Chapter 5
Irun, my heart pounding in my chest, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps. The screams grow louder as I approach the bonfire, fear congealing in my chest and my temples.
Not just mine . . . everyone’s.
My dress tangles around my legs, but I push forward, driven by a sickening sense of dread, trying to slam the gates of my empathy back down so I can at least see through the blinding fog of chaos and figure out what is happening.
As I break through the tree line, I rip the mask from my face and throw it to the ground. The scene in front of me steals all the air from my lungs. Dark, bulky figures move through the crowd, their faces obscured by grotesque masks, their hands wielding chains and weapons.
I know these figures, but only from the twisted tales we were told as children.
Fae traders. Gloomweavers.
My wings shudder, and dread drips down my spine. I rise into the air. I have barely reached the lower branches of the nearest tree when something whizzes past me, pain strikes my leg, and I drop to the ground.
Stunned, I stare up at the dark canopy. My legs are hot. I smell smoke. It swirls around me, but I can’t figure out where it is coming from until someone shouts, “She’s on fire!”
I look down, and realise they’re right. My dress has caught light.
As fiery arrows fly through the air all around me, I roll over and over, wrapping my wings around myself and crying out as they absorb the heat that burns me. Finally, the fire is extinguished. I rise unsteadily to my feet. My ears are ringing, and my leg feels tingly and numb. I pull up my dress and see a large, red wound on my thigh. Not from fire, from something else.
I stumble forward, then someone catches my elbow. “Alana...” Kayan appears at my side. His eyes widen as he takes me in. He sees me. My heart flutters but then another scream breaks through the undergrowth. Blood curdling. Death.
“Alana!” Another voice. Rosalie. She runs towards me full pelt.
There was a time when the three of us were friends. There was a time when I thought she would be at my side when Kayan and I pledged our lives to one another. Now it is she who he clings to, letting me go and turning to pull her into his arms.
My dress is singed. The enchantments have been broken by the fire, but none of that matters now. What matters is... “We have to get out of here.”
“What’s happening?” Rosalie looks from me to Kayan.
“They’ve come for us. Gloomweaver. Fae traders.” I meet her eyes, willing her not to argue with me for perhaps the first time in her life. Feeling as though not a moment has passed since the three of us used to mock, and cajole, and adore each other.
A confused laugh escapes Rosalie’s perfectly pink lips. “But they’re just stories,” she whispers. “No one has ever seen them in real life.”
Ignoring her, I scan the crowd desperately, searching for the elders. For Rawk. For anyone who could take charge and get us to safety. But faces blur together in a sea of panic and confusion.
Fae run and fly in every direction, their screams piercing the night air, their wings fluttering uselessly as nets sizzling with dark magic slam down on top of them.
Some try to fight.
But they fall like flies, dropping to the ground as they are hit by arrows that quite literally drain the colour from their wings and the life from their bodies.
I look down at my gloved hands. I have no powers that can help. I have no elemental abilities. I can cast spells and enchantments, and read people’s emotions, but I can’t fight. Even if I pulled off my gloves, I’d have no idea how to replicate what I did to Kayan when we were –
“Rosalie, can you create a wall of fire around us? Protect us?” Kayan grips Rosalie’s forearms.
Her eyes dazzle and she nods quickly at him. But she has barely raised her hands when her eyes widen and her fingers fly to her throat. An iron collar snaps closed around her neck. Kayan lunges towards her, but he is caught, too.
And then it is my turn.
I feel the cold bite of iron around my neck. It constricts against my throat. I pull at it and try to break free but a rough voice says, “It’s pointless to try and resist.”
A face appears in front of me. Masked at first, but then he pulls his mask free, grabs hold of me, and leans in so close that I can smell his cabbagey breath and feel its heat on my cheek. He has scarred, pockmarked skin. Yellow teeth. Huge, bulky shoulders. No wings. Gloomweavers are not fae; they are something else entirely.
My captor licks his lips, spittle bubbling in the crevice at the corner of his mouth as he looks me up and down. “Well, well, well,” he drools. “What a pretty one I have here.”
Beside us, two more traders grab hold of Kayan and Rosalie and start to drag them away.
For a moment, I imagine the stranger from the waterfall might appear and slit the Gloomweaver’s throat. Leap onto his back, slash at his neck, grab my hand and set me free.
I have barely finished imagining when everything goes dark. A rough sack is yanked over my head, pulled down, and fastened tight around my thrashing wings, bending them in ways they are not supposed to bend, bringing tears of pain to my eyes.
Darkness engulfs me. My wings strain against the confines of the sack. But it’s useless. I’m lifted off the ground, my body thrown over a broad shoulder like a sack of grain. The scent of sweat and leather fills my nostrils, and I gag, my stomach churning.
I’m carried through the forest, the sounds of the raid fading behind me, replaced by the heavy thud of boots on damp earth. My captor moves swiftly but with the gait of a person who is not used to traversing the forests.
We should have outsmarted them. On any other night, we could have escaped them with ease. But our magic was focused on the ceremony. On our costumes and celebrations.
We were naive, and distracted, and now the Leafborne are about to become no more.
For I am almost certain no one escaped.
After what feels like an eternity,I’m tossed unceremoniously onto something hard and wooden. My body slams against the rough surface and I lie there, gasping for breath, my heart racing as I strain to hear the voices around me.
“Kayan? Is that you?” It’s Rawk, his voice tight with fear.
“I’m here.” Kayan’s reply is strained. “But Rosalie...” He swallows hard, and I can picture his shoulders sagging with the weight of not being able to protect her. “I lost her. I kept calling for her, and for a while she answered but –”
“Who else?” Rawk barks, taking roll call of those who are here too. “Can anyone use their magic?”
A series of tiny fizzing noises fill the confines of our enclosure. “Something is stopping it,” says one of the elders. “Dark magic. It is thick in this place. Can’t you all feel it?”
“Yes,” says Rawk. “I feel it.”
“And all this time we thought traders were the stuff of story and legend,” the elder replies. “We were blind. Arrogant. Stupid.”
“Enough,” Rawk mutters. “Lamenting our failings will not set us free.” He might not be an elder yet but, in this brief moment, he almost sounds like one.
There is a long, heavy silence as the weight of our situation settles in the air. Then the wagon – for I assume it’s a wagon we’ve been loaded into – jolts and begins to move.
“What about Alana? She was with us,” Kayan says quietly.
“I’d have thought you’d relish in the idea of her meeting her end on a night like this,” Rawk replies. I can hear the bloodlust in his voice. “A bittersweet irony, no?”
“No,” Kayan bites back. “I would not relish in it, Rawk.”
“Ohhh, Kayan. Always so righteous. Even though you are nothing but a shell. Lesser than even a Shadowkind fae, these days. Utterly, pathetically, useless.”
“Please . . .” I speak without meaning to. “Stop.”
There is a pregnant pause, and then Kayan says, “Alana?”
“Yes, it’s me. I’m here.”
“You left your cabin?” Rawk asks, as if only just realising that Kayan said he and Rosalie were with me.
I hesitate, fear burning hot on my cheeks. “Yes. I left.”
Rawk lets out a loud laugh, like a clap of thunder. “Of course, you did. Probably led them to us.” Even with my gates up, I can feel the vitriol in his seething muscles.
“I would never –”
“Quiet.” Rawk’s voice fills the entire wagon. “Shut your fucking mouth, and let me think of how to get us out of this.”
I press my lips together. I am desperate to remove my mask, and my gloves, and to see what is happening. But I can’t. I am bound, like the others, and the collar around my neck makes me feel like I can’t breathe.
Tonight was supposed to bring me freedom. A few short hours ago, I was free. I was soaring above myself, feeling the most alive I have in years.
But now it is all over.
“Did anyone see a stranger tonight? He was wearing a blood-red mask.” I raise my voice, ignoring Rawk’s instruction because here – now – he is not my superior. None of them are.
No one replies.
“Someone must have seen him. He wasn’t from our village. At least, I didn’t recognise him.” Still, no one replies. It is as if I haven’t spoken. As if, even now when we face the same horrible fate, I am still a pariah.
“I didn’t see him,” Kayan whispers. “Do you think he had something to do with the raid?”
I shake my head, even though no one can see me doing so. “No, I just...” I screw my eyes shut in the darkness and try to bite back the tears that are rising in my throat. “He disappeared in the chaos and I’m worried, that’s all.”
“We’re all worried about someone,” snaps one of the older women.
“Does she still have her gloves on?” mutters someone else. Then to me, “Do you still have your gloves on?”
I shift uncomfortably. My wings throb and my shoulder aches from being pinned at a strange angle. Even now, when we are in the grip of a hoard of fae traders, they are afraid of me.
“Are you all right?” Kayan asks quietly.
An ironic smile curves the corners of my mouth. “I have been thinking about tonight for so long,” I sigh. “I thought I finally had a chance to escape from myself.” I shake my head, my neck aching, and stare at the pitch-dark insides of my prison. “Seems I’ve managed to do the opposite – I’m trapped here with the very worst version of myself. The version they all see.”
“Not all,” Kayan says gently. “Alana . . .”
“Quiet!” the voice of the Gloomweaver who carried me through the forest booms into the darkness. “The next faerie who speaks will find themselves missing a tongue in the morning.”
My body aches.My wings are cramped and sore from being bound for what feels like an eternity. Two days have passed since the raid, two days of rattling along rough roads, being denied food and given only a few sips of water.
A while ago, just after midday, we entered the city. The air changed. It grew thick with smoke, and sweat, and bodies, and dust. Already, I crave air. Real air that is thick with dew, and moss, and life.
The air here is thick with nothing but death.
Finally, the wagon jolts to a stop.
As the Gloomweavers bark orders and the wagons are unloaded, I strain to hear the sounds around me. The clatter of hooves on cobblestones, the distant shouts of merchants hawking their wares, the pungent smell of sewage and unwashed bodies. There is only one place we can be; Luminael the capital city of Veridia. A place that was once bright, and ethereal, and full of magic which, under the rule of Lord Eldrion – the oldest fae in the kingdom – has fallen to ruin.
Amid the cacophony, a sickening realisation dawns on me. “They’re going to sell us,” I whisper, my voice hoarse and ragged. “Eldrion’s slaving district.. . that’s where they’re taking us. We’ve all heard the stories about how he wants to rid the outer regions of elemental fae.”
“Quiet,” Rawk hisses, but I can hear the fear in his voice. For years, we’ve heard tales of Eldrion’s family. The fae who have become ever more cruel with each generation, turning Luminael into a place where Sunborne fae like him rule supreme.
To the others, a little softer, he says, “I won’t let that happen. We’ll find a way out.”
A jolt of laughter parts my lips. “How? We’re bound, powerless. Fighting will only make it worse.”
Rawk doesn’t reply.
Silence descends, broken only by the thud of footsteps and the clank of chains as we’re dragged from the wagon. I stumble, my legs weak and unsteady, but rough hands grip my arms, hauling me forward.
We’re thrown into cells, the iron bars slamming shut with a deafening clang. I hear Kayan inhale sharply as his sack is ripped away; I’d know his breath anywhere.
“What are those?” he asks, panic lacing his tone.
“Magic binders,” a gruff voice replies. “Don’t want any faerie tricks ruining our plans.”
Kayan falls quiet. There is a clicking sound as, I assume, his collar is removed and replaced by the cuffs. The same voice says, “Strip,” and there follows a hiss of water and Kayan’s grunt of pain.
Barely a moment later, my own sack is yanked off, and I blink in the dim light, my eyes struggling to adjust. I catch a glimpse of Kayan, naked and shivering, before a pair of pale brown pants are tossed at his feet and he’s chained to the wall.
The others huddle near the doors. Perhaps twenty of us, which means the rest of the village is... where?
I am trying to count, trying to see if I recognise anyone’s feet or lower limbs when the slaver who kidnapped me steps out of the shadows. His lips stretch into a wide, spittle-laced grin. Dangling a key in front of me, he unfastens my collar and lets it drop to the ground. I rub my neck, my skin sighing with relief.
The Gloomweaver leers, his eyes roaming my body with undisguised hunger even though I’m still fully clothed. “Those gloves,” he says, reaching for my hands. “Take them off.”
Panic surges through me, even though it wouldn’t be a bad thing if I took this slaver’s mind and broke it.
From the huddle of bodies, I hear Rawk’s bitter tone. “Trust me,” he mutters, “you don’t want her to do that.”
“And why’s that?” The Gloomweaver stalks over to Rawk, tugging on the hood that still covers his face and torso.
“Because she’s a freak,” Rawk spits. “She’ll sap the energy from you if she touches you.” He jerks his head in Kayan’s direction. “She did it to him. Sucked out his magic. Took him twenty years to find his mind again. And now, he can’t even fly.”
“Rawk, what are you doing?” someone hisses. “Stop telling them things.”
“Listen,” Rawk says, pushing back his shoulders even though they’re bound. “I can handle her. You treat me with a little more respect and I’ll help you make sure she’s an asset, not a deadly waste of space.”
Bile swills in my stomach.
There’s a long pause, then the Gloomweaver hawks saliva into his mouth, spits on the floor, and says, “Fine, but one wrong move and you’re faerie dust.”
Roughly, he tugs the sack over Rawk’s head.
“I said . . . respect.” Rawk meets his eyes.
The Gloomweaver tuts, then offers a sarcastic smile before gently fastening magic binders onto Rawk’s wrists. “Now,” he says, jerking his head at me. “Get those gloves off her and put these on instead.” He dangles an identical pair of magic binders in front of Rawk’s face.
Rawk narrows his eyes but smiles, then turns to me.
He approaches me slowly.
Standing in front of me, he moistens his lower lip in a way that makes me want to rip his skin from his scalp and burn it in the fire.
“Try anything, and you’re dead,” he whispers.
“Why are you doing this?” I hiss. “Are you really going to work with them? Do you think they’ll extend you any grace? Do you think –”
An unexpected slap across the face makes me cry out. Rawk stares at me, hand still raised as if he’s preparing to strike me again, his eyes blazing.
The Gloomweaver chuckles darkly.
No one else speaks.
“Keep still.” Eyeing the flush of pink that blooms across my cheek, Rawk slides the gloves from my hands and drops them to the floor. Instantly, the Gloomweaver notices the cuffs that are already on my wrists and strides forward. “What are those?”
“They were to prevent her from changing at the Forest Moon.” Rawk shrugs. “Sadly, they don’t stop all magic.”
“Get them off her,” the Gloomweaver spits.
Rawk nods, then mutters an incantation over the cuffs. When they do not fall away, he turns to the Gloomweaver and says, “I need my magic to take them off. I was the one who gave them to her. Only my enchantment can unfasten them.”
The Gloomweaver sighs loudly, rolls his eyes, then unfastens the magic binders on Rawk’s wrists. “Be quick,” he spits.
Rawk turns back to me. He meets my eyes. And in that second, suddenly, I know what he’s planning to do. I give a quick shake of my head, but as my cuffs fall away, Rawk spins around. Bright white light blooms in his hands. He roars and throws it at the Gloomweaver, his wings expanding and filling the space between them as he rises up into the air.
Like this, I see why he was on the path to becoming an elder. He is powerful, and magnificent.
The Gloomweaver has landed on his back, but springs to his feet and draws a dagger from his waist.
“You think a dagger can protect you?” Rawk laughs. “We were caught off guard but our magic –” his eyes widen. He looks down at his chest.
An arrow has pierced his skin. His wings falter. He dips in the air, tries to stay alight, then dips again and crumples on the floor. He blinks, coughing as blood pools at the corner of his mouth.
A second Gloomweaver steps out of the shadows, shaking her head and tutting, holding a bow and a clutch of arrows. “I knew one of them would try something,” she says, helping up the one Rawk knocked to the floor.
“Rawk . . .” I breathe.
Some of the others, still tied up and blinded by the cloth sacks they wear, begin to cry.
Rawk coughs again as the Gloomweaver stands over him. He reaches down, takes hold of the arrow, then leans on it. Rawk releases a gut-wrenching moan, and writhes beneath the Gloomweaver’s weight as the arrow burrows deeper into his chest. “You forest folk really are as stupid as you look,” he spits.
Then he pulls the arrow free, kicks Rawk onto his stomach, and steps over him to get to me. “You were smart not to fight,” he says, motioning for me to extend my arms.
I cannot speak.
Nodding, the Gloomweaver fixes the magic binders onto me, then picks my gloves back up and pulls them down over my hands. “Now take the rest off,” he says, raising an eyebrow.
I can’t breathe. Can’t move.
“Or I’ll do it for you.” He reaches for me and I flinch, backing away and reaching around to unlace my dress. It falls into a pool around my ankles, and he quickly picks up a hose and sprays me down. Ice-cold water stings my skin, freezes my thoughts, leaves me shivering and unable to speak.
When he shoves a pale brown dress into my hands, he stands back to watch me put it on. It has barely dropped past my hips when he grabs my arm, tugs me to the wall, and chains me beside Kayan.
I stumble to step over Rawk’s legs as he moves me.
“Alana...” Kayan tries to meet my gaze but I can’t look at him.
“I’m all right,” I whisper. But I’m not all right. None of us are.
One by one, the others are processed, stripped of their dignity and their freedom. When it’s done, the slavers leave, their laughter echoes through the halls, and the cell falls quiet.
“What do you think happened to Rosalie?” Kayan whispers.
I swallow hard. “Perhaps she escaped.”
There is a long pause, then Kayan whispers, “You don’t believe that, do you?”
I do not answer him; the truth will do us no favours tonight.