Going Feet First Ch. 04

The horror of leaving the forest in which she had dwelled all her life was what had put her mind into a jumbled, frenzied mess. Only a gift from Tanza offered any reprieve, offered any sort of asylum from the Nether that had become her life. That gift was a magical spell, unimpeded by Pretayus's magic-freezing pendent and any other kind of magic that one could think of. This one spell had been granted for the sole purpose of helping her survive the coming weeks.

This magic, coupled with the home-like comfort of the world hidden on the floor of the Trench, helped Celia keep a right mind in the wake of leaving Atzla behind. The lush forest that bloomed in the first stretch was more pleasing and homey to her than the bland yellow plains above. There, the treeless expanses only made her want to spawn an oasis and hide from the endless world beyond.

From the beginning of her journey with Galen, she expected to leave the forest with him and venture out into the world beyond. What she also expected was to be with him when she did so, and for him to give her time to get accustomed with what was outside the borders of the forest. When she was forced out into it in Pretayus's lap with no chance to turn back, she nearly broke down right then.

She had known the world to be a big place, but then she discovered "big" was not a strong enough word. Endless fit better but somehow that did not even seem right to her. Trying to put the sheer size of it all into perspective made the Elf feel insignificant, like a fly on the back of a Troll, begging to be squashed.

Just after leaving the forest, she had cast her spell to slip her mind out of her body and into her own realm. Within this place she wrapped herself in the arms of Galen's mirage and prayed for his safety, remaining there until her exhausted body drew her back to reality.

The last thing she remembered before passing out was riding past the great stone wall in the trench, turning onto a path that descended the cliff side and joined a new road on the floor of the divide.

Now that she had woken, still fatigued and frightened, there was little more she wanted than to make what she had lived in her realm reality. Though she knew escaping to accomplish this was impossible, as Tanza's vision had shown, she still wished for it as they came upon the final turn before they reached what Val called, "the lands of civility."

To her left was the wall of the trench, lined with stones and boulders overgrown with rugged looking trees with roots thick enough to crack the stones they grew from. A little less than a half-mile off to her right, across a grassy field split by a river, was the other side of the trench that was, again, lined with the impossibly strong-rooted trees.

Ahead of Celia was a village, one made of stone protected by a wall that stood higher than a horse. Past the partially open gate were houses and streets patrolled by men wearing steel armor and carrying torches to light their way in the night.

Though it took her fatigued mind some time to see it, Celia realized that none of the village civilians were outside their homes. Only the "knights" and guards of the town were out on the streets, men who had strength in every step and lethal ambition in their eyes as they glanced toward the Tree Elf.

When the squad standing just outside the settlement waved Pretayus's group towards them, the warmth leeched out from the Elf's veins, her stomach knotting up into bows. Something about these men was making her shiver, and sent panicked waves through her nerves.

"I want Galen back," she said, tears beginning to run her cheeks. "I want to go home."

"Shut up," Pretayus growled as he pulled the horse's reins to one side to guide the mount toward the guards.

All his words managed to do was provoke her into breaking down into sobs, which in turn pulled in more attention in the group's direction. Archers standing guard on the ledges of the cliffs above notched arrows on their bows and prepared to draw. Knights in full plate armor began to move into positions along pathways and roads around Pretayus's group as though they were preparing to stop an escape attempt.

Looking about at the men surrounding him, Pretayus spotted the red and yellow bars painted vertically down their breastplates, glowing in the light of their torches. The other men standing beside them were wearing either leather or mail armors with tabards overtop that displayed the same colors as the knights.

Pretayus pulled the horse's reins back to bring his mount to a halt a few paces away from the Knights standing at entry gate to the town. Tin pulled up right after, followed by his two other Knights and the Lycan, Gark. For a few moments, the head of the guard examined the slavers, his face hidden underneath his full-helm.

"You will learn to shut up, or you will die," Pretayus whispered in Celia's ear as the blade of a hidden knife pressed against her belly. At once she reeled in her sobs, squeezing her eyes shut and fighting to keep herself under control as the steel further depressed her skin.

"All free Elves are banned from Redding's territory, by order of King Jermaine," the guard leader declared. "And all other nonhuman races must be registered. Present the Lycan's registration and explain the Elves. Failing to do so will have the Lycan jailed and the knife-ears executed."

Pretayus raised an eyebrow in a questioning manner. "Gark isn't registered, but I will seek to have that corrected. These Elves on my horse are slaves, one is mine while the other is being delivered to her buyer."

The lead Knight paused a moment as one of his men removed a note pad and quill from his pack, quickly scribbling something down on paper before his commander continued. "Who is the Elf's buyer?"

"Lord Fretheim," Tin cut in. "I am one of his soldiers and his current representative."

"Ahh, Lord Fretheim," the Knight said before chuckling. "Odd fellow, him. Tell me, boy, where is Captain Jorgen? I thought I saw him ride out a few days back, which I now presume was with you."

A saddened look came over Tin at the mention of the name, his eyes drifting to the ground as he answered, "He was killed, last night. A demon slew him and over two dozen of the slaver's men."

At once the whole area around Pretayus went deathly quiet, the head guard's shoulders dropping a bit. Only Celia's sniffles broke the air, but those were quickly suppressed.

"You did kill it, I hope?" a guard probed.

"I believe so," Pretayus answered. "But one can't tell with their kind sometimes. The Elf I have in my lap was a creature he became infatuated with, and I will seek my justice upon him through her."

Several different expressions were traded amongst the guards before their leader said, "As one could only expect with such a fiend. May his spirit suffer in the Nether, or wherever his kind goes when they die."

The Knight turned to the man with the paper and quill. "Curtis, write these men up the papers they'll need for the Lycan and Elves then send them on their way."

"Of course, sir," Curtis responded.

The commander motioned to his troops and marched off toward a nearby building, his squad falling in behind him in formation. The rest eased off from their imposing stances and removed their hands from the hilts of their blades. Once Curtis finished the documents, he tore the page out from his note pad and handed it to Pretayus, "You have my sympathies, sir."

"Thank you. I wish you better fortunes than I," Pretayus responded before turning to Tin and the rest of the group. "Let's get moving."

In a welcoming manner, the gate to the town opened up, and the horse between Celia's legs whinnied as mithril boots spurred its sides. The slavers rode through the town streets with only the street lamps to light their path. Sounds of hooves clopping against the cobblestones echoed through the rows of houses as Celia took in the change of scenery.

The buildings were made of stone held together by some light-grey material; their roofs were of wooden planks cut cleaner than anything the elf had ever seen before. For these engineering marvels, there was a trade-off. No trees grew along the walkways, no plants spawned between houses. Weeds did not even sprout up from in between the cracks in the stone. The odd flower hung from windows and there was a garden every so often, but the lack of any true, natural floral decor appalled the Tree Elf.

They live without out nature... no, worse than that. They exterminate it... she thought as she spotted a dirtied young boy in tattered clothes with a handful of pulled weeds, combing the street for more under the watchful eyes of a Knight in leather armor.

Queasy shivers in her belly began to overturn Celia's stomach as the boy brought the weeds to a brazier and tossed them in. The rising smoke dispersing into the air brought a faint scream that echoed in the back of her mind.

Then a certain odor hanging in the air crossed the Elf's nose, making her gag further. It reeked of the pile her clan dumped their refuse and waste into, and the further she rode into the town, the more potent the stench became.

"Now I remember why I did not miss civil lands," Gark grumbled, pinching his nose. "They throw their shit into the streets instead of burying it."

"Until the sewers are completed," Pretayus added. "Redding is very passionate about keeping their drinking water clean, anything that risks contamination would be fixed or destroyed."

With a hand over her nose, Celia racked her brain to figure out what the slavers were saying. The temptation to ask Val for a translation was there, but she doubted her former clan-mate would be so kind. She knew the empty husk that rode behind Pretayus was no longer the one she called "sister," but a broken puppet that was now called, "pet."

How far you've fallen, Val, Celia thought. If only you didn't approach him then. If only we had the time to save you. You wouldn't be his. You wouldn't be trapped in this stinky cesspool.

She looked around at her slaver escorts and shivered against the breastplate pressing against her back. There was no escape from them or the stomach churning fetor. Any Elf in a right mind would leave a disgusting place such as this, especially in the daytime when the sun shined and winds picked up. How one could actually live in such conditions, surrounded by their own filth without so much as a meadow to stave off the stench was beyond her.

Then she had to remember that she wasn't even in the "city" yet, where apparently thousands of people lived in tightly packed houses, having to "buy" their food and work themselves to the bone for "precious" metals. No hope for happiness, no chance at rising out of "poverty," stuck in a life with the only purpose of achieving greater happiness in the Serene.

Tanza had shown her disgust at these ideals when she explained it to the clan, and now Celia wondered what she would bear witness to in such a place.

Closing her eyes as tightly as possible, struggling to hold back the bursting dam of tears, she pleaded under her breath, "Galen, please, hurry."

Her words had gone unheard by Pretayus as they rode further into the town, passing into the central square. All around were closed stalls and covered wagons loaded with locked goods. Guards kept constant watch over these, moving with overlapping patrols and keeping the area well lit with lamps and torches.

More Knights maintained a stationary guard over the shops that made up nearly every building around the square, never leaving them alone for an instant. In the center of the square sat a three tiered fountain decorated with a bronze statue of a man in heavy armor with a cape hanging off his back, standing proudly with a blade on his hip and a crown on his head.

Celia had little time to ponder on this idol's identity as her horse rode on past the square and back into the streets. Several times they were stopped by guards and questioned, but Pretayus flashed his paper and they were waved on through. Before long they were out of the town, moving along a road that was flanked on either side by stretches of farmland that were dotted with small houses and barns spaced out between tilled fields and fenced-in pastures filled with herds of livestock.

What they do not gather, they grow in great numbers. Can this trench even support such a thing? Do they even know how to keep a balance? Celia wondered. Does Galen come from a land like this?

After passing a dozen fields and rounding two more bends in the trench, she set eyes on a sight more imposing than the height of the Great Tree. One that had her jaw dropping and chest reeling all at once.

A stone wall higher than the walls of the trench itself was built across the breadth of the divide. Hundreds of windows and balconies, none lower than the height of two trees above the ground, were built in many neatly organized rows and columns down the wall's face. Some were glowing from candle or firelight, but many others were dark.

On larger alcoves spread evenly throughout the wall, artillery pieces similar to giant crossbows watched over the trench while archers stepped out onto some of the balconies. A pair of massive double doors at the base of the wall opened up, permitting a group of knights to leave before they shut with a thunderous boom.

"Ahh, Redding," Pretayus started before sucking in a deep yawn. "It has been a while."

"Good to be home," Tin added.

"What is this place?" Celia asked with a quiver.

"This is the entrance to Redding: your new home," Val answered.

..................

Wrapped up in his wool blankets with the warm glow of a fireplace at his back, Elder Misn of the Willher tribe sat comfortably in his chair at the end of the long table in the village's Elder's hall. To the aged Neko's left sat Hunt Master Hail and Lady Akal, to his right: Lady Teak and Warrior Leader Sayn.

At the far end of the table was a gathering of various members of the tribe, as well as a pack of six warriors, all watching and waiting upon the Elder's words. Their anticipation was palpable, but the tension of the room was paramount. It rattled Misn's nerves and hung in the air like the humidity that followed a thunderstorm, primarily around the human sitting on Sayn's right.

Face twisted with controlled anger, Michael kept both his eyes locked on the partially rusted cage that was set atop the table before him. Within the confines of the iron bars, sat the one creature after whom he lusted for blood, who he wanted most to see disembowelled and purged from this new world: Emiel.

It was only out of respect for tribal traditions that the Sergeant kept himself calm and collected with his sidearm idle in its holster. He had one arm draped over Mila, who sat pressed up against his right side with both her hands sandwiched in between her thighs. Her eyes shifted around the room, watching the faces of both Hail and Akal as they kept their attention fixed on Emiel.

The battle-scarred Neko kept staring at the floor of his cage, not daring to make eye contact with any of his tribe. Especially Mila and her human. Not out of shame, but in an attempt to keep his boiling blood from spilling over into visible rage. With so much on the line, he couldn't afford to lose his cool.

It did not help him that an uncomfortable feeling constantly raked the underside of his skin like a pair of twirling blades as the human continued to glare at him. That dark hedge-hair casted long shadows in the fire light; his head was tilted slightly forward as to make his eyebrows arch down lower over his eyes. It was clear the human was good at intimidating even without opening his mouth, as his expression was enough to make Emiel's skin crawl even more than it was already.

The source of this uncomfortable shift in his body was the subtle, yet recognizable scent Emiel smelled that was coming off the human, one he doubted any other in the tribe would recognize. It was a powerful, aggressive smell that was carried by very few humans the Neko had slain in the past.

One of his hands began to drift toward the grey line over his belly, where a scar had formed from a wound that nearly killed him. A human who carried this scent had done this to him, and now another of the kind was here to see him dead, or worse.

With more of the scent flooding his senses, the claws in Emiel's hands poked out from their slits, digging into the palms of his fists. It was provoking his more primal instincts, primarily his desire for Mila's womb and the demands for human's death. Were it not for the bars between them and the warriors who would obviously intervene, the Neko hunter would come down upon this "Michael" and rip his skull from its base.

"We are gathered this evening..." Elder Misn started, taking in a yawn as Mila began to whisper a translation to Michael. "To pass judgement upon Emiel Calker Verd Vidderye... for his crimes against Nekonian law... *yawn* and betrayal of tribal trust."

Emiel's eyes came up to meet the Elder's, locking with them for only a second before swiftly retreating back to the floor of his cage. His teeth began to grind in his mouth.

"Here we decide... whether to judge the crimes as one... or have him pay for each as they are counted," Misn wheezed and broke into a minor coughing fit before recomposing himself.

After Mila finished relaying the Elder's words unto him, Michael intensified his glare on Emiel, praying for the death penalty.

"I ask for them to be judged as one. Make an example of him for all who would dare harm one of my trackers," Lady Akal declared, crossing her arms.

"I concur, let our human addition see that none are beyond punishment," Teak added.

"I ask for mercy to be taken upon the hunter, that his crimes be seen separately and punished accordingly," Hail appealed.

After taking in a deep yawn and pulling the blankets over his feet, Misn looked over to Sayn, nearly dozing off as he asked, "What of you... Warrior Leader?"

"I am undecided, Elder."

Emiel's eyes snapped to his superior, narrowing as a hostile snarl curled up on his lips. The caged Neko's breathing became unsteady as muscles all over his body tensed. His palms, already bloody from digging in his claws, now streamed with the crimson life as he thought, You dare abandon me, Sayn? After all my years of killing for you?! For you and these... ungrateful Racknar?!

"So you are... any reason for you to share... as to why you are conflicted?" Misn questioned.

Sayn glanced over to Emiel, then to Michael, going deep into thought to come up with an answer. "Emiel is a warrior of repute and strength. While I stand firm with our ways and our laws, I must also consider the good he has done and the effect my decision may have upon my men. It makes a conclusion difficult."

The Elder nodded in agreement before glancing over to Mila. "What do you say, child? It was you who was wronged... You had been with him more than any the past four seasons... what have you to say?

Moving one hand up to her shoulder to join her hand with the one Michael draped across her back, Mila turned her gaze down to the floor. "I have faced many undo hardships because of him, Elder. He led me into danger, abused me with both his words and hands-"

She jumped back in her seat as Emiel slammed against the side of his cage closest to her, hands wrapped around the bars with his claws exposed.

"THAT'S A LIE, YOU ERRENT WHORE!" he snapped.

Just as the words were leaving the Neko's mouth, Michael rose from his chair to put himself between Emiel and his mate. In one smooth action he drew his sidearm, cocking it and lining it up with the caged hunter's skull. At once the warriors in the hall came to arms, readying their weapons just before Sayn waved them off. Confusion spreading among them, the warriors backed off as Michael and Emiel locked horns.