Woofie
01-22-2006, 08:35 AM
Kaelir awoke with spiders crawling in her head.
Her forehead pulsed with hurt, and her mouth stung with salt and blood. She tried to move her arms but found them lashed together with tight ropes. Kaelir tried to reach back into her mind and remembered what had taken place and where she was, but she knew only one thing for certain. Many had died.
Kaelir was lying on a wooden floor that creaked with slight movements. She pushed her knees close to her belly and uttered a muffled groan. The ground was rocking underneath her. She was on a ship.
She thought she must have gone blind when she could not see, but then
she felt the rough cloth that had been tied over her eyes, and a gag had been placed in her mouth.
A door creaked open, and the edge of the cloth fabric was washed in light. Kaelir tried to stand, but there were deep bruises all over her body that made that attempt too painful to bear. When she tried to move her hand she found that several of her fingers had been broken. She screamed, pushing her body backwards with one foot as splinters from the wood shot up into her arm.
Footsteps resounded through her ears and the sound was almost painful. The blindfold was yanked off. Kaelir screamed.
A huge orc kneeled in front of her, holding the blindfold in one meaty hand. His body was covered in colored tribal tattoos and bone jewelry. His face was concentrated in anger. Kaelir tried to speak but the gag muffled her voice.
“Don’t speak,” The orc said. His voice was like the edge of a serrated blade, grinding against the air. Kaelir felt the negative vibrations of the energy sawing through her. She shuddered, suddenly very cold. “Don’t try to speak. You don’t speak unless told to speak, do you understand? That may be the only thing that keeps you alive where we are going.”
Kaelir moaned. The orc gripped her face in one huge hand, making it hard to breathe.
“I am Ogrimmar,” he said. “Best you remember that name,” he let her go and her head thudded against the wood floor, sending up a new burst of pain through her skull. He then stood up, walked out, and slammed the door behind him.
Kaelir tried to look around, but even the slightest movement of her neck caused pain. She was in a holding room, either the hull of the ship or a cargo room. Stacks of crates lined the walls, tied only with thin rope, and they slammed against one another as the ship rocked against the waves.
Memories began to slowly seep into her brain, like thick droplets of water pushed one at a time through a thick membrane wall. For many moments she forgot her name, but it came back to her.
Hunger stretched against her stomach. Her heart hammered in her throat. Her mouth was crumbly textured and dry. Her entire being ached for water. Memories began to form coherent strings as her consciousness began to take hold. She was supposed to be dead.
Memories permeated her senses. She remembered a white sky over a warm ocean, feeling energy dance beneath her fingertips.
Kaelir was a child on Talking Island, sitting on a grassy hillock overlooking the waters. The scent of sea spray and wild flowers early in bloom cloyed her nostrils. She held her hands out to the warmth surrounding her. She could sense energy in the sky, simmering and jumping like boiled water. She could sense it in the earth, untapped and rich with power. It was pulling itself up into her fingers and into her heart, making every color deeper and more defined, making every scent and texture throb like separate heartbeats.
“I can feel it master,” She said, and closed her eyes to inhale the energy and then amass it in her hands. A bright blue spark materialized in her cupped palm; jumping and sizzling, and then dissipated just as quickly, like mist.
The old woman smiled, making her eyes disappear underneath the crinkles on her face. She sat quietly beside Kaelir, and brought up her palm. A glowing red figure bloomed out of her hand and began to dance across her fingers. She lowered her hand and let it float out into the grass, where it continued to dance in short, sharp bursts of light.
“This is the essence of energy,” She said. “Before you can control things outside of you, you must control the magic inside of yourself.” She smiled again, and laughed, a rich and warmly deep laugh. “Now what am I going to say?”
“… Try again?” Kaelir asked. The old woman clapped a hand on her shoulder and nodded.
“You must always try again.”
Kaelir was hauled to her feet. She cried out in pain at the abruptness. Most of her body was tender with bruises.
“Get up,” the orc said. “Get moving.” Kaelir’s eyes followed the trail of his hands, where he rested them on his belt, gleaming with an assortment of axes and knives. He grabbed her collar and pulled her toward the door. She stumbled, almost falling. If she had fallen she did not think she would have been able to get up.
The orc lead her to the deck. It was night outside, the stars danced into constellations against the framework of the sky. They had docked. And there was a welcome party waiting.
Kaelir suddenly felt very small and alone. She was pushed down from the boat, onto a wide board that had been set leading to the docks. She could not move from either side, only walk forward as a path was set. There were orcs everywhere, brandishing torches, axes, and swords. Young orc children were set on their father’s shoulders, crying with just as much excitement and abandon. The air was filled with the sharp scents of incense and smoke, and fat burning as it hissed into fires. Keltir, bear, and wolf meat was caught and carved out over fire pits. There was a hiss of rattles and the deep bass of drums being beaten until the gongs were broken with such wild abandon. And Kaelir walked on.
It was a victory celebration.
Bone necklaces rattled against green skin. Women in shaman garb danced around fire pits, drinking dark leafy tea and chanting as their eyes rolled up in their heads. The warriors that came off the ship were greeted as heroes, their faces pressed with red ink, the sign for honor, and then they were passed meat and beer in huge flagons. Some women pulled bear necklaces and arrowheads tied with rawhide over the warrior’s necks. Below the cheering, dancing, singing, and roaring, no one could hear Kaelir’s muffled whimpers underneath the gag.
An orc whispered in her ear. It was Ogrimmar. Kaelir could recognize his voice because it sounded like there were shards of broken glass beneath his teeth.
“The people will have their victory, young elf. It might be the only reason that you are still alive.”
Kaelir tried to speak, but no words would be allowed to surface underneath the gag. She tried to cast a spell, but her feet could find no energy in the earth, or even inside of herself. It was impossible. There was energy everywhere, but it felt as if the ground had been dampened, or if, something had been dampened inside of her. There was no light to bounce the energy off of. There was nothing that she could connect to.
Ogrimmar, at least she thought it was Ogrimmar, grabbed her underneath the arm and led her through the orcs, to the middle of the camp. Kaelir felt she was going to throw up, only there was nothing in her stomach. The stench that clogged her nostrils made her gag. She buckled to her knees, but Ogrimmar pushed her up. Kaelir dry heaved as Ogrimmar half dragged her across the ground, to the center of the camp.
Kaelir was pushed against a wooden pole, her head tilted upward and rope lashed around her neck, arms, and legs; tight enough to create burns. It was hard to breathe. Air came in through her nose tight and hot.
“We are the future!” Ogrimmar roared over the crowd. The swelling orc mass turned and cheered. The bass drums beat louder. The rattles hissed like frenetic snakes. Kaelir’s head rolled against her neck and she closed her eyes.
The old woman braided white flowers into Kaelir’s hair. She had washed in the stream, and dressed in a white silk dress with a necklace of flowers around her bare neck.
“You are nervous,” The old woman said. Her hands worked slowly to braid Kaelir’s long, soft hair. Kaelir swallowed hard.
“I don’t like the thought of being judged, master,” Kaelir said. She had learned to be honest as a child. The old woman could sense her thoughts and emotions as clearly as if they were etched onto her skin. The morning of her coronation had seemed especially bright, but Kaelir’s heart throbbed uncomfortably. Her thoughts were flooded with a dry panic.
“You’ll do fine,” She said. “There,” as she finished Kaelir’s braid. Kaelir turned around and managed a soft smile, but her face was concentrated with worry.
“You don’t doubt your abilities, child?” She asked.
Kaelir shook her head and frowned. “No,” she said. “It’s just…”
“It’s just what?”
Kaelir stood up and threw her arms above her head, exasperated. It seemed as if she always had too much energy, that she just couldn’t expel it fast enough, as if there were no way to contain it. She shocked a lot of people, just if they happened to brush past her. She was bristling with magic.
“It’s just I don’t think I’m ready!” She sat down in the old rocking chair next to the fire, which had smoldered into hot ash. This had been her home for four years; just a simple one room cottage, with smoky wood walls and floors. It was almost bare, except for the necessities of food, drink, and medicinal supplies and sparse furniture, and yet Kaelir imagined the ache when she would leave it, and the island behind.
The old woman threw her head back and laughed. There was a fiery gleam I her eyes. “Child, no one ever thinks they are ready! You just have to have courage and trust in yourself.”
Kaelir nodded. Tears were about to brim on her eyes, and when she spoke her voice quivered, but she didn’t want to ruin her clean face by crying at the last moment.
“Thank you, master.”
“Child, they’re waiting for you. You have to keep going forward. You’re going to be a wizard.”
Kaelir swallowed again and nodded. “I don’t know what I will do without you.”
She smiled. “You’ll learn. Now go and accept your destiny.”
Ogrimmar brandished a large, curved knife to the crowd. The cheer could have made the earth collapse underneath them; the pulsing of voices was so great.
“I present to you, orc tribes of Elmore, a gift from the land of Aden! A captive elf taken as victory of war!” Spittle flew from Ogrimmar’s mouth in his passionate rage. He pointed the curved knife at Kaelir, bound to the post.
“But not just any elf!” He roared. “A wizard of the magistrative! A seer with gifted eyes and the ability to see what happens before it occurs!”
The drums snaked across Kaelir’s ears. It made her head hurt to listen to the music, the whooping cheers. Ogrimmar approached her, spearing the knife over his head as he grabbed her hair, thrusting her neck out, showing her terrified face to the crowd. She bit her gag in panic.
“Let me show you what power an elf wizard has over the orc tribes!” Ogrimmar raised the curved knife even higher. Kaelir saw it in her mind eye, cutting down. She winced, and closed her eyes, waiting for the blow.
He hacked off her hair near the scalp in one sawing motion, severing the long golden strands that had never been cut before, as a vow of Wizard, to keep her close to the earth. That was now clutched in Ogrimmar’s ruddy fists. Before he went back to the crowd, he leaned in to whisper in her ear.
“This is just the beginning, girl. You’ll soon learn what it means to defy the orcs.”
An orc woman shouted from the crowd, her shrill voice managing to scrape above the crowd.
“Brand her with the slaves tattoo!” She cried. The crowd murmured its assent. Tattooing inks and needles were passed from hand to hand, up to Ogrimmar.
“We won’t rest!” He roared, holding the needles and inks in one hand, “Until all elves are under the rule of Elmore!” Ogrimmar thrust the knife into his belt and pushed Kaelir’s head back against her spine, exposing her neck. Kaelir screamed underneath her gag as Ogrimmar began to work.
Kaelir stood on the Talking Island docks, feeling the wind rustling in her hair, the salt spray that she could taste against her lips, knowing the energy of the island, so that she could savor it before she left. She held up her hand and let an icy blue flame conjure up in her hand, and then bristle up her arm. It danced and sparked, pulsating with the ether that lived inside of her and drew its power from all living things.
“Kaelir,” came a small voice. Someone tugged on the hem of her dress. Kaelir turned around. Several of the village children had followed her down to the docks. They stared up at her with bright, eager eyes that were also filled with a childlike longing.
“Don’t go Kaelir!” a little human girl with short, black cropped hair said. She ran and hugged Kaelir around the waist. Kaelir smiled sadly and patted the young girl on the head. “Don’t go, Kaelir!” passed around the children like a sad murmur.
“Andariel, Dareik, Inari, Elsie, Noll,” Kaelir spoke their names one at a time, touching them on the heads one at a time, silently infusing them with a part of her energy. They clustered tighter around her, filled with the warmth of her energy. She silently prayed a blessing upon them all; for courage and strength and health.
“I have to go,” She said. “I have to go and start making my destiny.” She smiled. Fragments of the old woman’s energy still clung to her dress from when they had hugged.
“But where are you going?” They asked.
“To the elven magistrate. They’ve sent me a summons.”
“What will you be doing there?”
Kaelir laughed. “Oh… very exciting things, like… studying and sitting in a dark room for hours copying tables!”
“Eww!” The children groaned. One of the little boys cried out in excitement and pointed at the horizon of the waters. “Look, I see sails! You’re ships coming, Kaelir.”
“Wait!” One of the girls cried. “Before you go, show us the lights again!”
“Yes! Show us the lights again! With every color in the universe!”
Kaelir sighed, feigning exasperation. But suddenly she turned her palms upwards and shot out colored sparks that turned into large, brilliant bursts that rocked upwards and exploded in a rain of colors.
The children screamed with joy and began to run around the dock as the energy floated lazily down, and they tried to clasp the magic in their palms.
“I’ll miss you guys,” Kaelir said. “I’ll miss all of you.”
Ogrimmar finished the tattoo on Kaelir’s neck and jerked her head to show it to the crowd.
“What has an elven wizard been reduced to?” He roared. He gripped her hair even harder until she cried. He let go of her hair and jumped on top of a leather covered drum.
“We have gained a great victory over the Elven people! We have a new weapon!” He pointed at Kaelir, once again pulling the curved knife from his belt.
“An elf fighting for the orcs! Impossible!” One orc cried.
“We shall see!” Ogrimmar said, suddenly grim, pointing the knife at the crowd, alighting on individual faces. “We shall see.”
Kaelir stood on top of the hill with the rest of the elves, overlooking the camp of orcs. Smoke had been on the horizon for days.
“What shall we report back to the magistrate?” An elf asked her. He gripped his magic rod tighter, until his knuckles turned white with tension.
“What can we tell them?” Another asked. Her voice shook. The orcs below were sharpening axe blades and applying war paint to their thick, green bodies. There was no mistaking their intentions.
Kaelir felt the twin swords at her hips as if they were living, sparking energy threatening to jump with power. The mithril she wore was infused with this same energy, the mithril that many of the magistrate wizards wore, to connect them with the earth and the sky and Eva’s power whispering magic like a wind.
“We aren’t letting them get past the borders,” Kaelir said.
“Is that even possible? Look how many of them there is!” Kaelir didn’t even hear the voices of protest. She pointed one of the swords at the swelling orc mass.
“Everyone thinks they aren’t ready. You just have to have courage, and strength. We are going to win.”
Kaelir’s body was thrown on the tent floor. Her neck still hurt after being tattooed, and the wet surface ink still glistened bright against her pale skin. The gag was removed and she was given a small clay bowl of water and strips of tough meat before Ogrimmar closed the tent flap.
“There are guards posted out front. Don’t make trouble.” He said, and then left.
The victory chants had died down, but there was still the dull thud of beer flagons clashing together and meat being ripped from bone as they ate. The night was thick and syrupy, but Kaelir could only hear her own breathing, struggling against the fabric of the air, as she drifted into hard, uneasy sleep.
To be continued
Her forehead pulsed with hurt, and her mouth stung with salt and blood. She tried to move her arms but found them lashed together with tight ropes. Kaelir tried to reach back into her mind and remembered what had taken place and where she was, but she knew only one thing for certain. Many had died.
Kaelir was lying on a wooden floor that creaked with slight movements. She pushed her knees close to her belly and uttered a muffled groan. The ground was rocking underneath her. She was on a ship.
She thought she must have gone blind when she could not see, but then
she felt the rough cloth that had been tied over her eyes, and a gag had been placed in her mouth.
A door creaked open, and the edge of the cloth fabric was washed in light. Kaelir tried to stand, but there were deep bruises all over her body that made that attempt too painful to bear. When she tried to move her hand she found that several of her fingers had been broken. She screamed, pushing her body backwards with one foot as splinters from the wood shot up into her arm.
Footsteps resounded through her ears and the sound was almost painful. The blindfold was yanked off. Kaelir screamed.
A huge orc kneeled in front of her, holding the blindfold in one meaty hand. His body was covered in colored tribal tattoos and bone jewelry. His face was concentrated in anger. Kaelir tried to speak but the gag muffled her voice.
“Don’t speak,” The orc said. His voice was like the edge of a serrated blade, grinding against the air. Kaelir felt the negative vibrations of the energy sawing through her. She shuddered, suddenly very cold. “Don’t try to speak. You don’t speak unless told to speak, do you understand? That may be the only thing that keeps you alive where we are going.”
Kaelir moaned. The orc gripped her face in one huge hand, making it hard to breathe.
“I am Ogrimmar,” he said. “Best you remember that name,” he let her go and her head thudded against the wood floor, sending up a new burst of pain through her skull. He then stood up, walked out, and slammed the door behind him.
Kaelir tried to look around, but even the slightest movement of her neck caused pain. She was in a holding room, either the hull of the ship or a cargo room. Stacks of crates lined the walls, tied only with thin rope, and they slammed against one another as the ship rocked against the waves.
Memories began to slowly seep into her brain, like thick droplets of water pushed one at a time through a thick membrane wall. For many moments she forgot her name, but it came back to her.
Hunger stretched against her stomach. Her heart hammered in her throat. Her mouth was crumbly textured and dry. Her entire being ached for water. Memories began to form coherent strings as her consciousness began to take hold. She was supposed to be dead.
Memories permeated her senses. She remembered a white sky over a warm ocean, feeling energy dance beneath her fingertips.
Kaelir was a child on Talking Island, sitting on a grassy hillock overlooking the waters. The scent of sea spray and wild flowers early in bloom cloyed her nostrils. She held her hands out to the warmth surrounding her. She could sense energy in the sky, simmering and jumping like boiled water. She could sense it in the earth, untapped and rich with power. It was pulling itself up into her fingers and into her heart, making every color deeper and more defined, making every scent and texture throb like separate heartbeats.
“I can feel it master,” She said, and closed her eyes to inhale the energy and then amass it in her hands. A bright blue spark materialized in her cupped palm; jumping and sizzling, and then dissipated just as quickly, like mist.
The old woman smiled, making her eyes disappear underneath the crinkles on her face. She sat quietly beside Kaelir, and brought up her palm. A glowing red figure bloomed out of her hand and began to dance across her fingers. She lowered her hand and let it float out into the grass, where it continued to dance in short, sharp bursts of light.
“This is the essence of energy,” She said. “Before you can control things outside of you, you must control the magic inside of yourself.” She smiled again, and laughed, a rich and warmly deep laugh. “Now what am I going to say?”
“… Try again?” Kaelir asked. The old woman clapped a hand on her shoulder and nodded.
“You must always try again.”
Kaelir was hauled to her feet. She cried out in pain at the abruptness. Most of her body was tender with bruises.
“Get up,” the orc said. “Get moving.” Kaelir’s eyes followed the trail of his hands, where he rested them on his belt, gleaming with an assortment of axes and knives. He grabbed her collar and pulled her toward the door. She stumbled, almost falling. If she had fallen she did not think she would have been able to get up.
The orc lead her to the deck. It was night outside, the stars danced into constellations against the framework of the sky. They had docked. And there was a welcome party waiting.
Kaelir suddenly felt very small and alone. She was pushed down from the boat, onto a wide board that had been set leading to the docks. She could not move from either side, only walk forward as a path was set. There were orcs everywhere, brandishing torches, axes, and swords. Young orc children were set on their father’s shoulders, crying with just as much excitement and abandon. The air was filled with the sharp scents of incense and smoke, and fat burning as it hissed into fires. Keltir, bear, and wolf meat was caught and carved out over fire pits. There was a hiss of rattles and the deep bass of drums being beaten until the gongs were broken with such wild abandon. And Kaelir walked on.
It was a victory celebration.
Bone necklaces rattled against green skin. Women in shaman garb danced around fire pits, drinking dark leafy tea and chanting as their eyes rolled up in their heads. The warriors that came off the ship were greeted as heroes, their faces pressed with red ink, the sign for honor, and then they were passed meat and beer in huge flagons. Some women pulled bear necklaces and arrowheads tied with rawhide over the warrior’s necks. Below the cheering, dancing, singing, and roaring, no one could hear Kaelir’s muffled whimpers underneath the gag.
An orc whispered in her ear. It was Ogrimmar. Kaelir could recognize his voice because it sounded like there were shards of broken glass beneath his teeth.
“The people will have their victory, young elf. It might be the only reason that you are still alive.”
Kaelir tried to speak, but no words would be allowed to surface underneath the gag. She tried to cast a spell, but her feet could find no energy in the earth, or even inside of herself. It was impossible. There was energy everywhere, but it felt as if the ground had been dampened, or if, something had been dampened inside of her. There was no light to bounce the energy off of. There was nothing that she could connect to.
Ogrimmar, at least she thought it was Ogrimmar, grabbed her underneath the arm and led her through the orcs, to the middle of the camp. Kaelir felt she was going to throw up, only there was nothing in her stomach. The stench that clogged her nostrils made her gag. She buckled to her knees, but Ogrimmar pushed her up. Kaelir dry heaved as Ogrimmar half dragged her across the ground, to the center of the camp.
Kaelir was pushed against a wooden pole, her head tilted upward and rope lashed around her neck, arms, and legs; tight enough to create burns. It was hard to breathe. Air came in through her nose tight and hot.
“We are the future!” Ogrimmar roared over the crowd. The swelling orc mass turned and cheered. The bass drums beat louder. The rattles hissed like frenetic snakes. Kaelir’s head rolled against her neck and she closed her eyes.
The old woman braided white flowers into Kaelir’s hair. She had washed in the stream, and dressed in a white silk dress with a necklace of flowers around her bare neck.
“You are nervous,” The old woman said. Her hands worked slowly to braid Kaelir’s long, soft hair. Kaelir swallowed hard.
“I don’t like the thought of being judged, master,” Kaelir said. She had learned to be honest as a child. The old woman could sense her thoughts and emotions as clearly as if they were etched onto her skin. The morning of her coronation had seemed especially bright, but Kaelir’s heart throbbed uncomfortably. Her thoughts were flooded with a dry panic.
“You’ll do fine,” She said. “There,” as she finished Kaelir’s braid. Kaelir turned around and managed a soft smile, but her face was concentrated with worry.
“You don’t doubt your abilities, child?” She asked.
Kaelir shook her head and frowned. “No,” she said. “It’s just…”
“It’s just what?”
Kaelir stood up and threw her arms above her head, exasperated. It seemed as if she always had too much energy, that she just couldn’t expel it fast enough, as if there were no way to contain it. She shocked a lot of people, just if they happened to brush past her. She was bristling with magic.
“It’s just I don’t think I’m ready!” She sat down in the old rocking chair next to the fire, which had smoldered into hot ash. This had been her home for four years; just a simple one room cottage, with smoky wood walls and floors. It was almost bare, except for the necessities of food, drink, and medicinal supplies and sparse furniture, and yet Kaelir imagined the ache when she would leave it, and the island behind.
The old woman threw her head back and laughed. There was a fiery gleam I her eyes. “Child, no one ever thinks they are ready! You just have to have courage and trust in yourself.”
Kaelir nodded. Tears were about to brim on her eyes, and when she spoke her voice quivered, but she didn’t want to ruin her clean face by crying at the last moment.
“Thank you, master.”
“Child, they’re waiting for you. You have to keep going forward. You’re going to be a wizard.”
Kaelir swallowed again and nodded. “I don’t know what I will do without you.”
She smiled. “You’ll learn. Now go and accept your destiny.”
Ogrimmar brandished a large, curved knife to the crowd. The cheer could have made the earth collapse underneath them; the pulsing of voices was so great.
“I present to you, orc tribes of Elmore, a gift from the land of Aden! A captive elf taken as victory of war!” Spittle flew from Ogrimmar’s mouth in his passionate rage. He pointed the curved knife at Kaelir, bound to the post.
“But not just any elf!” He roared. “A wizard of the magistrative! A seer with gifted eyes and the ability to see what happens before it occurs!”
The drums snaked across Kaelir’s ears. It made her head hurt to listen to the music, the whooping cheers. Ogrimmar approached her, spearing the knife over his head as he grabbed her hair, thrusting her neck out, showing her terrified face to the crowd. She bit her gag in panic.
“Let me show you what power an elf wizard has over the orc tribes!” Ogrimmar raised the curved knife even higher. Kaelir saw it in her mind eye, cutting down. She winced, and closed her eyes, waiting for the blow.
He hacked off her hair near the scalp in one sawing motion, severing the long golden strands that had never been cut before, as a vow of Wizard, to keep her close to the earth. That was now clutched in Ogrimmar’s ruddy fists. Before he went back to the crowd, he leaned in to whisper in her ear.
“This is just the beginning, girl. You’ll soon learn what it means to defy the orcs.”
An orc woman shouted from the crowd, her shrill voice managing to scrape above the crowd.
“Brand her with the slaves tattoo!” She cried. The crowd murmured its assent. Tattooing inks and needles were passed from hand to hand, up to Ogrimmar.
“We won’t rest!” He roared, holding the needles and inks in one hand, “Until all elves are under the rule of Elmore!” Ogrimmar thrust the knife into his belt and pushed Kaelir’s head back against her spine, exposing her neck. Kaelir screamed underneath her gag as Ogrimmar began to work.
Kaelir stood on the Talking Island docks, feeling the wind rustling in her hair, the salt spray that she could taste against her lips, knowing the energy of the island, so that she could savor it before she left. She held up her hand and let an icy blue flame conjure up in her hand, and then bristle up her arm. It danced and sparked, pulsating with the ether that lived inside of her and drew its power from all living things.
“Kaelir,” came a small voice. Someone tugged on the hem of her dress. Kaelir turned around. Several of the village children had followed her down to the docks. They stared up at her with bright, eager eyes that were also filled with a childlike longing.
“Don’t go Kaelir!” a little human girl with short, black cropped hair said. She ran and hugged Kaelir around the waist. Kaelir smiled sadly and patted the young girl on the head. “Don’t go, Kaelir!” passed around the children like a sad murmur.
“Andariel, Dareik, Inari, Elsie, Noll,” Kaelir spoke their names one at a time, touching them on the heads one at a time, silently infusing them with a part of her energy. They clustered tighter around her, filled with the warmth of her energy. She silently prayed a blessing upon them all; for courage and strength and health.
“I have to go,” She said. “I have to go and start making my destiny.” She smiled. Fragments of the old woman’s energy still clung to her dress from when they had hugged.
“But where are you going?” They asked.
“To the elven magistrate. They’ve sent me a summons.”
“What will you be doing there?”
Kaelir laughed. “Oh… very exciting things, like… studying and sitting in a dark room for hours copying tables!”
“Eww!” The children groaned. One of the little boys cried out in excitement and pointed at the horizon of the waters. “Look, I see sails! You’re ships coming, Kaelir.”
“Wait!” One of the girls cried. “Before you go, show us the lights again!”
“Yes! Show us the lights again! With every color in the universe!”
Kaelir sighed, feigning exasperation. But suddenly she turned her palms upwards and shot out colored sparks that turned into large, brilliant bursts that rocked upwards and exploded in a rain of colors.
The children screamed with joy and began to run around the dock as the energy floated lazily down, and they tried to clasp the magic in their palms.
“I’ll miss you guys,” Kaelir said. “I’ll miss all of you.”
Ogrimmar finished the tattoo on Kaelir’s neck and jerked her head to show it to the crowd.
“What has an elven wizard been reduced to?” He roared. He gripped her hair even harder until she cried. He let go of her hair and jumped on top of a leather covered drum.
“We have gained a great victory over the Elven people! We have a new weapon!” He pointed at Kaelir, once again pulling the curved knife from his belt.
“An elf fighting for the orcs! Impossible!” One orc cried.
“We shall see!” Ogrimmar said, suddenly grim, pointing the knife at the crowd, alighting on individual faces. “We shall see.”
Kaelir stood on top of the hill with the rest of the elves, overlooking the camp of orcs. Smoke had been on the horizon for days.
“What shall we report back to the magistrate?” An elf asked her. He gripped his magic rod tighter, until his knuckles turned white with tension.
“What can we tell them?” Another asked. Her voice shook. The orcs below were sharpening axe blades and applying war paint to their thick, green bodies. There was no mistaking their intentions.
Kaelir felt the twin swords at her hips as if they were living, sparking energy threatening to jump with power. The mithril she wore was infused with this same energy, the mithril that many of the magistrate wizards wore, to connect them with the earth and the sky and Eva’s power whispering magic like a wind.
“We aren’t letting them get past the borders,” Kaelir said.
“Is that even possible? Look how many of them there is!” Kaelir didn’t even hear the voices of protest. She pointed one of the swords at the swelling orc mass.
“Everyone thinks they aren’t ready. You just have to have courage, and strength. We are going to win.”
Kaelir’s body was thrown on the tent floor. Her neck still hurt after being tattooed, and the wet surface ink still glistened bright against her pale skin. The gag was removed and she was given a small clay bowl of water and strips of tough meat before Ogrimmar closed the tent flap.
“There are guards posted out front. Don’t make trouble.” He said, and then left.
The victory chants had died down, but there was still the dull thud of beer flagons clashing together and meat being ripped from bone as they ate. The night was thick and syrupy, but Kaelir could only hear her own breathing, struggling against the fabric of the air, as she drifted into hard, uneasy sleep.
To be continued