Dream of a Vast Blue Cavern

Chapter 17: In the Heart of Chraun: Glace

 Glace stood in a vast, sweltering cavern, clothed more fully than he had ever been before, draped in all kinds of hides, most of them cababar or Chraun’s svelte hippole, but some he suspected were slink. He felt more naked than he’d ever felt before. His weapons were gone; Chraun’s Semija warriors carried them now. He had never been more than a few feet from his mace and axe; even when he was swimming, they were waiting for him at the shore. It was a frightening sensation, and coupled with his parting from Stasia and the only purpose his life had ever known, it made him feel both helpless and useless at the same time.

 Still, he stood straight and proud. The other people in the vast cavern were even more frightened and helpless than he, and even if he was a slave like the rest, he could still lead them by example.

 It did not assuage his feeling of vulnerability that the woman standing before him was undressing him with her eyes. She had a plain face, and was of a height with him, full bodied and larger boned than he was accustomed to. Her lava mesh glowed brightly in swirling patterns, and she wore a sort of dainty, fake-looking scale armor that sparkled with diamonds. Her hair was straight and black and as stern as her dark eyes. After staring at him for several moments, she gestured sharply to the woman kneeling at Glace's feet.

 “Take away the brown hides,” she said. “I think the white hippole and black is more becoming, with those blue eyes.”

 Before she stood, the girl by Glace's feet touched her forehead to the floor. Then she hastily began pulling all the brown hides from his shoulders and waist, leaving only dark slink furs and pale hippole. Glace allowed his gaze to drop to the girl while she rearranged the remaining hides in a semblance of clothing, an arrangement designed to display his muscles to any who cared to look. To his horror, he recognized her. Her pale skin and fine dark hair marked her as a citizen of Iskalon. He had seen her often on Market Ave, hawking fungal pastries for the Cooking Guild, though he had never spoken to her and did not know her name. She did not raise her eyes to meet his.

 He stood stoically, refusing to let his reaction show. The Flame could have used one of her own humans for this task, but she wanted him and the others to see one of their people as a slave, to see how beaten down their people had become. To see what they would be, when she was through with them. A cool, slow rage built in his chest, and he shoved it down quickly. He could imagine all too easily the satisfaction on the Flame's face at seeing him lose control.

 To distract himself from anger, he searched the Flame's features, looking for a weakness. The first task, facing an opponent, is to find their weakness. Then, look for ways to attack that weakness directly. The words of his father rang in his ears as if the man were standing at his shoulder. Perhaps he was there – Father had not received a proper burial; perhaps he was wandering around these warm tunnels with the other ghosts of Iskalon.

 There. In her eyes, impatience, frustration, intense fury, hiding just beyond that lazy, lidded gaze that pretended not to care. The Flame did not like this task, and would just as soon leave it to someone else and be gone. There was some other matter she needed to attend to, and she wasn't able to because Glace and his fellow captives had been dumped in her lap. It was like seeing Stasia impatient in council. The thought of comparing his lovely Queen to this over-sized molebear fem struck him suddenly as funny, and he smiled briefly before he could stop himself.

 The Flame's eyes, which had been wandering down his body, returned sharply to his face, piercing him. “When you are with other Semija, you may express yourself freely. However, you will learn never to do so in the presence of the Flames you serve. I will be lenient because you are new to our ways. The next breach will earn a beating.”

 She drew herself up to a full stance, and her heels clicked loudly as she stepped closer. She spoke loudly, so that her voice reached everyone else in the cavern. The Semija—no, he told himself sternly, the person, what was her name? The Cook, he would think of her as that—finished arranging his garments so that they hung neatly, and knelt again at his feet. “That is only one of the many things you have to learn as Semija. Another is to never meet any Flame's eyes.” A blow struck the back of his head, forcing his face forward and his gaze down. A strong breath of hot air held him with his head bowed. “Yet another is to always prostrate yourself before your owner.” His flesh heated, and his legs turned to bone-jelly and gave way beneath him. He crumpled to the ground, unable to control his own body. “You will learn to anticipate your owner's needs, and respond immediately. Your owner comes before you in all things. You must be a useful tool, or you will be discarded.”