The Shattered Sylph (16 page)

The two newcomers had Ril in their grip, Fourteen holding one arm and Six-eighty-three the other. They pushed him down, forcing him roughly onto his back with his legs folded under him. Lizzy screamed, struggling against Tooie, but she was helpless in the face of his strength. Ril looked at her, his face hardening. He’d fight for her, she realized, no matter what the cost.

“No!” she screamed, even as his form shimmered in a change. Shape-shifting exhausted him, hurt him, and Fourteen and Six-eighty-three were both fresh and strong.
He’d have to become incorporeal to get free of their grip, and he’d never survive that. “Ril, don’t!”

He shuddered and became solid again. “Lizzy!”

The door opened. Through it came Rashala, the woman all the concubines feared. Behind her were three more battlers, two handlers, and Melorta, their leader. Rashala looked at all of them, at the battlers who had been relaxing and at the two that held Ril.

“Bring Seven-oh-three,” she ordered.

Fourteen and Six-eighty-three hauled Ril upright, dragging him between them to the door. Without another glance Rashala stepped outside, her prize right behind her. The other battlers followed, then the guards. Melorta paused at the threshold, glaring speculatively at Lizzy before pulling the door shut.

Tooie let Lizzy go. She stumbled forward a step and turned, hitting him. “Why didn’t you help him?” she screamed, though of course there was no way he could have. A moment later Eapha was there, and Lizzy fell into her friend’s arms, sobbing. There was nothing else to be done.

Ril was frog-marched down the corridor outside the harem, fighting every step of the way, but he’d lost so much of his original strength and there were too many guards. He screamed at them, though, and cursed…and it had no more effect than his attempts to wrench himself free.

Except it got Leon’s attention. After more than twenty years together, the man’s link to him was strong, and Ril felt Leon’s concern in the back of his mind. There wasn’t any more than that, he wasn’t a telepath, but Ril drew fortitude from his master’s concern even as he burned through the new energy with which he’d awoken.

Down the hall and through another room, then through
another corridor and other doors, finally he entered a massive chamber larger even than the harem. It was lined floor to ceiling with dozens of levels of cages, catwalks, and stairways, and Ril actually stopped his struggle for a moment to gawk. Men and women filled those cages, empty, miserable people who barely looked up as he was dragged by. There were thousands of them, their emotions oppressive, and even though the floors were scrubbed, the place still reeked of their sweat and despair.

There were sylphs here as well—all of the elemental breeds. They were flickering here and there, stopping outside certain cells to drink the energy of the people within. There were battlers, too. Ril saw them feeding from men who didn’t look up and certainly didn’t speak. No, the only voice was his, screaming in protest.

“What is this place?” he finally whispered.

He got no answer from the bald woman who led the way, and Ril had the sudden understanding that he never would. He wasn’t an intelligent being to her. The only time she’d ever speak to him was if she needed to give an order. He screamed invective at that, trying to free himself even more, so he could fight her and the rest of them, but she was a woman. He couldn’t quite get his mind around the idea of hurting her—and Lizzy’s order had stopped him when he still had the chance. The battlers who held him had walls of power up now. Any energy he lashed out with wouldn’t get past them.

They dragged him down aisles and through entire floors of cages. The human prisoners watched them pass, their bodies grown frail from lack of exercise, their hair long and tangled. They were clean but silent.

Beyond the pens was another door, this one leading into a smaller chamber that was still a hundred or more paces across. Ril saw the blood-stained altar at its center,
and he stiffened, remembering another. He’d first seen it when he came through the gate into this world, drawn by the energy of a woman he didn’t know was about to be killed. Leon had been the one to murder her, striking so fast she was dead before she knew it, before Ril even realized she was in danger. He’d forgiven his master for that at last, but they still never talked about it. Ril didn’t want to, and neither, he suspected, did Leon.

To see an altar again, though, like this…He’d enjoyed going to Yed and rescuing Gabralina, enjoyed killing those priests who’d tried to use her to trap a battler. Now though, he screamed until his voice went shrill and inhuman, but still the battlers dragged him toward it.

“Can’t you quiet him?” a man asked. He stood beside the altar, as bald as Rashala and sporting the same nose. He grimaced.

“You know I can’t, brother. Still…” She turned and pulled a filmy scarf out of her pocket. “Gag him,” she told one of Ril’s captors.

The battler moved behind Ril. Ril tried to kick him, but the sylph avoided the blow and slipped the scarf around and into Ril’s mouth like a bit, pulling it and his head back until Ril thought his neck might actually break. He stopped screaming, barely able to breathe.

“Better,” Rashala approved. “Do you have a man for me, Shalatar? The emperor wants to see him within the hour.”

“If His Excellency were willing to wait for two hours, then I would say yes. I’m afraid I’m going to have to do it.”

Staring at the ceiling as he was, Ril couldn’t see Rashala’s expression, but he heard her gasp. “But Shalatar!”

“There’s nothing for it. There’s no one else available.”

“But you won’t be able to master anyone else.”

“That’s hardly a problem in my job. I don’t need a sylph. You know the First actually commands them all anyway.
Seven-oh-three won’t even need to see me after I set up his commands. Don’t be sorry for me, Rashala. It’s not important. Come now, hurry. Time is running away from us.”

“All right, brother.”

Forced to kneel on the floor, staring at the ceiling with the scarf pulled painfully across his open mouth, Ril heard the chanting start and gave a muffled scream. He could feel the ritual reaching inside and changing him.

They wove the spell with their strange human magic that so mockingly mimicked the bindings of a queen. They took him and everything he was, and they overlaid a pattern on the ones already there. Ril fought it as hard as he’d fought Leon’s so long ago, but as with Leon, he was helpless. They took him and remade him, and when the battlers finally let him go, he didn’t attack the way he so desperately wanted.

“Seven-oh-three,” Shalatar told him firmly. “I am your master and you will heed my commands.”

“Yes,” Ril whispered. There was no choice but to obey.

Leon grew terribly thirsty as he studied the dome that he suspected was the entrance to whatever place his daughter had been taken. It had been two days since their arrival and
Southern Dancer
had long since gone. The heat was growing unbearable again, even in the floating island’s shadow, and finally he had to leave and search for water before he collapsed. Finding it took an unnaturally long time. Back home, he could take a dipper to anyone’s rain barrel or borrow the bucket to their well with no more than a by-your-leave. In this dry country, water was a much more precious commodity. The day before he’d managed to drink from a water trough intended for horses, but the stableman had seen him and gone after him with a whip. Leon didn’t dare draw attention to himself again that way and saw no wells or barrels. It didn’t look as though there had been rain anytime in the last five hundred years.

He made his way to a restaurant instead. There was no inn above it—this was a place for locals, and Leon hoped he didn’t stand out too much as he walked off the street and climbed a few steps onto a stone terrace with a roof held up by dozens of pillars engraved with scrollwork. Tables were arranged among these, many of them occupied, and the entrance to the restaurant’s interior was on the other side. Leon certainly didn’t know why anyone would want to sit outside. It was nearly as hot on the terrace as in the street, and he was starting to feel ill from both the
clothes he was wearing and dehydration. He hadn’t slept well, either.

Staring at the floor and attempting to assume the image of a weary local, Leon walked inside the building and suddenly saw why the terrace was full. It was even hotter inside, blisteringly so, and the only people there were employees. He smelled food cooking but couldn’t even imagine what the kitchens would be like. His knees went weak and he gagged in the hot air.

A woman approached, bowing. She was young and wore the light fabric wrap of most Meridal women, her arms bare and her hair bound atop her head to keep it off her neck. Hairstyles seemed to indicate rank in this place. Braids meant someone was a slave. A shaved head showed a bound serf, which seemed to be a few steps up the hierarchy. Hair worn loose was reserved for whores. Hair up, as well as being practical, meant freedom.

The woman sweated, but she looked better than Leon felt. “May I help you, sir?” she asked.

He shouldn’t have come inside, Leon realized; a local wouldn’t in this heat. He’d just drawn attention to himself, and he saw her observing the heavier robe he wore over his cotton pants, and worse, his boots. The serving woman wore sandals like everyone else, and her toenails were painted bright blue.

“Sir?”

“Water,” Leon croaked. He needed it too badly to try and leave, which would also seem strange. Battlers could be attracted by the curious as much as the violent. Back in the Valley, they thronged around anything new, and every child’s game drew at least one. “Some water,” he repeated. “I’ll be outside.”

“Yes, sir.”

She bowed, and Leon left, briefly shocked by how cool
the air felt compared to inside. In the last two days, all the moisture seemed to have been sucked out of him. Even the slave pens before that disaster in the arena hadn’t been so hot as this. Nor had the arena itself. There had been air sylphs keeping things cooler, though he suspected that wasn’t for the fighters’ comfort.

He settled down in a chair, pulling his robes around himself even though he longed to throw them off and just breathe. All of this was his fault. He couldn’t have foreseen they’d be taken so quickly, but he was the one in charge. He hadn’t planned well enough. Now both Ril and Justin were prisoners along with Lizzy, and those two were here because he’d brought them. Ril he’d had no choice about, and the battler was courage personified, but Justin…? He never should have let the boy’s guilt change his mind. To see him flee that battler in the arena…and now Leon couldn’t even be sure if the youth was still alive.

The serving woman came out, turning her head into a slight breeze as she produced a clay carafe and a glass. Tired and parched, Leon stared up at her while asking the price, and saw her start. Damn. She’d probably never seen blue eyes before. Her own were dark as pitch.

“Five coppers,” she said to him.

“Fine.” He had to give her a piece of silver instead, having no copper, but she didn’t say anything about it or about the strange denomination on the coin, nor did he. He just waited for her to go, trying not to gulp his water as he drank and trying even harder to calm his thoughts. She wasn’t going to go running to the battlers. They weren’t going to descend on him through the three open sides of the terrace. Nothing was going to happen, other than that he was going to get rid of this terrible thirst and find a new place to sleep. Then, when his mind was clear, he would figure out a way to rescue everyone he cared about.

The serving woman came back. Leon stared in surprise at the coppers she placed in his palm. He hadn’t expected change. “Would the sir care for some food?” she asked.

“Yes,” he replied, hoping that it wasn’t a trap to keep him around so she could call the battlers, but knowing he didn’t really have any other choice. He needed the water, and now that he’d had some, he could feel how badly he needed food. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, sir,” she said, and vanished back into the sweltering kitchen.

Less than ten blocks away, knowing that Leon was alive and free but not where he was, Ril followed his new master out of the small domed building in the center of the square. Inside was really nothing more than a staircase, much like the one bored into the top of the cliff where the Community had toughed out its first winter—the place where he’d first met Solie and been granted his freedom.

Now he walked behind Shalatar, still in the same dusty pants and boots he’d been wearing when he was taken. Lizzy had his shirt, but he tried not to think of her. Not that he didn’t want to, but he’d get lost in memories of her if he did and couldn’t afford that now. Not if he was going to figure a way to get out of this.

He honestly didn’t know how. Shalatar had him bound more deeply than he’d ever imagined possible. Ril followed behind the man, always three steps behind—as ordered. He didn’t speak and couldn’t. As ordered. A thousand commands saturated his mind, all given him in a rush by the brother and sister but without any mistakes. Leon had given him ten orders when he bound him and he’d felt trapped. These people had given him hundreds, and not a one contradicted the others. They’d had centuries to perfect their litany, and he would comply absolutely.

Though Shalatar was his master, Ril had an entire list of people he now had to obey: the emperor; the First, who controlled the sylphs; the Battle-Sylph First, who specifically commanded the battle sylphs; the matron of the harem, who was Rashala; all of the handlers and guards who watched over them; the Second of the feeder pens, where the battlers went to feed; and others with other needs. The timing of his meals, the timing of his matings, the rules of the harem, the rules of the pen, they all echoed through him. The rules of when he might obey a specific person and in which order he would obey, as well as at what times. He felt as if there was no way he could remember it all, but he knew the commands were there, indelibly a part of him.

Shalatar finished repeating the rules on the way up from the summoning room. Masters here weren’t like back in Eferem. Ril would probably never see the man again. Instead, he’d bow to other people and obey them on Shalatar’s earlier commands. He could feel the man’s emotions, though, clearer than anyone else they passed, just as he could any of his masters. Right now, Shalatar felt…inconvenienced.

Ril would have screamed, but of course that wasn’t permitted. Instead, he waited. The last time he’d been bound he’d gone mad, driven insane until he saw Lizzy’s birth and found his way back through loving her. He couldn’t afford that this time. He had Leon to worry about, and Lizzy—and whatever other orders his captors had given him, they’d given him permission to use the harem and the women in it as well. He would see her again and lose himself in her, and until then, all he had to do was survive.

Shalatar led him out into the square that circled the stairwell. Ril didn’t feel the heat the way Leon did, but
he blinked in the bright light and looked up at what descended toward them. It seemed like an ornate sled, only without runners. An invisible air sylph kept it aloft, her energies swirling around the thing as she dropped it lightly to the ground before them. The driver, a man as bald as Shalatar, bowed deeply and opened its door.

Shalatar stepped inside and sat. Ril followed, but he hunkered down on the floor by the man’s feet. Not for the likes of him was the seat. Normally, he’d have followed in his natural form, but of course he couldn’t do that anymore, and they’d had to make allowances. It was just lucky they thought he couldn’t change shape at all. Ril had hopes of being able to use that against them, if only he could find a loophole in his litany of servitude.

For now he hunkered like an obedient if hateful dog at his master’s feet, and the sled rose up into the air, floating smoothly and swiftly across the city. There were more sleds in the air, darting all around like multicolored honeybees, and Ril looked at their well-dressed occupants with contempt. They all saw him as less than nothing, just a commodity, the same as they saw Lizzy as someone who could be kidnapped and sold, then used like a whore against her will.

Thought of Lizzy brought back the memory of her soft skin and the smell of her, and he had to shove it away. He couldn’t afford to get lost in thoughts of her, not if he ever wanted a reunion. The sound of her breathless gasp in his ear echoed through his mind, however, and he bit his lip, gripping the edge of the sled until the wood began to splinter.

“Calm yourself,” Shalatar said, regarding him mildly. There was no fear in the man. Ril wanted to hit him with his aura of hate, but the rules were strict. He couldn’t use
his aura at all, unless he was in the arena. Ril closed his eyes and tried to relax. Without the hate aura to mask his emotions, Shalatar could feel them.

When he tried to calm the anger and the fear he felt, the man reached out to ruffle his hair, tousling it like a dog’s. “Good boy,” he said.

Lizzy was in one of the alcoves, hopping up and down on the bed and trying not to worry. Much as she’d loathed the idea, she’d forced herself to toss aside the shirt Ril gave her and return to her gauzy, useless dress. Her breasts bounced painfully in it, and she held them with her hands as she hopped.

Tooie bounced beside her, swinging his arms back and forth and watching. Lizzy had grown so used to his regard, and that of the other battlers, that she wasn’t embarrassed. Besides, she could hardly call herself an innocent anymore. Not after having Ril’s mouth on her breasts, his hands on her thighs, and the glorious silky length of him deep within…She shivered and caught Tooie eyeing her. He could feel what she did, she remembered, and blushed.

“Sorry.”

One eyebrow rose, and his eyes twinkled with laughter. No longer bouncing, he made a few slow gestures with his hands and arms. Lizzy stopped as well, focusing. She’d been learning their gesture language as fast as she could, but there was a lot she still didn’t understand.

Tooie kept it simple. “No. Good,” she read. He repeated one of the gestures and added a second. “No. Sorry…Oh, ‘Don’t be sorry, it’s good’?”

He nodded.

Lizzy laughed, still a little self-conscious after all. She bit her lip. “What do you think they’re doing with him?” she asked.

He shrugged and gestured. “Don’t. Know. Money.”

She turned away. That was true. Ril was worth too much money for them to hurt him. She bit her lip, hating that as much as she hated being a slave herself. It was no wonder the Community split away and founded Sylph Valley. People could feel the emotions of their sylphs. How could anyone not understand that they were thinking, living beings with rights? Of course, she was from the same species, and they’d done this to her.

“People are horrible.”

Tooie tilted his head to one side and lifted his arms, moving them around in a pattern she had to squint to understand. “Not. All. She. Good.”

Lizzy smiled. “You really love Eapha, don’t you?”

Tooie nodded. “Want. Her. Like. Him. You.”

Lizzy wasn’t quite sure what that meant. Eapha and Tooie had been together for years, and she and Ril had just found each other. Perhaps it was something lost in translation. “Well,” she said with a forced smile. “Let’s make sure that they don’t have a reason to separate you.” With that, she started to hop up and down again on the mattress, and after a moment he joined in.

Leon followed the young woman from the tavern, not because he felt any threat from her, and certainly not because he intended to harm her himself. Nor did she remind him of his wife or any of his plethora of daughters. He followed her on a hunch and because he needed more information on how this society worked.

She finished her shift well after dark and headed away from the restaurant down the dry stone streets, turning almost immediately into a long, narrow alleyway between buildings. The absence of the sun, which had been so blisteringly hot during the day, brought an icy chill to the
air, and very few people were still outside. The young woman pulled a shawl around herself as she walked, moving as quickly as she could without running.

The route she took was one Leon would have hesitated suggesting to anyone who was unarmed, and he hurried after her partly now to lend a protective eye. But as she hurried deeper into the warren that stretched to the edge of the city, he soon followed her instead as his only way out. Darkened doorways loomed every few feet, each deep enough to hide a man, but no one sprang out at her, not in this place. It had to be because of the battlers, Leon decided. He could feel them floating overhead, watching and sensing, and knew they would descend in seconds if needed—probably to find new combatants for their arena, he thought uncharitably. But he had reason to be harsh. In the little time he’d spent in the pens, he’d spoken to four other victims. One had stolen some bread. One had escaped the feeder pens before his tongue could be cut out. The third had thrown sand at a nobleman, and the fourth didn’t know why he was there.