Of Fire and Steel (Private for now)

[Anya Kalos]

The air was cool and still. The sides of the tent, usually rippling with the mountain breeze, lay eerily flat today. Anya could hear each footfall in the encampment, hear muttered conversations, the occasional snort or grunt of the animals. It was the most peaceful things had been in a long time. Anya smiled, enjoying the near silence, and added a few more brush strokes to the canvas before her.

The painting refused to come together, despite her best efforts. Somehow the blues and greens seemed primitive next to the vibrant orbs of her dreams; the visions refused to translate into a two dimensional picture. How could she possibly capture the glittering lights and fantastical skies with mere paint? How could she describe the terrifying, dizzying possibilities of the worlds outside the world itself?

Carefully, she set the paints down and turned her back on the picture. Each time her eyes closed she could see the dreams, as clear as daylight before her. Even the wisest men in the village were at a loss as to what they could possibly mean. Her uncle frequently reassured her that they were mere visions, brought on by too many sweet cakes before bed. They both knew otherwise but it was easier to pretend, for now.

Outside, a shriek shattered the serenity. Anya watched, alarmed, as the shadows of the tribesmen flowed past, convening on some far off spot. The mutter became agitated, anguished: what had happened? Anya longed to leave the tent but she couldn't, she had to keep away from the trouble in case her gifts were needed. She crossed the tent and stood by the flap, hidden from sight, listening keenly. After an agonising few minutes the voices grew louder as they approached the camp again. Anya tilted her head to listen. A body had been found - Miriam.

Her heart felt like it had stopped beating in her chest.

Miriam, her cousin, her confidant, barely seventeen and the sweetest girl in the village. Anya felt tears coursing down her cheeks and wiped them away roughly. She could afford no emotion for she knew that any minute now, the bell would ring; entrance would be demanded, and the Arbiter would reveal who had wronged such a sweet and gentle heart. She reached for the blindfold that lay beside her bed and gently tied it over her eyes. Her gloved hands dropped to her lap as the silver bell inside her tent began to ring.

"Who seeks the truth?" she asked, her voice as clear as the bell itself. If it wavered slightly, no one would comment on it.

"A great wrong has been done, Arbiter. The truth is hidden from us." Unusually, it wasn't one voice that spoke; a chorus answered her ritual question. She could almost feel the weight of bodies at the entrance to her tent, could sense the entire village waiting for her insight. That heartened her, for the guilty party would not come so willingly to her tent.

"The truth cannot hide from me," she answered softly. "Enter, and I will reveal it to you."

Her tent quickly filled up; she could feel them standing around her, not daring to touch her but keen to be as close as possible. The air blew across her face and she guessed that the tent flap was open, allowing those outside to hear what had to be said. Nothing further was said. Orlaf had spent some time devising a suitably mystic sounding ceremony to help encourage people to listen to her but today, no words were needed: nobody could speak. Anya herself wondered how she would find the words to tell them who had turned against them. At last she felt something soft touch her fingers. It felt like a ribbon; Miriam's ribbon. Anya removed her glove, took a deep breath to steady herself, and clasped the silken strands.

 

[Anya Kalos]

As soon as her fingers touched the ribbon, Anya could see again. The blindfold, the tent, the anxious and frightened people were all gone, banished by whatever magic, whatever curse it was that she bore. Instead she was transported to the woods, where she stood beside the memory of Miriam. Anya eagerly took in every small detail about her cousin, from the way the ribbon struggled to hold back her riotous curls, to the way she toyed excitedly with the fruit in her hands.

The camp, Anya noted, was some way away; she didn't have long to wait to find out what Miriam was doing here, however. The shadowy figure of Gern, a young man from the tribe, approached.

"Gern!" Miriam threw herself excitedly at him. "You came!"

"Of course." Gern and Miriam shared a passionate kiss, bringing a blush to Anya's cheeks. She had never seen her cousin this way before. "I can't spare more than a minute, Miri, but I had to see you."

"When will you speak to my father?"

"Today. Look for me tonight." Gern touched Miriam's cheek fondly. "Then we won't have to hide." They were in love, Anya noted curiously. She had thought she shared all her cousin's secrets, but perhaps this one was too precious to give away. Gern left Miriam standing in the woods as he headed down to the lake - perhaps to fish? It didn't matter. He wasn't the culprit.

Miriam walked away from the camp too, singing with delight. Anya followed the memory, moving through the fading world of half-remembered words and images. A footstep behind them made both the memory of her cousin and Anya herself jump. She turned, saw Miriam turn to eagerly greet whoever was there, and watched her cousin die.

Anya ripped the blindfold from her face with a scream that startled everyone in the tent.

"Demons!" she gasped, reaching aimlessly for some water; a glass was pressed into her hand. She drained it eagerly, letting the tumbler fall to the floor. "Demons," she said again, meeting the eyes of her uncle.

"Demons?" His face was pinched and strained. "What do you mean, Anya?"

"I saw..." She called the image to mind. "Shaped like men, but their skin was thick steel and painted black. They had no faces, only smooth metal. They killed Miriam because she saw them." Anya closed her eyes, squeezing them shut until she saw spots to try and clear the image of the dispassionate killers from her mind. "They have come from another world and we are all in danger."

Whispers broke out immediately following her proclamation. One woman fainted away from horror and was carried out. Anya held her uncle's gaze firmly until at last he roused himself from his sadness and clapped his hands.

"Everybody out," he ordered in his quiet, firm way. "I must speak with the Arbiter alone."

As the others filed past and out of the tent, Anya saw Gern; he had been crying, and on an impulse she touched his arm with her gloved hand. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "She truly loved you."

Gern managed a weak smile. "Thank you, Anya." He turned away before Orlaf could stop him and fled the tent, leaving them alone to discuss the nightmarish beings that had killed one of their own.

 

[Anya Kalos]

"What did you see?"

Anya ignored her uncle, concentrated on placing Miriam's ribbon reverently on the floor before her, pulled her glove back over trembling fingers, counted heartbeats until the shaking stopped. Never before had she felt such abject terror and it took a while to calm enough to be able to speak. Orlaf waited patiently.

"I saw monsters, Uncle." Anya tried not to look at Orlaf, couldn't meet his eyes; neither of them could afford to give in to the grief they felt. There would be time for that later, although she could tell from the waver in his voice and the tear tracks on his cheeks that he was truly suffering.

"Monsters?"

"It's hard to describe. I've never seen anything like them before, not even in dreams." Her voice took on a faraway quality as she returned to the horror of the vision. "Men of steel, immune to our weapons. They shoot fire and fly - but men can't fly! They killed Miriam because she saw them, because she could warn us." Anya finally met Orlaf's eyes, her blue eyes boring into his own dark ones. "They don't know about me," she said, sounding satisfied that she had been able to best them and provide a warning. "The strange thing is... They weren't pleased about the death. They said it was a waste, but I don't think they meant it the way we would."

Orlaf reached out and clasped her hand, the simple gesture saying more than any words could.

"Gern loved Miriam," Anya said, the change of topic startling Orlaf. "She was devoted to him and because of him, she died happy - her death was too quick for her to fear. Don't be hard on him, Uncle."

Orlaf withdrew his hand.

"If not for him, she wouldn't have been out there," he said darkly. Anya was worried by the shadows of anger and hatred in his voice.

"Miri was a free spirit," she whispered. "She would have gone anyway."

Orlaf's next words were accusing. "You sound so uncaring at times, Anya." She looked away.

"My heart has shattered, and the only thing binding the broken pieces together is my duty to keep everyone else alive. Know this, Uncle: when we are safe from the demons I will cry tears enough to flood the world, and still my grief will go unassuaged. Those demons could die a thousand deaths and it would not be enough." Her voice cracked at the end and she buried her head in her hands. After a moment she felt Orlaf's hand clasp her shoulder and knew he understood how she felt.

"What should we do?"

"We leave," she said instantly. "We must leave here today and hope that they do not find us before we go. I don't believe they are after us," her brow furrowed as she tried to make sense of her jumbled thoughts, "but if they encounter us, that won't matter to them."

Orlaf nodded and rose to his feet, looking massive in her small dwelling. "Pack only what you need," he said, masking his grief behind the mantle of leadership. "I will tell the others."

 

[Anya Kalos]

All that she had in the world rested in the small bundle now tied to her back. Her paintbox. Pressed flowers that had been a birthday gift. A lock of her mother's hair. Several of her paintings that were small enough to fit; the rest would have to stay here. Perhaps soon it would be safe to come and retrieve them, but judging from the knot of dread that was wrapped about her stomach and refused to untie itself, Anya didn't think this would be the case. She had already bid goodbye to everything that was to be left behind. Her final act before saying farewell to the small tent that was her home was to reach for her blindfold, the mark of the Arbiter, and tie it around her hair. Orlaf wanted her to inspire courage in them, to give them the strength to find a new home far away. Anya, in truth, wanted to curl up and hide from the world, but she knew all too well that the world has a habit of finding those who hide. Instead she put on a brave face and stepped out of the tent with a whispered "Farewell..."

"Anya." Orlaf was waiting for her. "Everyone is ready."


"I'm sorry I kept you waiting," she said, her lilting voice lifting high to reach everyone. "I'm ready now." She noticed the relieved smiles and took her place beside Orlaf at the head of the group. Behind them were her aunt, her remaining cousins - one face was conspicuously absent and Anya had to suppress her tears.


They almost made it. The last of them had crossed the border of their encampment and Anya had dared to breathe a sigh of relief - perhaps that had cursed them, for she froze at a cold, cruel chuckle coming from behind them. This was joined by two or three others. Orlaf turned, and she reluctantly turned with him, to see the demons from her vision scattered about the camp, dwarfing their small tents and remaining goods. Anya felt as though her blood had turned to ice.


"What have we here?" The leader had an odd, distorted voice and Anya realised their skin wasn't made of steel but clad in it, completely encased. They held an assortment of items that she knew, without being told, were weapons. How they knew the same language, she couldn't say, or maybe they had a device that allowed them to be understood.


"Looks like a little birdie sang," one of the others muttered.


"I'm curious as to how," the leader said, his metal face turning to scan them all. Anya's cousins closed ranks as subtly as possible to shield her from their view, for now there were demons all around them. "I'm quite sure you shot the birdie, Laslo."


"Sure looked dead to me," grunted a hulking brute at the back. Anya struggled to control the rage that coursed through her. Others were not so able; shouts rang out, and Gern rushed forward with his spear raised. He was shot before he could get close. Gern's mother dropped to her knees.

The leader stepped closer, removed the metal covering his face to reveal a battle-scarred human face, filled with more evil than Anya had ever seen. He grinned. Anya stepped away from her cousins and the tribe parted to let her pass. Orlaf began hissing for her to return but she ignored it. A powerful urge was upon her to use her gifts, to try and begin to understand the monstors who had stumbled upon them. As she broke away from the group, walking in sedate, measured steps towards the leader, she heard the click of a gun. The leader held up his hand, an amused look on his face.

"What do you want, little girl?" he asked, trying to infuse his voice with kindness even as he winked at his comrades. Anya stepped up until she was close enough to touch him.

"I want to see," she said, removing her glove and reaching out to touch his chest. Her fingers met the cold steel and immediately visions began to assault her, too many to count; so many they blurred together. At once she wrenched her hand away, slipping the glove back on so that she wouldn't have to endure the memories of his armour again. She could feel the eyes of the others on her, waiting for her to pass judgement.

"You truly are demons."

 

[Anya Kalos]

Her words were equivalent to opening the stable doors and giving all the animals a slap on the rump. Those behind her, who had been huddled and frightened, now burst into life. Some shrieked, some gave angry yells; all scattered, disappearing into the trees. Anya half-turned to watch, a satisfied smile on her face, as they ran. The demons were close behind them, but she had faith. Even as she watched her friends vanished, disappearing up trees to leap from branch to branch, slipping down hidden pathways. The mountains swallowed them and kept them safe from the demons.

"We'll get them," growled the leader, who hadn't moved except for a hand signal to his men. "And I don't know what you're looking so happy about. You are still here."

"But they are not," Anya countered, "and this has been our home for many years. It will hide us. You may catch some to be your slaves, but others will escape and the tribe will live on after you have gone." Even the sounds of weapons firing didn't scare her now. She could tell, though she didn't know how, that the majority of them had escaped. The other demons, slavers, were returning to the site. Some of them had tribesmen with them, but most were growing in frustration. Anya watched as the stragglers who had been caught were herded into the centre, silently apologising for not being able to help them.

"I'm sorry, Arbiter," one of them whispered. Anya raised her shoulders in a shrug as if to say, at least you tried.

"Ten," the one called Laslo confirmed as everyone returned. "All the others got away, Grieg."

"Take them to the ship, and anyone else you find on the way." Grieg turned his dark eyes on Anya and she recoiled from the hatred in them.

"Do you know how much you just cost me?" he snarled. Anya recalled the visions and nodded.

"Even a weak slave fetches in the region of several thousand credits. The young men of the tribe would have earned you far more, for they would have been sent down the-" She cocked her head, studying the memories of what she had seen, trying to recall the strange words "-spice mines? Those who are incapable of work would have been killed. You have been scouring the- the outer rim for worlds like ours, worlds where people can go missing and no one will notice. I'm glad of how much you have just lost."

Even Grieg had to take a step back from her as she revealed truths she had no way of knowing, taken aback both by her knowledge and by the utter conviction in her eyes.

"I am glad to be a slave," Anya continued, taking a step forward, "if it means my friends and family are free. I couldn't save Miriam, or the ten you have caught, but I did what I could for the rest."

Grieg, unfortunately, was quick to recover from his shock. His mouth opened and closed as he rifled through several possible responses, but in the end he couldn't find the right words. Instead he lifted the weapon in his hand and brought the end of it down on her head with a tremendous blow. Anya dropped to the floor, her head and ears ringing. The world spun around her. She only just caught the muttered conversation going on above her, though it made no sense.

"What do you think, Grieg?"

"Maybe they're not quite as backwards as we thought, and they knew we were coming. But maybe, maybe it's the Force."

"Like a Jedi or something? Should we kill her?"

"No. She'll sell for a fortune, if I'm right. Keep her away from the others; we can't risk them plotting something." Grieg knelt down beside her. "You're going to earn back all the money we just lost, my little witch."

Anya barely had time to wonder what the Force was before his weapon hit her again, and she slipped into unconsciousness.

 

[Anya Kalos]

Anya's eyelids fluttered open to unfamiliar surroundings. She had been deposited in a corner, propped up against a cold metal wall. At first she wasn't sure whether it was the small, unfurnished room that was spinning, or whether it was her head. Eventually she settled on it being her head, still ringing from the powerful blow. When she tried to raise her hands to examine her skull, she found they were bound by chains that had been attached to a ring in the wall. Her gloves, she noted absently, were still on; she couldn't remove them without removing the chains.

Ah, yes. The demons. Memories trickled back of the demons, the flight from home, their plans for the village. This must be their tent, she thought muzzily. It was an odd tent; a small, square metal room. A small square of glass was set high up in the wall but all she could see through it was blackness. A low humming noise was sending a vibration through the floor; it made her legs feel rather uncomfortable. She had the oddest sensation of movement, as if the whole room was moving despite her remaining still.

A hatch slid aside on the door, revealing an unfamiliar pair of eyes. They scanned the room and stopped as they met her questioning stare. Footsteps clanged outside and then a pair of brown eyes peered through. These, she recognised.

"Awake, are you?" Grieg asked, his tone of voice implying that he didn't particularly care either way. "It might have been better if you'd stayed asleep. We've got a long way to go. Already got a buyer lined up for someone like you." He paused, then the eyes narrowed. "If you even so much as think about trying one of your witch tricks to get out of there, Freda here will shoot you."

"Where am I?" Anya asked, deciding not to explain the truth - that she wasn't a witch, she didn't have any tricks; she was well and truly stuck.

Grieg chuckled. "You're in space, little witch. We left Varonat behind us a coupla hours ago. You can kiss goodbye to your home planet; you'll never see it again." He patted the door. "This is a cell on my ship. Make yourself comfortable, sweetheart; you might as well enjoy the ride as best you can." The hatch slid across and his footsteps clanged away, fading as he moved from outside her door.

Anya leaned her head back against the wall. Soon, she would cry. The pain in her head wasn't just from the bruise she was sure she had; it was for everything - for Miriam, for her family, her friends, her home. It was easier to admit, away from the tribe, that she was scared, that she didn't know what to do. Here, it was safe to still be a child, at least for a little while - until they came back, at least.

Once the tears began to fall, Anya didn't have the power to stop them. She cried, silently, burying her head in her chained hands so that the guard didn't hear her. She cried for what had happened, and for fear of what would happen next.

 

[Anya Kalos]

It was difficult to keep track of time in her small cell, particularly as she kept dozing off, so it felt like days and days had passed since she had last seen the sun. The privacy of the prison had allowed her to vent her anger, frustration and sorrow, until she had no tears or cross words left; but for the tracks on her cheeks, it was difficult now to tell that she had been crying at all. She simply sat calmly, chained hands clasped in her lap, keeping her gaze focused on the door. Occasionally her blue eyes would drift shut for a few minutes, or hours; as she awoke, she would return to watching the metal door for any sign of movement.

One thing she did try was to keep any part of her skin from touching the ship. In her distressed state it was all too easy to read the memories of the ship from any contact, and without the focus her hands provided, they would be too much. Anya's head had briefly lolled to the side during her sleep; the flashes of the cell's previous occupants had woken her immediately and she had only just managed not to scream. It seemed she would have to maintain control of herself in order to avoid going crazy here.

After an age she was half-relieved to hear her captors again. Their footsteps and low words reminded her that she was not alone. When the door opened and the thug called Laslo entered, Anya almost smiled.

"Get up," he grunted, grasping the chains. He did something to the ring on the wall, then pulled firmly; Anya stumbled forward. The chains were detached from the wall and Laslo held them in his huge hands. She had no choice but to follow him, out of the cell and into the rest of the ship. The pitter patter of footsteps up ahead indicated that the rest of the slaves - including her dear friends - were being removed from their prisons too. Anya moved in the direction of the footsteps and was yanked back sharply.

"You'll not be going with them," he said. Anya planted her feet firmly, pulling against the chains, but she was too slight to resist. Laslo towed her in a different direction to the others, until she saw Grieg once more. A flash of hatred rose up within her, but was just as quickly quelled. Hatred would do no good while she was so powerless; she had to think rationally. It might afford her an opportunity to escape.

"Bring her," Grieg ordered without so much as looking at her. Anya followed along meekly, at first watching for any avenues of escape and then dumbstruck as they walked down a ramp and onto a new world that was unlike her own in every way, shape and form. Huge buildings reached up to the sky like pillars supporting the heavens. The sky itself was darkened both by clouds and by dozens of metal birds that she realised were ships akin to the one she herself had just ridden on. Everything was well lit, and there was a smell in the air that made her feel nauseous. Around them were people of all shapes and sizes, some human and others clearly not. Anya's mouth formed an 'o' as she took it all in. Grieg finally looked at her and chuckled.

"Told you your world was backwards," he said with a smirk. "Come on, little witch. Time to meet your new master."

 

[Anya Kalos]

Anya stumbled through the crowds after Grieg and Laslo, turning her head this way and that to take everything in. She was amazed at the new world they had landed on; everything was so different, so strange. It truly did make her feel, well, backwards - not that she would admit it for any amount of money in the universe.

She barely noticed when the busy streets gave way to dark alleys, the humans and aliens becoming more sinister in appearance. Only when she was shoved into a small wooden shack, dark and smelly, did she begin to pay attention to her situation again. Anya silently berated herself for losing focus, but her chance for escape had long gone. Although, she mused as she flexed her wrists and felt the tightness of the chains, that was unlikely anyway.

The shack was filled with people like the thugs who had captured her, not all of them human. She stifled a shriek as a huge lizard-like creature snarled something in passing. Grieg smirked at her obvious discomfort.

"Fish out of water," he commented to Laslo, leading the way to a far corner of the busy shack. Anya focused her gaze on Grieg's armour, her eyes never moving from his back in order to try and regain some concentration. There would be time to take everything in later, when she escaped. If she escaped.

"Where are my friends?" she asked, her young voice like birdsong in the noise of the market. She drew one or two confused glances, until they saw the chains about her wrists being held firmly by Laslo. Anya ignored them, holding her head high.

"Already gone to their new home," Grieg said, taking obvious pleasure in her distress. "They'll be sent down the mines and, if they're lucky, they'll come back out in one piece."

No. Anya pressed her hands to her heart to try and ease the pain. She closed her eyes, shutting out the rest of the black market. She barely noticed the conversation above her; only when the word 'witch' entered it did she open her eyes again. Grieg was haggling with a cloaked figure, the word credits being thrown about between the two. So, she mused, eyeing the figure. This was to be her new... She couldn't bring herself to say the word.

At last a sum had been agreed. Anya held her breath as the figure withdrew a bulging pouch, tipped something out of it, and handed the rest over to Grieg. There it was. Sold, like cattle, to the highest bidder.

She pulled again on the chains, wondering if she would be able to yank them out of her new owner's hand and run for it. Anything would be better than slavery; the word was foreign to her, but she knew enough of the concept from what she had viewed from touching Grieg's armour to know that death was preferable. If she was quick, maybe she could catch up with her friends, free them, find a way home...

Anya's thoughts were quickly derailed when she found the chains dropped without any interference from her. Laslo and Grieg both had their hands in the air; the robed figure had disappeared.

She turned to see an army of armoured figures surrounding them, weapons pointed. A tinny, distorted voice announced that they were all under arrest.

 

[Anya Kalos]

After that, it all happened a bit quickly. Anya watched with wide eyes as the slavers and buyers, those who hadn't escaped through a back exit, were marched off by the soldiers. She tried not to take immense pleasure in watching Grieg and Laslo sullenly exiting the shack, but she failed horribly. Her friends might not be safe, but at least she knew the thugs were unlikely to be enslaving anyone else for some time. It wasn't quite revenge for Miriam, the darker side of her thought. Anya quashed this quickly. Revenge, as she had so often told the tribe, was never the right path.

Anya found that she was mostly left alone in the confusion following the appearance of the soldiers, until some time after all the thugs and slavers had been rounded up and carted off.

"Hey, little girl." She looked up to see that one of the soldiers was standing before her. He had removed his helmet and seemed far less threatening now, for which she was grateful. A glance around revealed that those held captive, as she had been, were now the centre of attention. "What's your name?" he asked kindly.

"Anya," she whispered nervously. The soldier reached out and grasped her hands, doing something with the chains that she couldn't quite make out.

"Where're you from, Anya?" he asked as he worked. Anya ran her mind back over everything Grieg had said to identify what the name of her world was.

"Varonat," she said shyly. The chains fell away from her wrists and the man released her, a soothing smile looking out of place on his warrior's face. Anya felt her spirits start to pick up at encountering the first friendly soul since being taken.

"You're a long way from home, kid. Don't think there's any ships likely to be headed that far out, otherwise I'd stick you on the first available one." He held out a pouch that she recognised - it was the one the man who had attempted to buy her had passed to Grieg.

"I reckon this ought to be yours," the soldier said. Anya hesitated before reluctantly accepting it. "It was taken off that scumbag you were with. You can probably put it to better use than he ever could." The soldier ruffled her hair. "Go to the spaceport, kid. I'm sure you can persuade someone to take you back to Varonat, or even part of the way. Got to be better than this hellhole." Before Anya could thank him, or react in any way, he had moved on to the next group of huddled, frightened captives, reassuring them and freeing those who had their hands bound.

She opened the pouch with shaking hands. Inside was an amount of what she assumed to be credits, although whether it was a lot she couldn't tell. Anya closed the pouch again and held it close. She didn't know what a spaceport was, let alone how to find it. She didn't know where she was, or how far from home - although it could be a mile or a million away and she would still feel the same: lost.

"What do I do now?" she asked, her voice trembling and barely lifting above a whisper. No one heard her - no one could have answered even if they had. What was one more lost soul to this world?