The Albino

Qort watched the Albino patter around the shop, slowly collecting a large quantity of iron. Benjamin had shown him how to make the strongest metal to have ever crossed his tables. It had taken him a full week to learn its intricacies, and he still could not quite come to the quality of the two daggers riding on his apprentice’s hip. Then, in the span of a night, He had sent Krogan to the after, acquiring the slaver’s two prized toys. He had not spoken false, Korgan Romoregin was not family, but he was the head of one of the three largest slaver houses. His death would cause a shattering of the balance of business, once news of it reached the company. Qort was not looking forward to the retribution duel’s likely to be demanded should one of the slavers 4 sons find Benjamin.

His brooding was interrupted when he saw Benjamin set the iron ingots on the table and stare at them. Qort had watched Benjamin rip the very heat from the air to warm water, mumbling strange machinations after he did so. Up until now, the Forgemaster had only watched Benjamin from over a shoulder, but now the boy was facing him. The Albino’s emerald eyes flickered once, then began to flash and glow internally in the familiar signs of Majik’s presence. Qort watched in awe as the Forge flickered, the flames changing color as they were ripped of their heat. Each of the ingots began to glow and press to each other in turn, the mass of molten medal seemed to flatten and fold in on itself several times before taking a final shape of a rectangular plate with four almost animal like feet. Qort’s eyes widened slightly as the air in the Forge room quickly heated to a familiar temperature, and the Forgemaster realized that Benjamin was doing the opposite of his achievements from the night before, pulling the heat from the iron and releasing it into the air.

Qort turned to open the windows, gathering his wits as he let the cool spring air rush in, displacing the stifling inferno Benjamin had quickly created. He turned back to see Benjamin handling the piece with his bare hands as if it was already cooled to a safe level, “By’The Masters…” he whispered as he realized that his apprentice had indeed ceased the use of Majik. Benjamin began arranging 6 more stacks, repeating the process until each stack was its one piece of a quickly developing puzzle. Benjamin was sweating now, breathing heavily and leaning on the table by the time he was done. “Benjamin, I think you should rest.”

Benjamin nodded, “I’ll go check on the girls. They should have been out by now.” And stumbled slightly before heading toward the closed door. The Albino opened the door, “Ah, I guess I should have guessed.” Qort walked over as Ben entered his room, leaving the door open as he did so. The two slave girls were in their dresses, but full bellies for the first time in who knew and a safe environment had sent them into Ben’s Cot. Viola was again wrapped protectively around her sister, and Qort watched his apprentice draw the blankets over their slumbering bodies before slipping back out of the room and closing the doors. “I guess that’s a good sign. Maybe they won’t need me tonight…”

Qort fround, “Aye, So’tey did bed’ee.” He asked cautiously, and Benjamin winced before settling into a chair. “Yes and no.” his apprentice said. “I did eventually share the cot with them, but not for pleasure. Those girls... They had so little left that they could not even keep themselves warm. The oldest came out and begged me to come keep them warm. I’m surprised they are even alive at all, at this point.”

Qort took a deep breath, relieved, “Aye mus’ beg’ee pardon. When’ee returned from’yur room, Aye feared’ee took’em.”

Ben smiled slightly and pursed his lips at the Forgemaster, “Am I rubbing off on you?”; and Qort snorted before stepping over to Bens half finished project, “Aye, maybe, Albino. Slavin’ Aye donna have a problem wit’still. But’at” he pointed to the closed door. “At’aint slavin. Atts…. Som’n else. N’Aye’ll Nor have’a part in’it. No Thinkin’bein’ deserves’at.”

“It’s a start I guess.” Ben sighed, watching the Forgemaster inspect his work, “It’s meant to be an iron stove, when its done anyway.”

“Hmm, Aye’seen One’or two in T’royal mans’ns. Aye’guess When’yee can bend’iron t’yee will, it becom’ less fancy.” Qort said. “How’ee plan t’combine em’?” and he caught Benjamin freeze for a moment.

“I…” Benjamin stammered for a moment, “Welding…” he admitted, “but I don’t think I can pull that off right now. I feel… exhausted, Like I’ve been taking exams for months straight.” Qort settled down beside him in another chair, dropping his accent. “Aye, Majik strains the mind. Yee shouldn’t be capable of doing what you are this close to your awakening. I don’t know if that makes you a madman, or the most powerful Touched to walk among us.”

Benjamin snorted, “Qort, if it weren’t for last nights fight, and the girls… I’m not sure I would be able to keep my sanity. Being able to bend reality… Its…” Ben paused as the door to his room creaked open. Viola and Valtrya, properly clothed this time stepped out sheepishly. Benjamin thought he noticed a bit of change in their skin coloring and hair, but he didn’t get a chance to ask as the two of them walked up, as if expecting instruction. Qort huffed as he watched Ben’s dumbfoundedly lost expression, “Aye’ll put’ta iron parts’in ta’ wagon. Yee’ll be needin’ the space, an The spare shop’ll need a cleanin’.”

The parts of the iron stove were tossed into a hand cart, and Benjamin had to force the girls to sit in it as well before He and Qort walked the cart down towards the edge of town. The building was maybe three quarters the size of Qort’s current store front, and he grunted as they sat the cart’s handles down. “Aye’it done’ look’ike much, but’it served’mee well fur’a decade. It has’a Forge In’it still, should’use need it.”

“It’ll do Boss, and I can help make steel from here as well. Thank you.” Ben’s gratitude seemed unfazed as the dusty, dirt encrusted interior was entered. Soon the Iron plates for the stove were inside. Viola and Valtrya refused to not help as Ben and Qort loaded up a wagon full of fresh ore and other materials for a walk back to the Forge. “Qort, how safe is it here.” Ben asked as they loaded the last of the supplies for the Forgemaster’s storefront.

“A’safe as’n any’wer else’n town.” Qort answered and Ben considered the answer for a moment. “Viola, take your sister. Go ahead and get settled in, I will be back as soon as I help Qort unload. I’ll bring a spare cot, and some wood.” The two nodded without hesitation, turning to return to the dank, now not quite abandoned building. Benjamin cringed internally as he recognized their unnaturally unwavering obedience. The return trip was a workout, and it was already almost dark when Benjamin departed for his new accommodations. The air was heavy, and Benjamin felt as much as heard the thunder roll as a squall line threatened to unleash its fury on him as he walked the streets of the nameless village that had become his home. It was pitched black, pouring rain like waves of airborne surf as Benjamin finally stumbled into the decently, if dimly lit building. Ben paused almost instantly, feeling and ice cold searing feeling down his spine that had nothing to do with his soaked nature. His new home was clean, much cleaner than It had been before; but that was not the reason for his reaction. The two girls were sitting at a table, facing him as he stood in the open door.

Their faces were twisted in terror as they looked at him shaking ‘no’ he realized, feeling his muscles tense and his right hand slowly drew his bowie knife. ‘they aren’t looking at… me’ he realized. He felt his breathing slow and his veins burn with the familiar fire of adrenaline flooding his system. His mind did the calculation, realizing that Viola and Valtrya were staring at something, on the other side of the still open door. He held his position, slowly raising a single finger to his lips. Viola’s eyes widened and she tried to shake her head no. he read her lips begging him to go, but he held his ground. A subtle creak from the other side of the inward opening door provided him with his que. Dropping his carried load, he threw his body into the door, smashing whatever was on the other side against the inside wall. A Squawk of surprise told Benjamin he had found his mark as he threw the door shut, grabbing the clothing of the shadow concealed figure, and threw it across the room and into the brick wall of the forge. The being tried to stand, but Benjamin was already upon it, slipping the knife under the intruder’s throat as he pushed his body weight down to immobilize.

“Pease, BeenJaymin!” came a strangling choke, and Ben paused, slowly dragging the attacker into the light of one of the candles. The flickering light revealed the face of Jukha’s wife, a great big bruise growing on her cheek and a cut on her neck from his blade to her throat.

“Vilora?!?” Benjamin instantly pulled his knife away from her throat, slipping it into its sheath before picking the Farie up bodily and setting her into one of the table chairs next to a still horrified, but now stunned Viola and Valtrya. “What the fuck! I could have almost killed you!”

“It was necessary. My kind are not… welcome.” The Farie said, and Benjamin stepped away for a moment, before brining back three pints of the low alcohol content ale that he had decided was a safe enough water replacement. Vilora took the beverage, pulling from it in a long chug before setting it back down, “Jukha said you hated slavery, but I visit to find you in possession of these two.” Her accusatory tone seemed to hit deep in Benjamins soul, and he recounted the events that unfolded that lead to the fight, and after.

“I can’t ‘free’ them, not in the traditional sense. It would be like murdering them… that, that I cannot do” Ben finished.

“I see.” Vilora looked skeptically at the girls, regarding their appearance and clothing, “Tell me, children… Has he treated you well.” She asked seriously. Viola and Valtrya seemed to shrink back before finally answering, “He has been honorable. He has clothed us, fed us, and kept us warm at night without demanding pleasure. He has not touched us, as are most’s want.” Viola said before bowing her head, “Keeper of Nature, spare him. He is a good man.”

“Keeper of Nature?” Benjamin asked. “Why are you here, and what’s with the title.”

Vilora sighed, quickly turning her expression from scrutiny to one of dread, “My bound… My Jukha hasn’t come home. He went out on a hunt two days after he returned without you… I’ve not seen him since.” She pulled her sleeve back, revealing a long streak in her skin that shimmered through the bandage she had on it. She placed her sleeve back down with a wince. “He’s alive, I can feel it, but he is hurt.. and I cannot find him.”

Benjamin sat back in his chair, taking in a deep breath, “He’s not just your husband… is he.” Viola spoke up, fear and certainty in her tone. “You… You bound his soul.”

“I did.. but It is not what you think Child.” Vilora said carefully. Benjamin focused on the Farie, “I think you better explain a bit of this.”

Vilora sighted, nodding in understanding, “the Farie have never been unified. Many of them chose the H’mure during the great conflict that pushed them to the sea… I was part of a small Nest, we opposed the H’mure, but we were found out…”

____________________________________________________________________________________________

-long before-

“Archers! Nock!!!” Jukha’s hand shook violently as he slipped the arrow onto the his bow string. It was pouring rain, and the sky was set alight with brilliant streaks of blue and white. The entire Pantheon seemed to be present for this clash. This was not Jukha’s first taste of war, but this was the assault on the accursed H’mure capital. The horrors said to be inside of the gates were told to be unfathomable to the mind of mere mortals. “Light!” Jukha shook himself, dipping the tip of his oil-soaked cotton and linen wrapped arrow into the burning flames in front of him. The oil lit instantly, and soon the tip of his arrow was fully engulfed in flames. “DRAW!” his officer growled above the din of the broiling storm overhead. Jukha drew is bow, feeling the heat of the burning arrow on his face. His arm was just barely beginning to tremble, when… “LOOSE!” Jukha’s arrow was one of thousands of fire arrows arching up over the walls of the fortress. The arching barrage of arrows was quickly followed by the clanking of catapults. Burning tar covered stones sailed through the air.

Over the next three hours. Jukha and his company of archers depleted their entire allotment of flaming arrows. The capital was burning from several places. The catapult artillery barrage had punched several dents in the rock face of the wall, and one lucky shot had landed directly into one of the towers tops, shattering it while raining down burning rubble. Two more volleys of artillery, concentrated on the front gates and its surrounding supports, and a roaring cheer erupted as the walls were breached. “All units! Forward!!” came a different below. This new voice belonged to their leader, the Orc WarMaje Morag. “WarMajik to the front! Clear us a path!”. Several soldiers, unable to be differentiated in any way other than the fact that they carried no contemporary weapons stepped to the front of the formation.

Jukha dropped his army long bow, pulling his prized Inherited hunting bow from his back. It was a gift from his dying uncle, the bow that had fed his family for generations. It was shorter, quicker to fire, and lighter than a warbow; and Jucka nocked one of his home-made arrows as he sprinted for the breach. He was to cover the Octorese knights as they charged the breech, their shining armor quickly dulling with smatterings of mud and refuse. The unarmed soldiers filtered through the formation, and Jukha felt the air around him cool violently as one of them used a WarMajik to fuel a burning ball he then hurled into one of the towers. A mere mortal would never have made the throw, but Jukha felt a blast of wind as the flaming ball arched, carried on an artificial gust to its target. From there on, time blurred. And Jukha found himself in the middle of a fight for his life. Dozens fell to his bow, and at least three fell to his skinning knife.

He had been drafted for this conflict and went to war with what he owned. Outside of the warbow and the heavier arrows it needed, Jakhu fought in his hunting gear. Several hours passed, and Jukha found himself deep in a prison area with three Octorese Knights. They went door to door, opening the cells in search of survivors and political prisoners.. The feed deprived dregs of H’mure society were summarily executed, no quarter was given to any of their kind. Jukha ignored the screams and pleadings, fighting back the urge to void his guts at the murder of the defenseless, but he had a job to do. He opened the next door, and froze. A Young woman lay in the corner, protectively covering a putrid but still fresh corpse of an older woman. Jukha’s breath caught in his throat as he recognized the sickly ruined wings of both beings. “farie..” he growled, drawing his bow.

“Please… We are not like them…” a small faint voice quavered from the young woman. “We are here because we opposed the H’mure. We are not Fay. We are V… Vin clan. She weakly spread her wings, forcing them to show him their pattern. He had worked with Vins before, and recognized the genetic markings on her wings, and slowly lowered his bow.

“What are you waiting for… archer” growled a deep voice behind him. “Kill it before it feeds on us.” One of the knights drew his sword.

“She’s a Vin, an ally.” Jukha stated, slipping the arrow from its nocked position.

“Fuck the Vin. Dangerous beasts… all… Fine, I will do it.” The Orc Knight growled, stepping closer to the young Farie. She tried to flee, tried to fly; but her wings were too damaged to be of any use. “Come here, bitch. I know your kind. This will be… Fuugh!” The knight’s breath was driven from him as Jukha’s arrow pierced the thin gilded backplate, rupturing his heart. “Run.” He said, watching the larger knight fall, “Get away from Here..” A sickening crunch followed by a searing pain ripped through his senses as his own breath failed him. Jukha looked down, staring in confusion at the blade sticking through the front of his chest.

“Then die with her, traitor.” It was the rest of the first Knight’s squad. The man who killed Jukha threw the dying smaller orc from his blade, and Jukha struggled to breath, puking up blood and bubbles as his vision began to fade. He watched the Farie’s eyes fill with tears before an explosive high-pitched shriek left her throat. The room flashed with a familiar white and blue that reminded Jukha of the storm outside, and then he breathed his last.

And then he woke up… He was laying on a simple bed of leaves, covered in the blanket from his pack. A heaving breath escaped him as he sat up violently, and Jukha pawed at his chest in panic before finding the buttons to his shirt. He tore the buttons from their knitting as he pulled his shirt apart to see a rapidly healing scar pulling itself together on his chest. “Your… awake…” a soft voice jerked him from his stunned panic. Jukha slowly turned to see the same young Farie squatting over an open fire, slowly spinning a few small animals on a stick in a deliberate rhythum.

“I… I was dead…” Jukha breathed, pulling himself upright. “I saw the… I saw the sword in my chest.”

The Farie stood, pulling a cooked squirrel from the stick and walking over to him. Jukha’s instincts overwhelmed him, and he backed up frantically until his back was planted firmly against a tree. “I was wrong... your… your Fay, you must be… What did you do to me... What did you do to me!!” he screamed, unconcerned with the high pitch of his voice, or the quaver in it. He was facing one of the most dangerous being in the Realm.. the creatures that taught the H’mure Majik… The ones responsible for generations of torment and suffering, all to feed their sadistic desires. “Peace Jukha of the FeralWood… I am not Fay, I swear it on my life.” She soothed, and Jukha had to struggle not to feel the affects of her sweet smoothing voice.

“Then… How… How am I alive… Am I a… a…” His voice died, unable to even speak his fear.

“No, Jukha. You are not one of the undead. Only Fay can create a rot slave.” The Farie fluttered over to him, kneeling next to him so that she was a mere foot away from him. She slowly reached for her blouse, deliberately unbuttoning the front of it as Jukha pressed himself further into the tree. “Vin cannot create rot slaves, but we can preserve life.” The last button broke free and she opened her blouse to him. Jukhas eyes widened as she bore her chest to him. Her skin was rapidly recovering from her time in pirson, as all Farie healed and flourished in the deep woods. Between her breast was a shimmering cut that seemed to mirror his own stab wound, and she took her blouse completely off, turning her back to show him a corresponding mark. “I took your wounds to myself” she explained, recovering herself with what Jukha guessed was a slight blush. “With the life I pulled from the knights, I was able heal you enough to bind you to myself, and Myself to you.” The Farie explained.

“You killed the knights?” Jukha asked horrified, but now more intrigued.

“No, I merely drained them of a portion of their life force. They will die a few years early, but they did not perish.” She said before bowing her head, “Jukha. I’m sorry. To save your life, I had to bind it to my own. As long as I live, so will you. But we are now bound together, if you are hurt, it will weaken me. I will feel every injury, every cut, every broken bone you will ever experience, and If I die… We both will perish. That was the cost of bringing you back.”

“I’m… I’m not a rot slave?” Jukha asked slowly. And the Farie shook her head violently, “Then… Thank you, I owe you, my life.” He lifted her bowed head up to face him, “May I know your name?”

“Vilora, Vilora Vincile.”