Illyn's Story

Illyn walked. This was nothing new to her. She was dirty, sore and bore the wounds of the long trek like the rest but her mind was not thinking about it. That was the advantage she and Neman had over “newer” slaves. They knew when to tune out thinking about the walk and the pain. The trick was to keep the mind active on other things. Illyn was busy counting the number of stiches it took to fix the leg of Neman's pants.

"14, 15, 16..."

Her nose itched, a piece of blonde hair was tickling it. It interrupted her counting. Leaning over towards her hands, Illyn did her best to scratch and not rattle the chain too much or break her pace. One of the slavers seemed a bit more sadistic than she was used to and Illyn did not want him coming at her for a simple annoying itch.

Her eyes watched ahead, keeping an eye to ensure Johno, as she had heard him called did not look over to her. She did not need to worry. Ahead of her, another slave had fallen and she could hear Johno voice yelling for him to get up. The crack of the whip broke the air and the chain slowed as the guards were called for.

Illyn scratched the annoying itch for all it was worth, relieved at the break to do so. Her eyes raised to their surroundings. There was something eerie and unsettling about the ruins. It wasn’t simply the stories she had heard about it. Intact but empty buildings as they entered made it feel as if ghosts were watching them as they walked, bidding them enter if they dared.

The caravan kept going moving further in and as they did more and more slave became nervous. Illyn went back to counting.

"1. 2. 3..."

Now, remnants of structures stuck out of the ground. Large pieces missing giving them the appearance of giant creatures about to devour anything that came near them. Illyn tilted her head mesmerized for a moment by one particular one. The whole building was slightly toppled but there was also a chunk missing out of the one side. This hole gaped open, a great mouth of darkness. Two openings, windows in a bygone time were perfectly positioned, giving the building-creature black absorbing eyes.

Illyn was staring into it and to her the building was looking back. She could almost hear it calling her forward, calling her to her death. She frowned, blond eyebrows furrowing on tanned skin. Something was wrong. The chain was suddenly heavier.

Illyn pulled her gaze from the building and looked to those in front of her again. Her mind worked to play catch up to her eyes. Slaves, on the ground. No, not just slaves, slavers too. She worked to comprehend just what she was seeing. It made no sense. As more dropped, Illyn was forced to the ground. She tried to look behind her. Neman had been chained there. Maybe he had an idea of what was going on, saw something as she was staring into the building.

Her brother lay on the ground. Illyn blinked. He must have collapsed under the weight as she had. Neman wasn't on his knees though. His body was contorted, crumpled and misshapen from how he had landed as if he simply dropped or collapsed. Trying to turn Illyn grabbed hold of the chain in front of her. She attempted to drag the body and chain in order to aid her movement. There was too much weight and she too weak. She huffed slightly in annoyance.

“Neman...wake...wake up....” Her voice was low and hushed, a habit from conversing with him when others might be listening. “Neman...”

Illyn kept trying to pull on the chain. She needed to see her brother. They had never been apart, he had always protected her. He couldn't just be dead, not after the years they had endured. Not without a logical reason for his death. Illyn could hear but did not understand the sounds of gunfire. She didn’t understand anything at that moment. Nothing seemed to make sense.

Illyn grabbed the chain again. Her hands wrapped themselves around the links and pulled. This time it moved and allowed her to turn towards her brother. The shackles rubbed but she didn’t care. “No...”

Someone was yelling from the front of the line but she wasn’t able to hear it clearly. Her mind was too preoccupied and new noises made distinguishing words harder. New screams rang out. Illyn looked up from Neman’s corpse, angered slightly that people were making so much noise that it was making it hard for her to think. She was struck immediately at how few slaves were still alive. Looking towards the front of the line there was a commotion going on.

Head’s were looking into the ruins, the chain was being pulled on and Illyn simply watched it all. Those that she could see, at least three other slaves were watching some the ruins and frantically trying to escape. Blue eyes were wide as she watched the scavenger emerge from the ruins. “From the pit of demons....they are coming for us.” She felt oddly calm as she watched certain death come for the survivors. Illyn nodded as if understanding now what the fear was about.

Illyn watched a very big man scream for someone to grab the keys. Somewhere inside of her there was a voice telling her that she should be doing the same but kneeling in the dirt next to Neman’s body all she could do was watch with an almost fascination. Flight. Crouched in the dirt, Illyn observed first hand a person's desire to flee to save their life.

A scavenger was eating one of the dead slaves. The remaining slaves were screaming and trying to flee still. Illyn licked her lips. The slave was dead when the scavenger began eating, like Neman. She looking around at her brother she realized just how many were dead and the slavers too. Again a frown appeared on the woman’s face.

There had to be something that had caused the initial wave of death. On her right had been the ruins and judging by the sun, it was the east. The scavengers had come from that way. Nothing else that she could see gave her any clue. Illyn looked to the north, again nothing but dirt and ruins. Turning her head to the west, Illyn’s left, was something entirely unexpected. Her expression never changed she stared back at the wolf. It was watching the chaos as if, like her, it was fascinated with watching the people flee.

Illyn stood slowly, the chain still in her hands. Those bodies closest to her moved slightly with her, including her brother’s. She paid them no mind. Her eyes never left those of the wolf’s. Licking her lips again, Illyn stepped towards it. Something about the way it stared, that it was staring gave the wolf an almost human quality. Illyn was both terrifed and unafraid of it.

She knew she should run. Neman would have wanted her to run, to try and flee but Illyn couldn’t bring herself to do it. Chaos was behind her and calm in front of her, yet everywhere was death. Whatever killed Neman had not killed her and now it seemed she had a choice. Scavengers or the wolf. Moving as best as the chains allowed Illyn moved towards the wolf. She was pulling lifeless bodies behind her, like the train of a dress.

“A choice in death, than I chose you”

Illyn kept her eyes locked to the wolf’s.

Cammara made herself small. It hadn’t worked when Johno had accused her of trying to escape. As she’d learned, there were too many vulnerable places to protect them all, and it was easy for anyone to pry her open like a clam. She’d hated freshwater clams. Silly thing to think about now. She dragged her forehead across her forearm and buried her face into the crook of her elbow. PET nestled uncomfortably in the tangle of her limbs; it was large enough to shield her if she wasn’t trying so hard to wrap herself around it and hide it from the Scavenger. She heard the final blow, but didn’t know for whom. Acrid ozone burned her nostrils, along with cloying minerals that hung in her dry throat, making her closed eyes water and her lungs spasm to find fresh air. It overpowered the scent of blood and offal, meaning it was closer. Her ears pricked on the sound of his weapon pulling free and she looked up, meeting his eyes.

Cammara unraveled her limbs out of the defensive crouch, letting her feet hang off the wagon before dropping the short distance to the ground. Her focus went to the dead Scavenger. The size… she could only assume it had been a child. She regarded the man’s face and saw the surety there she lacked. He’d killed it. It looked dead, but so did a sleeping snake. Just in case the thing was faking the stillness of death, she kept him between them. Scavenger mortality wasn’t something she wanted to get close enough to confirm.

He began talking. Introduced himself as Milo. Names were details she didn’t think were important at the moment, and the inane details of his preferences bordered on surreal. But if they survived this, she’d get him his coffee. As green and creamy as he wished.

“Cam,” she returned, feeling acutely uncomfortable with the name exchange. Imogen had told her horror stories of mages able to curse or control a person if given a name. She found herself hoping he wasn’t a mage. If she’d saved a mage and in turn been saved, they were even, and she had only to wait for him to turn on her, which was only what she expected from anyone in the Wastes. But it would gnaw at her that she’d given the key to a mage. It would be akin to setting Gozer free. Only she could trust Gozer wouldn’t save her life. That was it, was it? She didn’t want to owe her life to a mage.

She listened to his plan. She was about to tell him outright he was crazy, but she held her tongue in check. He’d told her to stay behind and he’d protect her. They’d each done exactly that, and had come out of it alive. It was something to consider. Then again, she would have done it anyway. And he’d have done it anyway, because the Scavenger had attacked him. Mustn’t give him too much credit.

Only it was terribly hard to not be impressed. He’d killed it with a fork. In less than a minute. She was staring, wasn’t she? Cammara made a conscious effort to look away.

But his plan was still terrible.

Who retreats closer toward the city of gnashing hungry cannibals? Seriously, might as well crawl into a Scavenger’s mouth now. They have better technology, are on their territory, and already know we’re here. We have no advantage. We’re going to die.

Cammara’s fingers were back in the wagon. Where her fingers were, her eyes were, and at least this way she could keep track of them. It made sense that items used often would be within easy reach. It wasn’t proving true in practice. Surely there was something more. Better than possibly spoiled grain and a bag of salt, she amended. An idea struck her, and she stuck her hand under the carriage of the wagon, blinding searching out with her fingertips until she closed over something smooth and cool. Ripping it out from its hideyhole, she dangled a flask by its short chain. “For you. Use later,” she said before tossing it to Milo. It was alcohol, something better than the rotgut the other slavers had access to, and not at all like the smooth spirits Cameron made to keep them warm in winter. She knew whose it was. He wouldn’t miss it. She was confident it would dissuade Milo’s abused flesh from becoming septic.

“How long did it take you to decide that structure was defensible?” she said. Cammara couldn’t bite her tongue forever, and she rationalized there was no nice way to communicate how horrible his plan was. She spoke quickly, hoping he wouldn’t have time to be offended, and in no small part because there was a panic lying in wait to swallow her should they stay here a moment longer: “If it is good, that building hasn’t been vacant in seven centuries. Not my first choice for holding out a siege. It is a fine tomb. Very tall. I think though the locals would know best where the nearest watering hole is. They probably eat there regularly.”

Speaking of which, the furry beast had impeccable timing, like it had heard a dinner bell. Or maybe it had followed them in. It couldn’t have attacked in the ravine. Too many had been alive then. Predators didn’t attack herds (and there was no doubt in her mind that this was a predator); they attacked individuals that strayed from the group, or those too weak to adequately defend themselves. It was large, very large, so it didn’t need a pack to take down a human. There had been mountain lions and bears back home that hunted solo, but this creature wasn’t acting at all like either species. Its paws, massive as they were, were not structured for the terrain of the Ruins, which suggested strongly that the Ruins were not its native environment. Like a nut around a nail, it didn’t belong. “Milo, what kind of animal watches a chained lamb but does not eat it?” The question wasn’t as rhetorical as her tone implied, and despite the slew of analytical ground she’d covered, came quickly on the tail of her last words. The beast might not be hungry. Or it might be suspicious, familiar with the concept of traps. Or, as she suspected, it did not eat humans. Even if it wasn’t harmless, it wasn’t a flesh-rending Scavenger or the ancestral family home of a flesh-rending Scavenger.

“I think we should go back through the ravine. I don’t want to be trapped in a dark tower with no clear escape route and who knows how many Scavengers.”

Illyn’s eyes remained on the wolf. Around her there were screams, yells of survivors trying to escape and utter chaos. All she could focus on was the eyes of the beast in front of her. Her body felt warm, her heart was pounding but her breathing was slow and deep. The blue of her eyes were like a blue sky, calm and serene.

Illyn was about to step towards the beast again when something hit her calf. Confusion flickered in her features. Eyes darted watching a man run towards the caravan. He was free, no chains. Illyn looked closer. There were others moving about, free of their bonds and looking to flee.

The large man, the one who had yelled for keys was free and carrying something very large. Illyn realized it was a piece of the caravan wagon. He was running with it. Illyn’ brain was struggling to come to terms with the image. Yes he was big but he shouldn’t be able to do that...

Blue eyes blinked and the man was now airborne, landing with a sickening thud. She was certain he was going to be dead soon. He would be too damaged from the attack to fight off anything that came at him. Eyebrows lifted in wonder as the man stood, wrenching his arm back into place. He smiled and Illyn shivered.

She licked parched lips and turned her eyes back to the wolf. It hadn’t moved. Blinking once it occured to her that something had hit her earlier. Looking down she saw the key laying in the dirt. “Key.”

Illyn knew that it could be used for something but her mind was failing to make the connection. She looked up again at the wolf and then at the caravan, there was movement there. Others, moving, searching...

Everything suddenly clicked her mind. The key was for her shackles, to unlock them, to get away like everyone else.

Illyn crouched, grasped the key in her fingers and watched the wolf as she inserted the key in the locks. Her breathing was slow and deep as she struggled to fit metal into metal. The beast hadn’t moved, hadn’t come at her but was still watching. There was scraping click as the first shackle released and dropped at her feet.

The key was moved to the other shackle and again with a click it fell at her feet. Illyn stood slowly. She looked around.

“Now what?” Her mind mocked her. She had been ready to walk into the wolf’s teeth than be ripped apart by a scavenger. She was free and yet defenseless. Wolf on one side, scavengers on the other. Illyn still felt there was more to the wolf than appeared. It was too calm and too curious. If was here to feed it would have joined in already.

Looking at the wolf again, Illyn began to back away slowly. She locked eyes with it again and began to edge towards the caravan. There were others there, maybe food she could take or water.

Glances stolen over her shoulder allowed her to keep track of the large, now even more intimidating man as well as any other creature that would come between her and the caravan.

Illyn reached behind her and felt the wood structure. She could hear voices. The wolf still hadn’t moved. A slow huff out and Illyn turned to find the source of the voices. Two figures stood and seemed to be discussing where to run. Fear gripped Illyn. “Don’t leave...”

She opened her mouth and at first nothing came out. Illyn looked behind her at the bodies that lay there. Neman’s was there and he would want her to live. The man had a weapon, the woman sounded like she knew what she was talking about. The body of a scavenger lay at the man's feet. They seemed ready to fight and do what it took to survive. Illyn looked them over again.

He was tall, very tall and lean. Stubbled faced and long haired but held the pronged spear as if he was more than capable with it. She was a tangle of hair and torn clothes.

Illyn found her voice, interrupting their discussion. “Take me with you. Please.”