A Tragedy

 

“The long war,” Alpen said as the first light of dawn streamed into the prisoner’s hall. Standing up in the shadow, he stretched up toward the ceiling and stuck his hand into a sunbeam. Nudging Drindl with his foot, he said, “I slept better. Thanks for the mats.” Looking around in the dim light, he asked, “How do we stop someone from taking them while we are gone today?”

Drindl rolled over and looked up at the towering figure of Alpen. “We don’t. One night.”

Alpen knelt next to Drindl’s body so he could lower his voice. “How do we get some of that energy?”

“Guard duty on night shipments. That’s how I got some.”

“Night shipments? Of what? Why did they ask you? You’re a prisoner.” Alpen reached out to Bebe as she stirred.

“A Jade from the south.”

“Our tribe? Another camp? Maybe we could transfer there somehow.”

“I don’t know how he picked me out. There was no moon that night. We can see in dim light.”

Alpen had many more questions but the guards were coming into the barracks. “What were you guarding?” Drindl didn’t know. “What were you guarding against?”

“Wolfbear. They attack and eat the elephants.”

Alpen showed his astonishment. “That animal where the queen. It’s huge. How many?”

“We didn’t get attacked. I don’t know.”

“The eyes are the mind’s hunter,” Alpen said. Drindl nodded at the reminder, then turned in compliance toward the exit.

Alithea gathered Erthen in her arms, afraid for him in this strange place. She lingered at the back of the group, wanting to spend every second with her son before they took him away again to this strange school.

In the hallway to the outer entrance, she saw the Sprint and a carrier basket hung below its bulbous black belly. They were here for her. Pausing to glance out the other portico opening, she saw the Fae schoolteacher and the group.

With little planning, she took in a large breath and placed her mouth over her boy’s mouth and nose. Was he too old for the sleeping snake technique that Altiss had taught her long ago? She vibrated her throat in the lullaby he had heard in the first months of his life. Unable to breathe, his eyes went wide in alarm and she saw the flecks of green in his eyes, his true eye color. They would not take the soul of her son. The lack of air caused an instinctive reaction in the boy and his body went limp, as she had hoped. He still had the infant’s reaction to a loss of air. She could feel his heartbeat slow and when she was sure he would remain comatose, she put her best theatrical performance. Pushing past the guard, she cried out, “My son, my son! He’s dying!”

Fallon and the others looked to her with alarm, but she swept past them, held out the boy’s limp form to the Fay schoolteacher, then turned toward the Sprint. She paused, fighting down the stomach-churning revulsion she felt being near the giant bugs. Stepping around the deadly waving hairs of the Sprint’s legs, the Fae warrior helped her into the carrier chair.

Breaking out of his stunned paralysis, Fallon rushed toward the Sprint but Alithea waved him off. Thinking quickly, she gave him their special sign for “play game.” While it wasn’t appropriate to their desperate situation, he knew not to take appearances at face value and backed up a step. As the Sprint stepped back, Fallon dodged the barbed hairs that could have sliced open his skin.

Alithea waved to him before the Fae rider turned the Sprint and they left for the queen’s compound.