When future generations hear of our city, our world, there will be wailing and gnashing of teeth. For fair Elysion has fallen.
***
Four Years Ago
***
The man shuddered as the whip ripped into his skin. He gritted his teeth, but didn't cry out. The man slumped to the ground as the overseer released him. Raddas gritted his teeth. He hated watching, but those who looked away were scourged too.
"This!" the warden shouted, over the salt pits, "is what happens when you defy me!" The slaves, sweat and salt encrusting their near-black bare skin. "This is what happens when you go against my will!"
The Ajandi man had skin, paler than most of the workers below him, a darker shade of tan rather than the near-ebony of half the workers. Though, half the time, you couldn't see it. Most of the workers were caked with white salt, from what they mined and chipped away.
There were a few other, non-human slaves here. Most were Kai'Draen, large, brawny, and dumber than rocks. But there were a few Changed, here or there. Raddas remembered when he saw three come in at once. One had the arm of a wolf. The other looked like he had rhino skin on his chest. The third was a dragon. He had to have been.
He looked at the man's face. The man was pale; he must have lost a lot of blood. He had been caught stealing an extra skin of water. Therefore, he was whipped. To oblivion and back.
"Release him," the warden commanded. The two overseers let go and the man slumped forward, his back covered in crimson. Raddas winced. The overseers punished anyone who tended to the wounded. They claimed it was supporting their rebellion. Without help, he wouldn't live through the night.
If there was a Hell, it was a salt pit.
Two of the workers grabbed the fallen man. "Go to the barracks!" the warden ordered. The light in the sky was fading, and they pulled the dying man to the barracks. They had a room for the dying.
"Hey!" he heard a voice shout. He turned, and saw the figure. He looked something out of a nightmare, with horns that jutted from the back of his skull with thin, saberlike curves. He had a flattish snout, but his eyes were a mix of feline shape, reptilian coldness, and human intelligence. He didn't bear as many scars as the other, though Raddas didn't know how he could scar with his scaly body. "Hold up!" The dragon Changed began to jog.
Raddas stopped. "What," he said angrily, "do you want?"
"I can help him," the Changed said.
"You know the punishment for that, boy," Raddas said. The age of the thing was indeterminable, but the way he carried himself made him think he was young. "Boy" seemed to fit him, though the fellow slave towered over Raddas and was covered in muscle.
"I don't care," the Changed said. "It won't need bandages, or stitches. He'll be in pain, and screaming, so get something for him to bite down on." He spoke Ajandi, of course, as was the rules. Any other language was considered an act of sedition. He had learned it unusually quickly too. Raddas remembered that the boy had only been here for three months before he learned to speak Ajandi.
Raddas nodded. "If we get caught, we'll die."
"Let's not get caught, then." The Changed walked away.
Raddas had a dowel of wood by his bed that would serve them nicely.This had to be done quick. If the guards caught wind, they'd all pay.
They approached the barracks, a large, gray building that was all angles, all weathered lines. Raddas dashed in there, salt encrusted on his body and the rags around his waist. He grabbed the thin pallet that was his bed, and lifted slightly. Raddas's hand searched underneath the pallet, and found the dowel.
He had wanted to make a better pick out of it, but it looked like it would have a different usage today. Raddas grabbed it and headed to the Blood Room.
It was a tiny room, tucked away between pallets and sacks of grain. The dead were left to die here, so they didn't make much of a mess. But it stank of the metallic smell of blood, of the smell of death.
The man lay on his stomach, the Changed dabbing the copious amounts of blood off him. "I stole this from the supply room," he said, holding the rags now soaked in blood.
"You're suicidal," Raddas moaned. He sunk to the ground. "I'm a thousand times damned, thanks to you. The guards will find us, and we'll be dead!"
"Shut up," the Changed said. He looked at Raddas. "Get him to bite down on the dowel."
"Ugh," the man said. "What?"
"Bite down on this," Raddas said gently. The man bit down on the dowel. "This will probably hurt," Raddas said. Why else would they need something to bite down on?
"Yeah, it's going to hurt," the Changed said. He held up a claw. "None of you can say anything about what I'm going to do," he warned. "Hold him down," he ordered. Raddas grabbed the man's shoulders, and held them steady. And then, the Changed began to go to work.
His claw glowed cherry red as he traced the lines of the wounds. The man screamed, the cries of years of cumulative anguish and pain released in an instant. He screamed as his wounds were traced with fire, burned shut.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the Changed lifted his hand. The man's chest heaved, his half-shaved, salt-encrusted face red. He rose unsteadily as Raddas lifted his hands. The man gritted his teeth. "That hurt like bloody hellfire," he said.
"Sorry," the Changed said sheepishly. He sat down. "I stopped the bleeding for now, but don't try to move or twist," he ordered. "You could reopen them."
The man nodded. "Thank you," he said. "I know what the guards would do if they caught you."
"Stay in here," Raddas said. "They're not going to check on the corpse, are they?" he reasoned.
The Changed nodded. "What's your names?" he asked them both. "I mean, one of you assisted me in makeshift surgery on the other."
"Raddas," Raddas said.
"M'name's Gial." The man winced as he moved slightly, shifting his back. He was holding the pain back, that was obvious.
"I'm Laidu," the Changed said.
Gial sat for a moment. "We have one problem," he said. "I'm supposed to be dead."
Laidu nodded. "You have to escape," he said. He closed his eyes. "Tonight, make a run for it. I can distract the guards for a short time, but you have to run."
Gial nodded. "What will you do?" he asked.
"I'll burn their towers down."
***
Raddas watched as Laidu strode out of the barracks. Men weren't allowed to leave, normally, but Laidu had promised that he would be going for a walk, and he hadn't made trouble. His back bore whipping scars, but the warden had everyone whipped once or twice. He had even let them search him for anything. And they had taken him up on it. And they had left nothing unturned.
Laidu adjusted his loincloth with a demure air, as if the salt-encrusted rags around his waist were the robes of a king. Raddas had just seen him humiliated, and now he was acting like nothing had happened.
"Thanks for that," he said. The guards scowled at him. Whistling, he walked down the path towards the edge. "Nothing like a good nighttime stroll."
"Take care where you walk," one of the guards said. "One foot out of bounds, and your a dead...thing," he said, gesturing to Laidu.
"I know!" Laidu said, not even looking back. Raddas winced. His flippancy wouldn't earn him any sympathy with the guards. The boy had to be trying to get beaten.
Raddas sat down, massaging his sore feet. All he had to do was sit tight, and never tell anyone about what happened. The fires, hopefully, would go down in the books as a mystery.
He hoped, he prayed that that was what would happen. He heard the Blood Room door open, and didn't look. If anyone noticed, if anyone said anything, they'd all be dead. Him, Gial, and that Changed.
He idly looked out the window, and his jaw dropped. There, near the top of the salt pit, the guardhouse was glowing. It was burning. He had bloody lost his mind.
Raddas frowned, and saw another tower go up in flames. The salt dried the air out. It dried everything out. There wasn't any moisture to prevent the timbers from igniting.
A third guard tower lit up, then a fourth. Raddas gritted his teeth. He was getting too risky. He would be caught. A fifth tower flared up. That boy was too cocky. Sooner or later, he would get caught.
The sixth guard tower didn't catch on fire. Well, it looked like he was caught. Raddas's heart fell. He had hoped that Laidu had succeeded, but that seemed improbable.
The doors of the barracks opened with a thunderous bang, and Raddas's heart stopped. Two guards entered the room, their plate armor clanging together. Not good. This was going downhill fast.
They walked over to Raddas's bare space. "Come with us," they said. Raddas's mind flashed with all the stories he had heard of the heroes. But one thing was abundantly clear.
Raddas was no hero. He was a coward, and he was going to die. So, he rose, and, hands shaking, he followed the men who were to lead him to his death.
Shame heavy in his heart, Raddas followed them. He could hear the mumblings of the other salt slaves, feel their eyes on his back. The shame of being caught, the pity of those who saw you him go to his death.
They led him out of the barracks, in the middle of the night, where two other guards stood, illuminated by torchlight. Their armor glinted in the flickering fire, and in the dead cold silence of the desert, Raddas could hear the sputtering of the torch pitch. There were a few other pools of light around the salt pits, and the large towers still burned.
Raddas was marched down to the stagelike platform where Gial had been whipped. He saw the Changed -Laidu- there, the boy's wrists shackled, pulled above his head. His muscular form and copper scales had dark greyish-purple blotches, bruises the size of fists. From the corner of his mouth, a trail of blood fell down, dripping slowly. His arms strained against the chains, every muscle bulging as he tried to get free. When he saw Raddas, his muscles slackened, and he slumped over, the chains clattering together. "I tried," he said, his voice the epitome of despair.
"You tried, kid," Raddas said. The guards shackled him, and with a jerk, hoisted the chain up. Raddas gritted his teeth as it wrenched his arms up, his shoulders aching. "That's good enough." Laidu smiled a bit, before a little more blood dripped from his mouth. He looked at Raddas, sporting a black eye. There was another cut on his head, and a shallow one over his ribs.
There was the sound of creaking armor, of steel on steel. They saw Gial, being led by two men, before they shoved him onto the platform. His back was a mess of angry red scars, burns, and blisters. Ladu's eyes were downcast, and in that face, Raddas saw defeat, hopelessness, as if the world had betrayed him and stabbed him in the back.
They shackled Gial, and Raddas stared ahead. The warden, with his darkish skin, walked into the torchlight. "I don't tolerate dissidents," he said. "You tried to escape, and I can't let that happen again." He looked at them all. "You'll stay here for the night, and then you'll be executed." He sighed. "You brought this on yourself."
***
The night had been cold, and when the sun came up, Raddas was shivering. Laidu hung from the chains, and Gial gritted his teeth, the sores and burns on his back cracked and bleeding. It hurt to look at him.
Slowly, the other slaves began to file in, eyes downcast. They saw Gial, Raddas, and the Changed, bare, bruised, and ready to be executed. Laidu's eyes simmered with rage, turned in on himself. He wasn't angry at his captors. He was angry at himself.
The rest of the slaves filed in, and stood, silent. Raddas looked out, trying to fnd any softness, any compassion in their eyes. But there was none. They weren't bad men, but the salt pit had beaten any kindness they had out of them. Raddas sighed and closed his eyes. If it was any consolation, this cruel life would end.
"This is unacceptable!" the warden roared. "These slaves tried to escape, and burned down my property! This is an outrage!" he bellowed. "They have spit in my eye, after I was generous to them! Such insults cannot go umpunished!"
"Generous?" Laidu said, just loud enough to be heard. "You starve us, you give us rags to wear, you deny us pay, you whip us to death. Your only generosity is how quickly you give death." Then, Laidu spat on him, his blood mixed in, sizzling.
"You...you whoreson!" the warden roared. He grabbed one of the guard's cudgel, and slammed it in Laidu's face. A spray of blood stained the warden's uniform. "You'll pay for that!" he shouted. He grabbed the flog, and struck Laidu on the back. He gritted his teeth, pain flashing in his eyes, but didn't say anything. "I'll deafen you with your own screams!" He whipped him again, sending a spray of blood from Laidu's back. "You'll rue the day you said that!" There was another spray of crimson, and the air stank of iron. Laidu's back was drenched in his steaming blood.
"Sir!" one of the guards shouted, running down from the top of the pit. "There's some people who want to see you, sir."
The warden gave him a glare. "Who?" he shouted at him.
"Rangers," the guard said, before he looked back. Two figures wearing green and blue cloaks walked by. Raddas could barely hear their words. It wasn't Ajandi that they spoke, but Alberion.
"Look, it's just a salt pit. Perfectly legal," one of them, a man said.
"I can smell it," the other, a woman, insisted. A dry and dusty wind blew back their cloaks, and their hoods fell off. The man was normal looking, with sandy hair and blue eyes, a small scar under his eye, and a gaze like a hawk. His face was thin and hard, the face of one who had seen many things, terrible and beautiful.
The other one, the woman, must have come from the deepest part of Hell itself.
Her skin was charcoal black, the color of wood long since burnt. She didn't have veins, per se, but crimson, fiery cracks spiralled around her high cheekbones, lit by a harsh inner blaze. Her hair glowed like strands of molten bronze, and her eyes were terrifying. Blood red, shimmering, the iris framed a gate to an inferno. Eyes were the windows to the soul, and her soul was a place of damnation. Her pupils, instead of the black they should be, glowed bright orange, like metal heated for the forge.
An Erinyan. Raddas shuddered. Erinyans were from the pits of the underworld, as they'd freely admit, but they werent evil. Harsh, unforgiving, vengeful, but definitely not evil. They claimed that they had been the guardians of the damned, keeping them in. On this world, they hunted down the sinners, the worst of men. They hunted the demons in human flesh, the monsters of men.
The warden, who still held the bloody whip, was one of those people. The Erinyan eyed him, her hand nocking an arrow on her recurve bow. She didn't draw it, nor did she raise it. It just hung there, a threat unspoken, a threat all too real.
The man looked at them. "Ah, well, here you go." He stared at Laidu, his back bloody. "You probably smelled him," he said to the Erinyan. "A little workplace treachery. And it's being taken care of." No. Please, dear God above, no! They couldn't leave now!
"No, it's not him. And it doesn't smell like treachery," the Erinyan said. "More like cruelty and bloodlust." She looked at the warden. "And he's the one who stank to high heaven with his sins."
"Sins?" the warden asked, incredulous and angry.
"Can you get him?" the man asked.
"No, he hasn't admitted enough. Or threatened," the Erinyan said. The warden frowned. "He's scum, though."
"Scum?" the warden asked, incensed. "These are the scum! These are the piss of the world! I have to beat them to keep them all in line!" The Erinyan frowned, then made a motion as if to say go on.
"So, do you only beat them when they transgress?" the Erinyan asked.
"Of course not!" the warden said. "Otherwise they'd get rebellious!" Raddas's eyes widened. Everyone knew that, but he never said it out loud.
"Perfect." the Erinyan said. And then she raised her bow and shot him in the throat.
He gasped, choked out a bit of blood, and fell over, into the evaporating puddle of Laidu's blood. The Erinyan paused for a moment, looking over her bow to inspect her handiwork. "Good riddance," she said.
Two guards came charging down. The Erinyan whipped around, nocking and loosing two arrows in quick succession. "Anyone else?" the Erinyan asked. The man looked around, amused. The rest of the guards, however, stopped right there and didn't move.
"Hey!" Raddas shouted. "Get us out of here!"
"Adran, get them free," the Erinyan ordered. Raddas exhaled with relief.
"Yes ma'am." Adran said, before grabbing Raddas's chain. He inserted a slender piece of metal inside the lock, and after a minute of fiddling, popped open the lock. Raddas lowered his arms, undid the chains, and massaged his shoulders. Adran moved on to Gial, then Laidu. "Woah, easy there," he said as Laidu wavered. "You've been hurt pretty bad. Take it easy." Adran grabbed something out of his pouch. Bandages. He began to wind them around Laidu, slowly, gently. "You'll be alright."
Laidu nodded drearily. "I don't feel alright," he mumbled. And then he toppled over.
Adran wound the bandages tighter. "Come on, Invidia," he said, looking at the Erinyan. "Help me with him." He pulled Laidu up, and the Erinyan -Invidia- helped Adran lift the unconscious young man up.
"Hey!" Raddas said. "Take us with you," he blurted out.
"Why?" the Erinyan asked.
"Gial's pretty bad off too," Raddas said. "Besides, I want to join you."
Invidia paused, about to say something. But then another slave spoke up. "What about us?" he asked. "What do we do? You killed off our master."
"Leave." Invidia shrugged. "Or stay, make a few changes, maybe even earn some good wages. But it doesn't matter now. You're free. Do what you wish." She turned to Raddas and Gial. "You want to join us?" she asked. Raddas nodded, and so did Gial after a moment's hesitation. "Alright then. What about him?" she asked, indicating Laidu with a nod of her head.
"He'll want to join too," Raddas promised.
"Alright then." Invidia held out her hand. "Welcome to the Ranger Corps."