Blood Ink

This story - Blood Ink was written in 2016. It was written for the fictional world of Escafeld, which I co-created with Mathew Presley and Chris Joynson for Sheffield Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers Group to use as a shared world to set anthology short stories in. I have listed the world prompts that I used in the story at the bottom of the story. The group no longer uses this world and the anthologies are no longer available.

Please note, this is my last version I used before it was submitted to the anthology - so any errors in it are mine. Also please note, this story is NOT young adult. I hope you enjoy it.

Blood Ink

The Capture

“Never make a deal with the goblins, you won’t win. Never trust the fae, they will trick you. Never follow the elves into the Alfrendon Forest, you will never come out. Never question the dwarves, they are always right. Or argue with a goblin. Never try to tickle a dragon or go swimming with the merfolk, never do as a soldier tells you to unless you can read his markings, but most of all, never go Fort Calesh without an invitation from the Queen, for there the girls are trapped. Educated, talented and powerful but those girls are cursed and damned.”

The wise woman must have given this speech at least a dozen times a week, warning all the girls that lived in the village. Wise Woman Lonus started every story with her warning before she went on to tell us tales of goblins, fae, dwarves, dragons and merfolk, and then ended each story with the same warning. The words were so well known that each of us could have repeated them word for word, warning line to warning line perfectly by our sixth harvest moon, so much so, that we’d use the same words to scare each other at play. See a fire rise a little too high, ‘don’t tickle a dragon’; having a water fight at the local streams, ‘don’t swim with the merfolk’; watch the gates open to look out at the forest, ‘don’t trust the fae or seek the company of elves.’ The repeated warnings were always there, always hanging over each of our actions.

The words scarred most of the unimaginative children that lived in the village, the type of children that would run into the wooden huts as the dragons flew over. They would scream that it would be safer there as I would continue to push myself higher on the swing and watch them glide over, their delicate long black wings at full stretch. Because seriously what help would a wooden hut really give you if a dragon was feeling a little bit peckish? Those were also the girls who would hide from the whispers in the forest even though they spent the time gossiping about what might go on in there in between the darkening trees whilst they weaved their baskets, never daring once to get up and climb the village walls to look out there, preferring to be eternally curious. They would never dare to think of living the village for Escafeld or go looking for answers at the Circadian Library.

But for me, those words intrigued me. Why focus on issues of potential curses? Why worry about being damned? When you could be educated, talented and powerful. When you might have a chance to escape the village. When you had a chance to become something more than another basket weaver. When you could become something more than another wife and mother, married off to the village protectors and sit weaving baskets? There had to be more than village life and if it meant risking being damned, well then surely it was worth the risk.

I would cling to the words, asking the wise woman questions until the sky would darken. The village protectors take their posts at the wall, loading their crossbows, aiming them out at the forest, ready to fend off the Blight Marchers. And my mother was calling out; “Kalevi, the moon is rising.”

And even then, I would fire out my last few unanswered questions; “What’s your story, Wise Woman Lonus?” “What were you before you became a Wise Woman?” “Where did you live before you came to the village?” “What is the mark on your ankle?” “Why are your nails tainted with a red colouring?” “Why are the fort gates always locked in the stories?” “Are there any dragons in Fort Calesh or can you only find them at the Nightwyrm Temple?” “What is the island fortress like?”

All of these questions would be met with a simple smile and the same knowing words: “You should listen to your mother, Kalevi, you wouldn’t want to still be outside when the moon rises, for that is when the forest changes and the soldiers patrol outside the walls, fighting their battles and you would do wise not to know about those. You do not want to be still outside asking questions when the moon rises. When the moon rises, that is when the men visit the village.”

And the men did visit the village, the tattooed soldiers appeared once a year, lists in hands and banging on doors, ignoring the protests of mothers as their daughters were taken out of the village gates. Not that they ever took away too many from our village. The girls that hid from the dragons never seemed to interest them. Those girls were married at fourteen to the protectors and grew into good wives, who learnt to weave as their own children lay in baskets at their feet by their sixteenth if not fifteenth harvest moon, their mothers’ lives enforced on them. Only three girls escaped this fate, they were the girls who asked the questions. Once I’d made that realisation two days after my eighth harvest moon, after another girl had been taken, the number of questions I asked grew. I was going to leave this village, just like those girls had. I would leave through those gates, follow those soldiers out and get by own freedom, escape the village walls. I set my plan in place. I asked questions and it worked.

On the eve of my fourteenth harvest moon, my soldier came. He must have been thirteen hands high and every inch that you could see of his skin was covered in markings. He wore high riding boots, black leather trousers and an open white shirt that showed his marks and indeed his muscles. An axe was strapped to his back and a sword resting in its scabbard swung at his hip.

“Kalevi Wavers, I am Soldier 23-91 and you are coming with me. You have been chosen to serve Queen Calsharon. You will not need to bring anything with you, nor will you be permitted to talk to anyone as you leave, they are not the same as you, anymore.”

For the first time, I did not ask questions. There was no need for questions now. I was right on his heels, leaving the hut and ignoring my mother’s protests. What did she know? How many times had she lectured me that I should give up on my dreams? That nothing good happened to the girls that left the village. How could she know that, when she had been trapped in the village all her life? I was living for Escafeld and the Queen’s court. Wise Woman Lonus stories had always been much more interesting than my mother’s warnings. This was my soldier. He had come for me, like I had always wanted. He was a solider and I could see his markings. There was no need not to trust him if I could see his marking. If you could see his markings, you would do as the soldier told you. That was what the wise woman had been saying for years. ‘Never do as a solider tells you unless you can see his markings.’ I literally ran as we exited the gates to the village. I was not going to be just another weaver. My questions had been answered. My heart buoyed yet further as the wise woman waited for me next to a cart.

Each of the village protectors stood on the wall at the watch towers. There were sombre looks marking their faces but that didn’t put me off. They had been spoiling my fun and dismissing my dreams for years. How often had they looked down on me and run out of the towers as I had made my would-be escapes out of the village. When I was just eight and thirty-six days, my first attempt had been stopped by Zane, the boy just two harvest moons older than me, who had distracted me with stories of dragons and the history of Unelma, the Dreaming One. At eight years and forty-seven days it was Zane’s stories of the dangers of the Alfreden Forest at night that had stopped my escape. At eight years and seventy-two days it was tales of the goblins.

Tales formed adequate distractions for a further three escape attempts and then it was Zane’s dares that kept me in the village. Who could climb the highest up the watch towers? Who could jump off the roof on the meeting hut? By my eleventh birthday dares had run their course and Zane no longer had an influence over my actions and I had to be escorted by protectors back to the hut, frowns and frustrations marking their faces as I was returned to my worried mother, who would lecture me about her sister that had disappeared from the village and never been seen again. Now all of the village protectors were finally standing back and letting me leave.

“Kalevi,” she said, “you have been chosen, you will learn your craft well. Do your duty to the soldiers, serve the Queen correctly and you shall be allowed to return.”

The soldier stepped forward and pushed me into the cart, strapping my leg in a chain before he bowed to the wise woman. Wise Woman Lonus smiled and returned his bow with one of her own before she turned her attention back on me. She took his place and the wise woman took out a small red brush with thin bristles, painting a circular symbol around my ankle. Only when it was finished did she whisper, “Why didn’t you listen, Kalevi, when I told you not to ask any more questions? Why did you not heed the warnings?”

The Deal

The hand grabbed my arm as I rolled over, stopping me from leaving the bed or even allowing myself a few moments just to stare at the wall and let myself go back to dreams of village life, of leaving the fort gates and crossing through the forest, of listening to stories of adventures instead of being trapped in one. But the deal had been struck. The ink dried on my ankle and my chain was firmly locked. It was settled and there was nothing that could be done about it now. There had really been no turning back since the minute that I had left those gates five years ago. And there would be no turning back, no dreams of anything else, just cold hard reality of island life. I wasn’t going to get a break. That wasn’t how it worked.

The grip tightened and I turned back to look at the naked soldier in my bed. Every inch of his finely toned body was covered in markings, several of which I had been forced to draw myself. In fact, some of my finest work was decorating his body: the wisdom mark on his right calf, the cunning mark on his left hip and the leadership mark on his lower back. I really had left an imprint on him, almost as much of an imprint as he had left on me. Only my marks weren’t as easily seen by the eyes.

He pulled on his under garments. “Do we have a deal, Kalevi?”

“We already have a deal, Thane.”

“That deal is to keep you in good health here; this deal will be to help you escape.”

I reached for my own garments, the same red robes that I had been given on my arrival like all the other girls. “I don’t get what you want here. It doesn’t make sense. Not logical sense anyway. I don’t get why you want the marks changed, I don’t get why you want soldiers weakened. Why do you want me to do this? Surely you want to fight in an army that works together, in unison: one that wins together, not one that falls victim to dragon burns, that listens to the fae charms and one that can’t survive the night of the Forest. The army that serves the will of the Queen..”

“Still the questioner, still the deal maker and that is why we chose you. Those are the girls are creative enough to learn our ways. And that’s you, Kalevi. So do we have a deal?”

“I also know what will happen to me if I’m caught.”

He smiled as he unchained my ankle, releasing it from the bed.  “I’ll let you think about it. Tell me what you think tomorrow morning, no later. Or I’ll offer the option od escape to someone else.” He passed over a potion. “Now drink this unless you wish to carry my child.”

I knocked the potion down in one gulp; there were some parts of the role of a painter that I didn’t want to be involved in. Once you had a child you were truly locked onto the fort with no chance of an escape. The child seals the deal. We all knew that. It was part of the contract we had been forced to leave our blood mark on as we arrived. The child sealed the deal. It meant you were stuck on the island, stuck in the fort walls, for good. I looked back down at the empty vile. “I’ll think about it.”

He opened the steel door and called out, “Painter 34-67, ready for work.” He turned back and smiled, “Just remember, Kalevi, I can only get you those potions for so long. You will be expected to produce more painters and soldiers for us soon, and it will not just be me that visits. At nineteen harvest moons you should have really produced before now, had it not been for all those accidents.”

“Thank you, soldier 23-91, you are dismissed.” The guard said. “Painter 34-67. Please enter the corridor.”

I made my way out and my eyes instantly met with 34-72, the only one of the girls that I had arrived with that was still around. 34-68 had not passed through the training programme and had been disposed of, there was no point in keeping a girl that could not do her basic job. 34-70 had tried to escape just a month later and again been disposed of, you couldn’t have the secrets of the fort reaching those in Escafeld and the neighbouring villages. 34-73 had died during her first pregnancy after a rumoured beating.  34-69 and 34-71 were currently in their later stages of pregnancy and therefore not required to work.

I blinked before I looked towards her stomach, seeing a small bump on her slender figure. How long was I going to be able to get away with this? I looked back up and down the hallway. Over half the girls were pregnant and not all of them were older than me or had been here as long as I had. It was part of the deal. Entertain the soldiers, keep them from finding other distractions so they could be trusted to do their jobs when they visited the village and provide more soldiers and painters to keep us all protected. It was our duty that the Queen insisted upon. We all knew that. And we knew better than to disrespect Queen Calsharon’s wishes.

Breakfast was held in silence. Talking together was greatly discouraged and could lead beatings. You quickly learnt not to talk during your training. Asking questions would only lead to trouble, so you kept quiet at least in public view. It was hard to escape without help and you didn’t get help if you never made any friends, any allies. When we had been welcomed to hell on our arrival at the fort by the commander that stood at the gates, his words had been perfectly carried out ever since. You arrived and became part of the machine – trained up, painted, produced the next generation, until you died or graduated as a wise woman and were forced to find the next generation from the villages. As long as you kept to those rules, you’d be just fine. Only just like when I was in the village, I had never much fancied sticking to the rules, hence the deals that had been made with Thane. Maybe I really did need to take that second deal.

A short twenty minutes later, I was in my simple studio and preparing my brushes waiting for my first soldier of the day, a soldier of thirteen harvest moons getting only his second marking. He was still just a boy, lanky in his figure and dimples marking his face. The soldiers they were sending out were getting younger and younger recently. They had used to be at least sixteen before they entered down here. Was something going on in the forests that they needed more soldiers for?

“Soldier 48-96.”

I checked the papers that had been left out. “Strength mark?”

“That’s right,” his tone was already drilled, “get on with it then.”

I turned to the vials, mixing dragon blood from the Nightwyrm Temple with troll and griffin. Once the bloods blended together, I dropped in three drops of the brown ink and turned back to the soldier. “Are you fort born or from the villages?”

“Fort born,” he said, “why does it make a difference to the mark?”

“None.” I found the stencil and the cleaning syrup. “I just wondered.”

“You shouldn’t have wondered, we have no orders to wonder. It has no purpose.”

“And are all the fort born like you? You’re young to come through the system.”

“I excelled. I will be out fighting soon.”

I offered him a smile. It was always best to keep these tones polite. I’d been hurt once too often by a new soldier trying off his new mark to behave otherwise. “Well don’t do anything until your marks have taken effect. Each one needs seven days to sink into your skin before it takes effect.”

“I know that, stop wasting time; I have training to get back to.”

“I’m just making sure that you know the precautions you need to take.”

“I listen to the commander, not the painters. You painters aren’t worth listening to.”

My smile tightened as it became more forced. “You should listen to the painters too; we best know how the inks work. We know how the blood ties work. We know how your marks will affect you.”

His hand found his way to his knife and rested on it, “I was warned about you. That you do some of the best work but you ask too many questions, so that to be careful.” He stroked the blade and smiled. “So, if you don’t want this through your throat, then you should just get on with the marking.”

I paused as my hand reached out from the cleaning syrup. “Is that all you’ve heard about me? Nothing other than questions and my work?”

He pulled the knife out of its sleeve. “You are just a painter, you have no need to know what we soldiers talk about and you should really get on with that mark unless you want another mark against your name and you really can’t afford one of those.”

I picked up the brush.  “Where do you want the tattoo?”

“Right arm.”

“Take a seat, then.”

He flinched and took in a sharp intake of breath as I placed the cleaning syrup on his arm. This boy was really young, if he hadn’t expected it to be freezing. The first thing you were taught was the blood underneath the skin needed to freeze if the bloods were going to join together and the mark was to take full effect. I forced the stencil on his skin a little more forcibly than necessary. People didn’t get to pull their knives out without the odd consequence. Not even warning him not to hold his breath, I reached for the paint. It would be quite funny to see him collapsing. The soldier let out the held breath and the paint touched his skin. Shame. Stroke after stroke, the mark appeared on his skin, forming an italicised shape that looked like a mixture of an ‘n’ and ‘h’.  I reached for the ointment, gauze and tape and sealed the mark up.

“You’re done.”

I wasn’t even given a minute before the next soldier appeared demanding his marking. Nine more markings were done on seven more soldiers before I was permitted a break for lunch, which was brought directly to the room by one of the island born girls. A small thing and wearing a simple grey dress that placed her in her eight to ten bracket. She was almost ready to take her role to train to pain. She was so young, a child. She looked even younger than that as well with her slight frame, large wide eyes and sandy hair in a single braid. She stayed quiet. You didn’t talk. She’d have been brought up knowing that. Her eyes flickered around the room, taking in as much as she could before she placed the tray down and ran out the room.

I scanned the dish. The same small apple, roll of seed filled bread and watery onion soup as always. I ate fast. Work time was work time and there were no excuses that would be accepted for a delay. The tray was collected and the permitted break was over. I was back to work and a further twelve markings in the afternoon. At seven o’clock, I left for dinner feeling drained. I ate the large meal that was prepared to keep us going all night. We were returned to our rooms and Thane entered.

He smiled. “You’re on my schedule tonight.”

“How are you fixing this?”

“I’ve got a few deals in place. Let’s get the chain on.”

I ignored him as I went over to the window, watching the people mulling around the city completely unaware of everything that happened behind the fort walls. There really was no escape from this place without help and it looked like I was going to need all the help I could get. “What is being said about me?”

“It doesn’t take a genius to work that out, Kalevi. You are not pregnant so there’s either something wrong with you or I’m not doing my job. And I can’t be seen not to be doing my job. And it doesn’t help either that you talk to the soldiers. Painters don’t talk to soldiers. It’s not a right that you have. Painters do as soldiers say. Soldiers do as commanders instruct. And commanders do as the Queen orders. That’s the way the system works. We all know it. We all obey it. Except you. You talk to the soldiers.”

I turned to face him. “I can’t be numb all day, what do they expect?”

“You to play your part and you’re not playing it well enough. You have never played it well enough but at the same time, there has been nothing really to hold against you. As an exceptional painter, questions could be tolerated. Not one of the soldiers that you’ve marked has been killed in battle. Not one soldier you have marked has even been injured, not a single injury. That’s impressive. That gives you a little leeway but it’s been over a year since your eighteenth harvest moon, two years since you started to get your night time duties assigned, one year since you had regular visits and you haven’t produced. Give it a few more weeks and you will be tested. Fail those and you will be disregarded. Pass them, and I shall be questioned for treason. If you are deemed to have performed, your duties will be increased as you are watched until you produce.  You will be lucky if they give you a month, especially if you continue to ask questions.”

“So, I’ll stay quiet then. And maybe they will assume you are firing duds.”

“They would never believe a painter over a soldier and even if it did cross their minds, I have impregnated seventeen painters in six months. It is not just you I visit. They have no reason to question me. I play my part.”

“Then what makes me special? Why pick me? Why are the seventeen others pregnant and not me? What makes me special?”

“Like three others that I have selected, you are talented and you question your position. You are not indoctrinated like most or downtrodden like the rest.” He smiled. “You didn’t think it was love, did you?”

“No, I didn’t think it was love, I’m not that foolish, and I am not that naïve.” I fixed my own smile on my face. “No one loves each other here. No one even cares that much for each other, not when it ends up being only the selfish of us that survive. And I can be very selfish. I could turn you in.”

“And they wouldn’t believe you but why must we fall out when there is another choice? You could draw my designs for me.”

“And you’ll free me then?” I laughed.  “Why do I doubt that? You have me, you have a hold on me if I agree to this. And like you said, if I mark someone, that mark stays the way I want it. You have a specialist painter working for you, who you can control. Why should you give that up? It wouldn’t be the smart thing to do. Why should I believe that you will free me and not turn me in?”

“Because, it wouldn’t be the smart thing to do. Have you ever been to the Sandy Coast?”

“No.”

“I come from Fayoak, which is just next to the coast. You should see it. It’s not like Escafeld. Or Dragonspine, Ousedon or the surrounding villages. The sea go on forever. It’s calm. It’s settled. It’s beautiful over there. Maybe a little too close to the goblins but away from the fae, very few merfolk and not often visited by the dragons. There is a fort a three day horse ride away from there and we are building up our own army, with our own soldiers and our own painters. You could join that group up there. You could be part of that, one of our new painters there.”

“So, let me get this right. You want me to risk my own execution by mismarking soldiers here, when I am already being watched? And then travel constantly for three weeks to arrive at another fort, where I get to be a prisoner again?” This time my laugh was much more of a snort than my normal laugh would have been, not that I had laugh much since, if ever that same way, I had left the village. “Why on Escafeld would I agree to that?”

He smiled.  “Because if you agree to it, you get to live. Now get into bed, here you still have a nightly duty to perform before I file your report tomorrow. I need to tick that box.”

“Where’s my potion?”

“You will get it after you have made your choice.”

“Fine, I’ll do it, I’ll accept the deal. Where are these new markings?”

He pulled up his trousers and unrolled several scrolls that had been strapped to his leg. “You see, the changes are very subtle, just minor changes on the marks.”

I studied the images, tracing the marks with my hand and then retracing them. I had to draw this without thought, just as I had drawn the others for years but this time I had no stencil to help me. I traced the images again then raised my head back to look at him. I needed to know everything this was going to involve. Tonight, I was going to need every bit of information and all the practice that I could get. “On the inks and with the blood are there any changes there?”

“We never have before, but that could work.”

“The blood measurements are only checked at the end of the day, so as long as they work out even, then it will work. You could change the blood mixtures too and that would really affect the mark, much more than a few mistimed paint strokes. How could you have blessing at seas that keep you safe on crossings without merfolk blood or intelligence without the help of the goblins?”

Thane’s smile grew. “You, my dear, may just make an excellent recruit. Welcome to the team.”

In the new few weeks, new markings took place. A stroke different here or there, curling the ends of lines, not curling others, slight differences that would not be noticed, unless they were checked closely and those soldiers were not reporting any difficulties on fear of not been found to be lacking in their skills or not in control of the painters that they had marking them. Then there were the blood mixes. The inks had to remain the same. Colours would be noticed if they were different. After seven days without any questions, my brush strokes started to become a little more individual, matching the personality that I wanted each soldier to have following night time discussions that individuality could help the skills that the mark represented. After nine days and no consequences were found from the changed markings, I started to talk to the soldiers who were named on my rota and even to ask a few questions again. By day fourteen, things were almost back to normal, or as normal as they had ever been.

It was day twenty three of the new marking schedule when Thane appeared in my room. He stood in the doorway, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, slightly blocking the door so there would be no escape if I wanted to run at him as he waited for two others to join him. “Pack up the vials and the brushes.”

“What?”

“We are leaving tonight. Dak and Orin will stay guard as you do so, while I go get the others.” He threw over a combat style bag. “Pack quickly.”

“Wait, what’s happened?”

“I’ll explain on the journey. Pack quickly.” Thane left the room.

I paused, my hand still frozen on the vial of dragon blood. This didn’t make sense. I’d hardly marked anyone new, I’d barely got started on the plan. And a plan to change as much as Thane had wanted, to mark as many soldiers with his new soldiers that he could, well that wouldn’t normally want to move this fast surely unless something had gone wrong. Surely, they would have wanted more soldiers marked. How many had been marked? Damn, why hadn’t I kept count? I worked on an average of fourteen soldiers a day and I had been going for twenty three days on the different markings. That was three hundred markings and if there were other girls doing this, that was a fair whack. Maybe it wasn’t too soon after all, but they couldn’t be taking many supplies with them, unless they had been stockpiling. Maybe I was just the final part in the jigsaw.

“Pack up already,” Dak said as Orin stepped out into the hallway, keeping watch. “We need to leave when Thane gets back here, painter.”

“You want me to work with you, I’m not ‘painter’ anymore. I’m equal with you. I’m not your painter. Use my name.”

“Which is?”

“Kalevi.”

“Get a move on then, Kalevi.”

I started wrapping up vials in cloths and loaded them into the bag. I then grabbed the brushes and the other pieces of kit, carefully loading them and handed it over. “There, we’re going back to my quarters now, right?”

“No time.”

“What do you mean, there’s no time? My only things from home are in that room. I need to go back to that room.”

“Do you want to live, Kalevi?”

“Of course, I do.”

“Then we move now.” Dak crossed the room and grabbed my hair. He gave it a sharp tug and an involuntary scream leapt out of my mouth. “Play along. Orin will clear the room and you need to play along.”

A senior guard walked up the corridor. “What’s going on, soldier?”

“This painter tried to assault me. I’m taking her down to the cells for correction.”

“Let me see her.” The guard made his way closer. He came right up to me; he was so close that wine on his breath stunk up my nostrils. “Pass her over.” He pulled my arm as soon as Dak had released it. “Why am I not surprised that this one has finally played up?”  His hand rested on my thigh. “Let me know which cell she’s in for correction. I would like to finally get my hands on her and work out what has been going wrong with her. I’m sure it’s nothing a night with me and my methods won’t fix.” I fought my natural instinct to slap him across the face and dig my nails into his eyes as he flung me back to Dak; I needed to play along here. “Take her down.”

They headed down the corridor and down the stone stairs. “Keep your head down and keep walking.”

My pace wanted to quicken, but I forced myself to keep it steady. To rush would look suspicious. It wasn’t worth drawing attention to us. A soldier leading a painter away was perfectly normal. A painter running as she was being let away would throw up a red flag.  We turned down another corridor which was darkened and with very limited lighting which was only helped by the glow coming from Dak’s hand, not that that should have surprised me. Those light marks were down so people could see their way in the forests and it got very dark in the forest. Very, very dark. When we had taken the cart through the forest all those years ago, we hadn’t been able to see our own hands when we had waved them in the heart of the forest. Any light that worked there could easily light a simple corridor.

The light lit up each of the steel cell doors. Cold metal was everywhere down here, from the floor, to the walls, to the bars, to the beds in the cells, and it was sucking the warmth out of everything. I paused, curiosity getting the better of me. It was open down here. You could see everything that happened in these cells - when people were sleeping, when they were chained to the walls or when the soldiers came down to visit. I was thankful that all the cells were empty. I didn’t want to see another painter down here and have to walk past her but at the same time, I almost wanted to see painters, to see what happened to them once the doors were locked. I needed to confirm with myself that this risk, that deal, had been worth it.

“Dak, what goes on in the cells down here? Who comes down here?”

“Those who can’t be trusted to paint. Those who have broken their vow as well as those who are under threat of escaping.  We need to make sure that they keep to their commitment. They need retraining.” He opened a cell door. “Do you want a closer look? Do you want to satisfy that curiosity before we leave? You still want to run, right?”

“Dak, what’s going on?”

“Just what I told the guards up there. I’m bringing you down here for correction.”

“Where’s Thane?”

“Upstairs working on the next girl we’ve been doubting.”

My eyes scanned his tattoos, working out which ones he had. Speed. I couldn’t outrun him. Strength. I wasn’t going to win a fight here. Cunning. I should have known better than to follow him with that mark. That was made from goblin blood. Never do as a soldier tells you unless you can see all his marks. I hadn’t seen all Dak’s marks before I had come down here. I was just as stupid as the fourteen year old that had blindly left the village without thought.

“We’re not escaping, are we?”

Dak smiled. “You made a deal, Kalevi, when you got into that cart. You have a calling you must live up to.”

He pushed me and I stumbled, falling over my feet as I headed backwards as I fell into the cell. My hands stretched around me, brushing the wall around me and looking for something, anything, to attack with. The kit. My kit. My vials. My inks. My stencils. My brushes. I had my kit down here with me. It was only about two arm’s lengths away, in the bag that Dak had dropped when he had pushed me. Everything I needed was in there. I glanced at Dak.  He was busying himself with the locks on the chains. I shuffled backwards, my hand forming around the brush. I hadn’t had time to sterilise that one in his hurry.

Dak turned back around, still smiling. “There’s two ways to do this. Get into the bed.” His hand settled around his sword. “Do it this way and you’ll be revisited four times a day for the next fourteen and then you will be allowed to return to your quarters.”

“And if I don’t.”

“Well, that would be a mistake on your part.”

I made my way to the bed. “I’ve one question first. What happens to the soldiers that have the changed marks. What will happen to them?”

“They will still go out to fight. You are not the only one that made a deal that they have to keep to and they also need to be punished for breaking a deal. They will suffer their own consequences.”

“So, everyone has….” I lunged forward, my elbow raised, heading straight for his face, the brush raised, ready to leave its mark.

He caught my arm and pushed me back against the steel bedframe at full force. “Wrong choice, Kalevi.”

The Recruiter

I pulled the hood up on the cloak as I headed outside. There was another night’s work to be done. I was thankful that now I got the days off and I was back spending them with Zane, back listening to his stories. Only now they were the stories of village life that interested me instead of the ones that had me escaping in dreams, not ones that he me about the adventures of dragons, goblins, elves and the rest. But come night time the duties and the deals returned and I became the storyteller. I carefully lit the fire, placing each log in its place. It was only a matter of time before the girls would arrive, eager to hear the stories and unknowingly setting themselves up for a lifetime as painters.

They ran out of their huts, whispering loudly and a little too enthusiastically that they were going to hear Wise Woman Wavers’ tales. They would be here in minutes. That wasn’t a question. Instead it was more of a question of what would happen when they got here. Which of the girls would be stupid enough to ask questions this time? Which of the girls would not be missed if she were taken away?

The village elders understood the rules well enough. In order to have the soldiers patrol the forests to stop the fae and the Blight Marchers from attacking, and making sure that Escafeld still offered favourable trades, they would offer up at least one girl every seven harvest moons to perform the duties of the Queen. A girl who would provide soldiers with all their needs, including making sure that they would have the relevant protection. Surely, it was better to pick a girl who didn’t meet village expectations than one who did. After all, the girls who asked questions, the girls who were curious, the girls who sat and watched the dragons’ flight, they were not made for the villages. They would only run off at some point and end up in the fae’s traps, dehydrate as they got lost looking for a night-time hiding place in the Alfredan Forest, tell a dwarf that he was in the wrong or wander into the wrong fort. Those girls wouldn’t last long. Those were the best to offer. It was just a question of who would be the next girl to be offered.

The logs burst into flames and the girls gathered around like moths to those flames, just waiting to hear the stories. As they all took their places, my eyes fell on a girl with dull brown hair, just three days short of her thirteenth harvest moon. The soldiers would be here in just three days and the wise choice, the logical choice, would be to offer her up. A girl who was just like I had been. She was not cut out for village life, but was it right to force her into the life of a painter?  It wasn’t right, but then it wasn’t right to offer any of the girls. It was just the rules and that girl would have to do. A sacrifice needed to be made and she would be it. Silence fell, and I started the speech that I had heard so many times that had led me to ask questions, the speech that I had given so many times that would led to me offering up my first girl. Just one more question would seal her fate. I cleared my throat.

“Never make a deal with the goblins, you won’t win. Never trust the fae, they will trick you. Never follow the elves into the Alfrendon Forest, you will never come out. Never question the dwarves, they are always right. Or argue with a goblin. Never try to tickle a dragon or go swimming with the merfolk, never do as a soldier tells you to unless you can read his markings, but most of all, never go Fort Calesh without an invitation from the Queen, for there the girls are trapped. Educated, talented and powerful but those girls are cursed and damned.”

The End

Prompts:

• AGE OF DREAMS: (High fantasy low fantasy epic fantasy grim dark sword and socrety military fantasy monster horror) Upon the world of Terra, there was a great Dragon named Unelma. Unelma travelled the world before falling asleep, dreaming all life into existence. The first Age of the world, the Age of Dreams, is ruled by magic and myth; the predominant races are Humans, Dwarves and Elves, with Dragons lurking in the wild places. Not everyone accepts the Unelma creation myth, however; Calsharon, the Queen of Reason, demands that her subjects trust to logic over baseless superstition. The Age officially ends with Unelma wakes up, the Dragons disappear and the Calshani Empire is founded.

• Escafeld: Bordered by the Copperspine mountains to the north and west and the Ousedon river to the south, the lands of Escafeld are a loose affiliation of clans rather than a single country. Having no allegiance to the Dragon shrines in the far north or Calshan in the south, Escafeld is instead a mixture of disparate cultures. Dwarves trade in Escafeld towns, and although Elves are hostile to Escafeld trespassers, there are routes through the forest that they grudgingly allow. By the end of the Age of Dreams, Escafeld is a sovereign nation under the rule of the Calshani.

• Unelma, the Dreaming One: Highest of the known Dragons, Unelma explored the world, and from his dreams he formed life to dwell there. He dreamt of mountains, and the dreams became Dwarves. He dreamt of forests, and the dreams became Elves. He had nightmares, and they became monsters. After the monsters came, he stopped his dreams taking shape, yet he still dreamt of many things. He dreamt of nobility, corruption, greed, humility, arrogance, deference, poverty and riches. These dreams begged to be real as the others before them. Unelma finally took all these disparate dreams, and they became Humans.

• Calsharon, Queen of Reason: Unelma’s worst enemy, and head of the Cult of Reason. In a world of magic and mystery, Calsharon advocates her followers to trust their senses over their imaginations. Slightly hypocritical, in that to battle an immortal dragon, she requires magical immortality herself. Calsharon rejects the notion that dwarves and elves are better than Humans because they have lived for longer; in her retelling of the Unelma myth, both races are part of Unelma’s nightmare, and only Humans were created with purpose.

• Dragon Broods: Descendants of Unelma and his dreams of family, Dragons can be hatched from eggs, or appear fully grown from thunderstorms. Rather than having a strict bond of family, Dragons instead attune to their surroundings, becoming members of a particular Brood. The five greatest Draconarchs and their broods are; Yatava of the Frost Brood, Halkema of the Chasm Brood, Vihrea of the Forest Brood, Sininae of the Sea Brood, and Tulinar of the Red Brood.

• Nightwyrm Temple: The largest Dragon shrine in the Dragonspine mountains, Nightwyrm Temple is reputedly where Unelma and his strongest brood reside. No-one’s ever seen Unelma there, only his children, and they’re hostile to any who’d invade their caverns looking for him. His followers are occasionally gifted with dragon blood, giving them magical powers and the ability to shape reality through their dreams. The fact several locations nearby are filled with goblins and monsters is probably not coincidental to this.

• Goblins: Children of Nightmare, goblins are the cave-dwelling, sun-fearing enemies of the Dwarves, who lives as bandits and scavengers in the abandoned places of Terra. Goblins hate pretty much everyone, including other goblin families; they curse Unelma for making them this way, they curse Calsharon for leading purges of the southern clans, and they curse each other for not bowing to their family’s obvious superiority. Their only saving grace is their foresight; they aren’t very smart, but can plan ahead with superhuman ability.

• Dwarves: Children of Stone, Dwarves live either in vast underground halls, or in mining towns on the surface. They’re in a state of constant battle against goblins, dwarves are renowned as armourers and soldiers in addition to miners. They’re somewhat standoffish with humans, only trading with Escafeld clans, and having a distrust for Elves and the southern lands of Calshan. They’re also obsessively secretive about their crafts; since humans stole metal from their fallen soldiers, they’ll never send any weapon out of a stronghold unless they can guarantee it’ll return.

• Elves: Children of Wood, Elves live nomadic lives through the forests, never staying too long in one place, usually because they’re too busy chasing trespassers and cutting them down. Elves claim to be the first of Unelma’s creations, and so are clearly his chosen people; everything that followed, be it Dwarf, Goblin or Human, are the result of the Dreamer’s nightmare. Humans often romanticise and misunderstand Elves; yes, they’re beautiful, attuned to nature and live free. No part of that means they’re in any way nice.

• Trolls: Children of Nightmare, and akin to Goblins. Instead of cursing the world as the Goblins do, however, Trolls are much more adaptive; their bodies spontaneously change to their environment. Even Trolls of the same family can appear different; Bark Trolls have tough, woody skin and green hair, while Coast Trolls grow webbed fingers and slimy coatings. Superstition says that some trolls even adapt to villages, and appear as humans, learning to speak and behave as civilised humans. No troll, however, can stand the ringing of bells, and so villages ward off interlopers at hourly intervals.

• Fae: Children of Lyral, the mother of nightmares. Unlike the other misbegotten creatures of Unelma’s feverish dreams, Lyral intentionally made the Fae as things of horror and malice. While their creator and leaders were banished from all memory, many Fae were allowed to remain in the hidden places of the world. Tied to a certain location, and only able to manifest at dawn or twilight, the Fae appear deceptively beautiful, with eyes that reflect no light. The Fae trick mortals with promises of youth and splendour, and steal man’s gifts from their own, be it a shape, a voice, a breath or a soul.

• Merfolk: Children of Water, merfolk appeared around the Ghosting Isles after Unelma was lulled to sleep by the waves there. Naturally peaceful and trusting, merfolk lived in harmony with native fishing villages for generations. This ended when Imperial warships appeared, trawling the sea and killing indiscriminately. Since then, local fisher boats are sure to trail a frayed rope behind them; it’s the only thing that marks their ships from the Imperials, and the merfolk scupper any Imperial on sight…

• The Blight Marchers: Of all the creatures that can sack a village, none is more feared than the Blight Marchers. Dragons can be appeased, Elves fear steel, but nothing can stop a Blight Marcher. While they look and speak like humans, they appear diseased, clad in grey armour, and exhibit no behaviour other than to fight and eat. Luckily, they aren’t malicious nor ambitious, and can be outrun. Some say the Marchers were a legion cursed for a forgotten crime; others believe they’re a wizard’s creation that turned on their master. One thing is certain; if someone could find a way to kill them, that person would be hailed a hero throughout the Kingdom…

• Alfredan/Shemeld Forest: Sprawling from the southern Ousedon River to the northeast Copperspine mountains, the Alfredan Forest marks the eastern boundary of Escafeld. Home to the Elves, the forest is only safely entered during the day; intruders at night are killed by elven bandits. Despite several Calshani logging camps along the forest’s southwestern edge, there’s never any fewer trees; a woodcutter can fell ten trees in a day, but the elves can magically cultivate twenty in response. Further north, nearby villages have half-elf citizens; while humans think of half-elves as beautiful, elves see them as children of traitors.

• Copperspine Mountains: The northernmost boundary of Escafeld is marked by hundreds of miles of impassable mountains. Only Dragons have ever passed over the Copperspine range; Dwarves have attempted to delve under them, but the northern tunnels are blocked by lava vents and vast underground seas. The mountains are home to many villages, dwarf-mines and goblin-caves, as well as the grand architecture of the Dragon Temples. Half-goblins and half-dwarves are rarer than half-elves, but still exist in many villages. Virtually all of Escafeld’s mineral wealth, and over half of Calshani’s, is dug up from these mountains.

• Fort Kalesh: Birthplace of Queen Calsharon, and the only sane kingdom, surrounded by madness and superstition. Soon after she inherited the Fort and the Calshani villages, Calsharon introduced several improvements to the Fort, including improved grain storage, mortared stone walls, dedicated armed guards, zealously devoted magistrates, and patronising the Circadian Library. The Fort itself has an impressive track record of withstanding attacks against it, being more solidly built than any other building in the south, and the tattooed soldiers who leave the training grounds are more powerful and cruel than any other.