Whoosh.
A knife sailed through the air toward us, the blade glinting in the sunlight.
Thunk.
It hit home. In the back of the rider’s head.
The hand fisted in my hair loosened as the rider’s limp body flopped on top of me. His armor smacked against my boobs and…yeah. The girls were gonna have wicked bruises.
His body twitched as goopy midnight-blue blood trickled from his wound.
“Ew, ew, ew!” My breath rattled as I shoved him off me. Slowly, my heart running at a million miles an hour, I sat up. Slowly, arms and legs shaking, I pulled myself to my feet and found myself face-to-face with a man. A normal, red-blooded,humanman.
My fuckingsavior.
And how did I repay him?
I doubled over and puked on his boots.
3
Varn
Where shall I start?
Scribing the harrowing events of the last few days would likely be enough to fill my bind of parchment. And I don’t want to focus on the end of my life; I wish to compile its entirety, as accurately as I can recall it.
I had a name, once. Given to me by my mother when I entered this world. I don’t remember it now. And I’ve been called many things throughout my life, so I doubt I’ll ever recall it.
At the time ofrighting—writing this, I am thirty years of age. Or perhaps twenty-nine? I’m uncertain of my age as I don’t know when I was born.
It’s odd, yes? Most humans know the year, if not the precise day, of their birth. In the olden times, it was customary to view the anniversary of one’s birth as a celebration.
But I do not have this knowledge. And thus, I can only guess at my age; I have seen at least three decades on this earth, but I will not live long enough to see my fourth.
I spent the early years of my childhood in a ghastly place called Detha, one of the many cities in Celestial-ruled Uchen. It is still controlled by Celestials. For all that I have achieved, I could not free my kin, and I never will.
Those fortunate to have never lived in a Celestial-ruled city will not understand the atrocities that occur behind those walls. It’s better not to be born at all than to be born in a place such as Detha. Hence why my arrival was not an event to be celebrated.
In Detha, humans were treated as livestock.
No. I apologize, I’ve made an inaccurate statement.
The livestock were treatedfarbetter than the humans.
Detha produced food in abundance, but people still starved. The Celestials received our finest crops and cuts of meat, you see. Even though they did notneedto eat our food, they enjoyed indulging themselves. The Wraiths, enforcers of Celestial law, were offered the second finest crops and meats. Humans were given whatever was left—hardly enough to feed a family, let alone a sprawling city.
The Wraiths of Detha governed with a heavy hand. Punishments were dealt frequently and swiftly for all manner of offenses. For example, sneezing too often could earn a human fifteen whiplashes. Coughing too loudly could result in the removal of a non-important limb—fingers, toes, ears, whatever the Wraith fancied. Failing to make The Offering, the daily basket of food humans prepared for the Celestials, was a death sentence. It didn’t matter the reason. Even if a stormdesimated—decimated a person’s crops, or a plague struck their animals, The Offering was still expected.Leinceny—leniency was only given if the offender had something else to offer.
Another human, perhaps.
Wraiths savored the taste of human. And, although they were not spared the wrath of a Celestial when The Offering was scant, they happily endured the punishment if it allowed them to fill their bellies with human flesh.
I’ve been told it’s oursoulsWraiths truly crave, as they do not have one of their own. But, as they are incapable of extracting souls, they settle for flesh.
Varn, the odious Wraith who commanded the army, had aninstat—insatit…(I know how to spell this word, bear with me)…insatiable.Varn had aninsatiableappetite for humans. He even had a favored method of cooking them: crisping their skin, while leaving their innards raw and moist. He also preferred his meals to still be alive when he consumed them. “Death makes the muscles too tough,” I’d once heard him say. “But living musclemeltson the tongue.”
I’m not certain how true that statement is, as I’ve never had the desire to test it. But I nearly became one of his meals.
