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When the last sound of the bell fades and the shadows are falling, I go to the elevator and go down to the lobby of the building, exiting cautiously out into the street. I scan the skies and peer carefully up and down the streets, but no one emerges except the few neighbors. This part of the city isn’t very populated. The Outskirts aren’t a popular place to live.
Heading down the street to the deli that I frequent after curfew, I thought about what they said in school, when we still went to school. The last uprising in
They aren’t technically our masters. After the uprising in
I’d been lucky. I was always in before three a.m. and had never had any close encounters. I settled into a table in the deli and ordered, going back to thinking.
History said that we weren’t always the lower class. Until the wars that split Europa in two, we ruled the earth, keeping other races in suppression and hiding. That weakness, and alliances made in the shadows, lost us our power and our pride. Periodic uprisings were unsuccessful and costly, ending with piles of human dead.
We were no match for them, and they knew it.
Blood and fear kept us in submission. The failures of our forefathers forced us to stay there. Existence in fear is better than no existence at all. That was another school motto. After a few years of peace, the need to communicate evolved, and we developed a common language – a mix of Anglais and archaic Shainese.
I’ve never spoken to an Other. A few have, but not many survive to talk about it. Those that do speak of an unnerving sense of savagery and hunger and wildness. I think about the ancient history, long before Europa was rent in two and the fall of Man in the battle of Saint Peterburg, of how the first Europans to touch United soil were sure that the ‘savages’ living there would be easily subdued because of their barbaric nature.
How wrong we were. They weren’t savages, and barbarians are more powerful than the most civilized human being.
It was nearly three by the time I returned to my apartment, and the warnings were already being broadcast over the system. Five minutes and counting, five minutes until curfew ends. I looked down an alleyway next to my apartment and smiled at the young woman leaning against the wall. She smiled back at me, fangs showing above red lips. I wince and hurry on, racing up the stairs just as the voice over the loudspeaker calls, Warning, curfew ending, and the bell begins to toll. I slam the door and lock it, breathing a sigh of relief. They can’t touch me here.
I look back out the door and see yellow eyes meeting mine. Breath hisses from between a fanged mouth and frosts the glass. I whimper and back away slowly to the elevator, groping to find the button. Finally, safely in my apartment, I take a shot of whiskey to ease my nerves and wish I could stop trembling.
I’m reading a book when I hear the door creak. I turn around and stand up with a gasp, my heart thudding wildly. She smiles at me, her body lithe and strong under the pink sweater and jeans. “Hello,” she says. “Hungry?”
My nerves scream at me to run. I stay where I am. “No, not at all. You’re not supposed to be in here. It’s against Protocol.”
She flexes her hands, stretches her arms, and I watch carefully filed nails morph into claws for a moment, then back. She smiles. Her fangs are very white. “Protocol,” she says, waving a hand. “Screw protocol. Who’ll complain, anyway?”
It’s true. I grope for a weapon, desperate, trying to remember something that will kill a werewolf. They’re notoriously hard to kill. Silver, I think. I need silver.
She prowls closer, her eyes shifting back and forth from green to yellow. I hear a tinkle of glass dimly through the roaring in my ears. And then a hiss and a thud.
The werewolf’s face freezes, and she falls slowly. I turn, eyes wide, to thank my rescuer, and catch a brief glimpse of a black uniform and a mask before I hear a hiss of gas. It is my only warning before the air grows thick and I feel myself fainting, my mouth trying to form the word why as I spiral down into unconsciousness.
A thud, then nothing.
I blink as I wake up, feeling woozy, groggy, my head aching. The first thing I realize is that the floor is moving. It wobbles, sways, and tilts slowly. I blink and try to make sense of the double images in front of me. It takes me a moment to realize that the gibberish I’m hearing through one ear is Common.
“Why’d you take her? She’ll just cause more trouble.”
“She saw me shoot the other one. She could report it for all I knew.”
“Bastard. The wolf was about to eat her. She wouldn’t have reported a thing.”
“I know. They should be waking up in an hour or two. By then we should be far enough into the desert that no one will hear any noise they make, but gag the bird just to make sure.”
“You’re positive there’s nothing around here?”
“Nothing. Why would there be? It’s empty for miles.”
The sound faded away after that. What in hell’s name is going on?
Warily, I open my eyes. Iron bars fill my vision, less than a foot away. I turn. Iron bars. Iron bars.
I’m in a cage.
Something rattles and screams in the cage next to mine. I look toward the sound, but all I can see are feathers and ice-blond hair. It’s enough. Someone is trying to shove a gag between his bared teeth, but they’re already bleeding and only likely to get worse. The cage rattles as wings flare and press against iron framework that suddenly seems too soft.
Kaer. It’s not hard to guess, though I’ve never seen one. No one has, and lived to tell of it. Notoriously savage and fierce, they lived in the burned out shells of Angel City, emerging only to kill and wage obscure wars between clans that more often killed humans than sent a Kaer crashing from the sky. I look away, try to ignore his screams of rage ringing in my ears, and pray that the man was right, that no one and nothing will hear his cry.
To the other side of me is another cage. This occupant is silent and crumpled in a heap at the bottom of the cage. When I catch a glimpse of black hair and pale skin, I nearly groan. Between the two most savage, human hating creatures possible. At least he’s not awake yet. I look out between the bars and feel a little despair. Desert stretches for miles. Ahead and behind me, rows of a caravan train rock to and fro, creaking softly.
There are more cages, down the row from me and the Kaer. I count four including the occupant next to me, and groan. What are they thinking? They’ll never get far enough away to outrun the hunters, and for kidnapping, they’ll face a gruesome death at the best.
The screams begin again. I look back and see men surrounding his cage, knives flashing as they seize handfuls of feathers and slice at the flaring wings, blood splattering as the Kaer thrashes, the cage rattling wildly. I feel a few hot drops of blood land on my face and flinch back. He opens his mouth to scream again and the men thrust a gag into this mouth and tie it. Golden eyes flash and he snarls around the gag, but he is tethered. As the men move away, his eyes find me and he hurls himself at the bars, half mad eyes narrowed, muffled spits and snarls emanating from behind the gag. Bloody wings flare to half their full span, as wide as they will open, splattering more blood across my skin and clothing.
I back away, trying to form the few Kaer words I know, but all thought flees my mind as cold, pale fingers close around my neck like a vice and panic wells up. “Well, well,” a silky voice says behind me. “Now we know who our rat was.”
His arm is thin enough to fit through the bars. I don’t move. His Common has a refined air to it, but all I can do is pray that his fangs can’t reach me.
He turns me around and examines me, the pallor of his skin evident in the wan light of the rising sun. Green eyes flash, his smile showing the tips of fangs. The Kaer snarls behind me. I hear the rustle of wings, but all I can concentrate on are those emerald green eyes.
“I don’t like rats,” the vampire croons. “But if you’re good, I’ll give you a clean death. At least, I won’t give you to him.” He jerks his head at the Kaer. “I hear that his kind take great pleasure in revenge – and his ripping out your entrails one by one won’t kill you right away. You’ll have plenty of time to scream.”
I blanch. He smiles coldly as I slump against the bars of my cage, his vice-like grip the only thing keeping me upright. “Let’s start simple,” he murmurs, too gently. “I am Taine. Your name is…?”
“Anna,” I manage to croak. And, “please…”
He smiles cruelly and shifts his hands to my shoulders. “So, Anna,” he continues in the same amiably cold tone of voice. “Where are we going?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I didn’t – I’m not a rat. I got captured, same as…” he jerks me forward and into the bars. My head rebounds and I fall back, ears ringing. “A liar and a rat,” he croons, withdrawing his arm. “I’ll give you a day, Anna. Remember: entrails or a clean death?” He smiles, fangs glinting.
He glances at the sky and curses in his own tongue. It’s getting lighter. The sun won’t kill him, but it will cause excruciating pain and weaken him. If it weakens him enough, he’ll die in a blaze of fire. He looks back at me. “And you might try to talk your little friends into giving me some protection. Because if I can’t question you…” he gestures at the Kaer, whose white knuckled hands wrap around the bars. He bares his teeth at me through the gag. I shrink back from him as Taine croons in my ear. “I’m sure he will. And he won’t be as gentle as me.”
He retreats into the corner of his cage, and I try to make myself as small as possible in the middle of my cage, head still pounding. I try to go to sleep, and when it finds me, I am chased by fanged creatures through a nightmare dreamscape.
I wake to the creak of my cage door opening. I uncoil, muscles aching and drenched with sweat, and am promptly dragged into pounding heat. Someone pulls my head up, forcing me to look around. “What do you see?” asks a (thankfully) human voice.
“Nothing,” I say groggily.
“Exactly. Nothing. Running is useless. You’ll die within a day out there. So are you going to run?”
I shake my head. He lets me go and I sway with the effort to stay on my feet.
“Stay here. If you move, you’ll be shot.” I stay put as he moves off.
I hear the creak of another cage opening. Moments later, a shriek of rage rings out. I wheel to see the Kaer tossing the gag he’s chewed through to the side, his bloody, matted wings spreading in preparation for a lunge into the sky. At his feet, blood pumps from the ripped out throat of a dead man.
He hesitates barely a second, his eyes flicking to me and blazing, but it is enough. Two men slash at his wings, forcing him to fold them in, and another seizes them, struggling to rein in eight feet of straining muscle as another lashes them down with wire. In a moment he is tethered, hands behind his back and locked in chains. A man forces a chain into his mouth, another producing a bullwhip and snapping it across bent and bleeding wings. He falls still, panting around the thick chain gag, and they drag him upright, lash him to the back of a caravan like a spare horse. His eyes roll wildly and he tries to snarl. They laugh as he chokes on the chain.
They drive the caravan around in a wide circle, forcing him to run after it, hands and rope-wire pinning his wings to his sides. He falls but they do not stop, even as he struggles to rise again. When at last they do, he is slick with sweat, chest heaving. They let him go and he curls up, wings coated in grime. He exudes humiliation.
I almost feel sorry for him, but looking at the glazed eyes of the bled out soldier, it doesn’t last long.
The unloading of the rest of the cages is less eventful. The vampire, Taine, doesn’t fight his restraints, and seems paler. His green eyes flash loathing nevertheless. The Drayad snarls at the men’s leers, her thin, twiglike fingers raking down the face of a man foolish enough to try to slip his hand under her dress. The Selkie is barely clothed, with the same fey beauty I remember from pictures, her large doe eyes deceptively calm. They are dark, with barely a hint of the green that identifies Other. They drag the werewolf snarling out of her cage, her shape something monstrous and between human and wolf. There is a brief scuffle to tether her, but she’s still groggy and soon they have her leashed and muzzled. Her eyes are clear as she looks at me, though, and she makes no attempt to hide her hatred.
I wonder, bleakly, if I have any allies, even among the humans.
I am the only one left unbound. I wish they had bound me. I know I will die, but maybe I will die a cleaner death if the others believe I didn’t betray them.
We run through the desert, the others tethered in pairs. Men keep them from me with the lash. Before an hour is out, my head is pounding and I am sure that my legs are about to fall off. The sun feels strange, the great ball of light something only heard of and sometimes watched through the tinted windows of the school. I have no time to wonder at it, though. Hours pass. Taine gets paler, his breathing strained. At high noon he collapses into the sand with a cry, nearly dragging the Selkie with him. The bullwhip leaves a bleeding welt on his skin, but he lies there, panting. I move closer, warily, and can feel the heat radiating off of him, far too hot.
I hear snarling at the head of the line as men argue. One comes back, rolls up my sleeve and opens a vein delicately. I watch blood well up with a peculiar numbness until he pulls me to my knees beside Taine and moves my bleeding wrist to his mouth. I struggle and try to pull away, fear welling in waves, but that only earns me a slap that leaves my ears ringing. This time I only watch as he brings my wrist to Taine’s bloodless lips.
His nostrils flare and his tongue flicks out, catching a bead of blood. He moves, hands seizing my arm and holding it, mouth fixed to the gash in my skin, tongue flicking each drop of blood into his hungry mouth. His eyes are closed, breath hot on my skin, exuding a sensual, dangerous heat. The world shrinks to him and me, and it seems like seconds, eternities, until a man pulls his mouth away, the gentle pressure of his teeth releasing only reluctantly. I fall back and nearly swoon, feeling woozy. The man is wrapping a bandage around my wrist and nods at Taine, still crumpled on the ground panting with the pain of the noon sun. “Put him in something and keep him out of the sun. We want him weak, not dead.”
He finishes wrapping my wrist and drags me upright. “Tie her with the seal-beast,” he orders someone, and is gone again. Two men carry Taine’s limp from into a caravan, another ties me to the Selkie with a short link of rope between our wrists, taking the opportunity to grope her sleek body. She looks at him and his leer fades as he scurries off. She smiles at me, white teeth bright against her dark skin, and I try to remember what I know about Selkies. Playful, sexual, a little childish emotionally. Only one step above us on the unspoken hierarchy. Not that it makes them any less dangerous.
“I’m sorry about that,” she says in a sweet, rich voice. “I would have offered my own, but…” she shrugs. “Whenever I’d open my mouth to say something, he’d just glare. I think he still thinks we’ll escape.”
I blink. “You don’t?”
“Not really. Oh, I’m sure once we get wherever we’re going, there’ll be Selkies in range of my song, but not here by ourselves.”
I stare at her, wondering how she can be so calm. “Aren’t you scared? Or angry?”
She blinks at me, wide-eyed. “Scared? Why would I be? They aren’t going to kill us. As for angry, of course I am. But anger won’t melt chains. I’ll wait. Now if I were you, I’d be scared.”
“Why don’t you hate me?”
She ignores my question. “They’ve made you look like you’re the one who betrayed us. That makes you a primary target for three strong, angry predators, with one of them having a known penchant for savagery and the other two only hungry. And that’s not mentioning the Dryad. I don’t think you are involved in this any more than being in the wrong place, so let me give you some friendly advice. Run now. Because dying out there, in heat or starvation, will be much less painful than what they will do to you.” She licks her lips and I notice, for the first time, patches of peeling skin. “You don’t have any water, do you?” she asks hopefully. I shake my head. “Pity,” she says, and then we are running again, the only sound that of our pounding feet.
As we run, I ponder the Selkie’s words, her surety of escape. And I wonder if I should run now, because I have the same opinion as the Selkie and no real desire to die screaming on the knives of vengeful Kaer warriors.
We are watered a little after midday and continue our march until nightfall. We drop on the rocky sand that marks the edge of the desert. There is no sign of Taine, but one of the horses is slaughtered and they gather the draining blood in a bowl. They throw the rest of it to the Kaer and the werewolf. I blanch and turn away as she savages it. Kaer snarls at them and ignores the meat in front of him. They don’t like that, but no one wants to get close enough to force-feed him, even tethered as he is. To me, the Selkie, and the Dryad are given bread and water. More of the water pours over the Selkie’s head than into her mouth, but she still looks perilously parched. I remember something about Selkies dehydrating quickly.
We sleep, I uneasily and away from the rest. They wake us as the sun is beginning to rise and we run again.
This pattern continues. I try not to think about running away. Taine was the first to fall, but the others are weakening. The Dryad collapses after two days, her skin so pale that the green veins are clear beneath her strangely translucent skin. She is too far from forest, hasn’t touched vegetation in days. She, too, vanishes into a caravan.
The Selkie faints barely a day later. Lack of water leaves her skin burned and peeling and hot with fever. After two more days they stop throwing scraps to the werewolf and the Kaer, and she weakens until she, too, vanishes. By the time we reach the aeroplane, only I and the Kaer are left. His eyes blaze in a face verging on gaunt. The slashes in his wings, soiled by dirt and salt sweat, have begun to fester, but the last man to try to venture near him had both his shins shattered by the predator’s savagely strong kicks. I stay away from him, but whenever he looks at me he bares his teeth and grinds them against the metal gag, the corners of his mouth now rubbed raw and lips smeared with blood.
He looks like a nightmare.
It is almost a relief to be shoved in a cage. They fight to get him in, but finally we are loaded into the aeroplane’s belly. They close the door and I am left alone in the dark and heat with the eerie hiss of someone’s strained breathing.
We take off in a roar of sound. Exhausted, I can’t even wonder at this, my first flight in an aeroplane. I curl up miserably and try to sleep.
