those sounds?" The young boy asked, despite already partially knowing the answer.Something that can howl but isn't an animal, duh.

"I uh, don't know. But I have a feeling they're not what we thought they were." Lydia replied. They stared at each other for a moment. Then both looked towards the nearest prison wagon.

"Can't we just leave them like that?" Aaron finally voiced the thought inside both their heads. They've freed them from their worst bindings, given them a slim chance of escaping. Hadn't they done enough?

"No." Lydia whispered in reply. "We shouldn't be like Herry. Not ever."

Aaron nodded guiltily. "Fuck." He eloquently said.

They decided to be more cautious, keeping their features concealed, sneaking from shadow to shadow as best as they can in the half light. However as the pair neared their goal another problem presented itself in the simple form of the caravan's security forming a formidable looking ring around the vehicle. There were about a dozen men present, armed with honest-to-goodness swords and spears and torches, all their attention focused on the box and the mysterious occupants within.

And one of them was in front of the iron door shouting obscenities to rival the incessant howling.

They ducked under the dark side of another wagon, near enough to witness the escalating scene in the flickering yellow light of the torches that some carried. They were so close to the whole affair that Aaron could see the veins in the man's neck stand out as he screamed at the inert door. For the life of him the young boy couldn't figure out why the man was doing it, and why no one was stopping him. The men with their weapons looked so unnerved that they were content to be represented by one raving madman.

"It's magic." Lydia breathed beside him.

Aaron turned to look at her, huddled close beside him. Her cowl was pulled low, obscuring her pale features, but he knew she was as transfixed at the scene as he was. "What do you mean?" he whispered back.

"I can feel it. It's... a taunt, straight to the essence. It must feel like their hearts are set afire..." The wonder in her voice was tangible. "I get it... oh, I see. How clever. How marvelous. The total opposite of a soothing..."

"Lydia." He interrupted her strange muttering, "The guy's about to do something."

"Yes," She replied. "It's working. Their scheme is finally bearing fruit, and I'm going to use up all of my magic to help them."

He looked at her again. "Is that wise?"

The young woman shrugged. "It's the most we could do."

Aaron's breath caught as he realized what was about to happen. Still indistinctly screaming at the door, the man was producing keys to the heavy iron lock that hung in front of him. One of the other men threw down his sword and rushed to him with a shout, no doubt trying to stop the utter stupidity that's about to unfold, but the one nearer the door was both bigger and more frenzied than he was, and the interloper was easily knocked to the ground.

The other men tensed as the key went in the lock, and Aaron was with them. The man opened the lock with a triumphant, challenging shout - and then collapsed lifelessly to the ground.

Aaron whipped his head towards his companion. "Wow that was fa-"

"Sshh! Look!"

He might've missed what was going to happen next if he was a second late.

They flowed out from the suddenly open doors like dark smoke, their movements swift and sure and fluid despite the apparently emaciated state of their bodies. Two men glided close to the ground, swiftly covering the distance between them and their mark, separating left to right in coordination.

There was a slighttwang, and Aaron could swear that he saw one of the creatures give a miniscule jerk to avoid the arrow fired by someone holding a crossbow. The projectile sparked as it collided with the iron doors of the prison wagon.

But there was no stopping them - they reached one side of the circle

Memories of action movies without context flashed before Aaron's mind, especially ones where the main character was outnumbered but still prevails, dancing throwing people around in abundant display of their martial prowess. This was pretty damn close.

But also nothing like it - not at all.

There were no theatrics, for one - no extra coordinated dance like movements and wild swings and kicks. The two men struck like they wanted to kill - which, or course, they did. Aaron couldn't tell how many because of their angle, but in the space of a thought men were already writhing on the ground or lying deathly still. They had no trouble dodging the wide, panicked sword slashes by the desperate mercenaries surrounding them, doing so in efficient, clipped movements that always ended with strikes so fast he could not see them in the dark. They must have been using knifes, for one of them slashed at an opening to the neck of one mercenary and turned it into so much blood and torn muscle. The other prisoner found the opportunity to kick a groin and the thudding, crunching noise it made was so loud Aaron felt his own balls constrict.

Aaron realized that this was the first time he was witnessing a true fight to the death. It was very familiar in his sight, but his mind - the knowledge that those people weredead in such a short, brutal, way - was still trying to wrap around it.

He was now holding his breath, straining his eyes in the irregular yellow light of the unsteady torches that was lighting the whole battle ground - but a sinking feeling developed in his chest as he realized what was about to happen. Originally on the far side of each other, the two men were slowly being pushed back together, surrounded on all sides merely a stone's throw away from their prisons.

And then they heard a voice.

The young man stiffened in panic and surprise as he realized that the voice was right next to them. He looked to his left and saw a pair of pale bare feet and a... tail?

He gasped as the newcomer got on all fours and peered at them under the wagon.

Peered at them with luminous, golden eyes. And a face which definitely did not look purely human. After all, it was covered with fine fur. And triangular ears were atop its head. And it had fangs.

"Ohfuck." He heard Lydia breathe. He thought it was pretty good summary of what they both felt.

In fact, his mind was so purelyoh-fucked that he just stared with his mouth and eyes agog for a good ten seconds before he realized that the man-beast slash beast-man slash white-werewolf-thing was saying something. Along with that information came the realization that he couldn't understand what she was saying. It was a different language, more guttural and throaty but strangely musical and... feminine.

He might've pissed her off by his gawking, because she decided to take matters into her own hands and reached for him. Lydia flinched on the other side of him, clutching his right arm with a small whimper, as if trying to keep him away from the white, alien hand.

A hand that, he realized, was not whiteskin but whitefur. Fur so fine that it looked like skin.

And he lay there on his stomach like the proverbial deer on the headlights of an approaching freight train. Or was that a car? It felt more like a freight train here.

And then she was holding his wrists andtugging and because apparently his life hadn't had enough fucking shocks he received another the moment their skin made contact.

But this time it was quite literal.

His brain blanked like it had been soaked in gasoline and whacked with a burning torch. Waves of electricity raked over his body, making his senses tingle so madly that he lost all orientation. The realization struck him that it didn't reallyhurt per se, just really really uncomfortable, like someone massaging his brain like dough but with hands made of lightning and his pain receptors turned off.