Shadows and Slaves

Demaren found his way from the darkness. Like a night without dreams, he found himself awake suddenly as if time had not passed. A moment passed before he could pay attention to the various textures his skin felt. Something hard beneath his back and legs and arms. Something soft under his head. A rough fabric seemed to cover his chest. His wings flexed and the he felt the feathers rustle, hearing the sound of fabric. He smelled the salty air of the ocean. He felt the lulling rock of his lodging. He opened his eyes tentatively because he realized his body was extremely tired and ached. The sky was brilliant blue and cloudless. He found it somewhat disconcerting and uncomfortable to not be able to see the star he had followed. And even worse, he didn't know where he was. A turn of his head to both sides revealed he was on a boat. He was under a rough, water absorbent blanket, and his head was resting on something very soft--probably expensive too. But his body, though sore, felt whole. So he sat up. Immediately, he realized that he could move his wings, but they were still full of water. Water? Ah, he must have fallen into the ocean. Yes, he remembered that now. It felt suddenly like a long time ago. Or maybe a mere moment. His head swam and he slouched forward, resting his elbows onto his knees. "Awake now, boy?" Came a guttural voice. Demaren turned his head, revealing more sore spots in his neck and back. A few joints popped with relief. "Yes." Demaren replied to the unseen voice. He looked over the other shoulder, trying to see. But no one was there. "Look up, boy." Demaren, still looking back, directed his gaze upwards. A Xian man sat in the crows nest of the boat. He was quite tall (not as tall as Demaren; maybe 6' 5") and muscular, but older--in his late forties or early fifties, if Demaren guessed by foreigner age. He was very tan and leathery, scars pattern on his arms. He looked rough, but his thin pale eyes were kind. His hair, gone a silvery coppery color from age and sun exposure, was cut short on top and the sides, but a long reddish white braid hung over his shoulder. "You feelin' all right?" Demaren sighed and pulled himself to his feet. His wings were still wet and so they sagged heavily. He let them drag on the boat and they left water marks. He walked under the crows nest. "Yes, thank you. Uh. What happened?" "I found you." The man disappeared from view, and a moment later appeared sliding down a rope. He landed firmly without stumbling. Demaren thought he would be dexterous with wings. "You were in the ocean, ya know. Probably didn't drown because of those wings. They seemed to have kept you afloat. On your back, you know. Yep. I thought you were a damn giant bird at first." "Yes, that can happen sometimes..." "I've traded with your people, so I wasn't shocked. Just surprised to find one of you so far out. What are you doing this far out anyway?" "Visiting my mother.." "Oh? Interesting. Where is she?" Demaren didn't say anything but looked intently at the man. Demaren's gold eyes were penetrating and he tried to make it clear he wasn't in the mood for chatter. The man got it and smiled. "Those are interesting wings. A different sort of color, aren't they?" He merely grunted. "I also noticed your earrings are a feather and a lock of hair." Silence. "Your mother isn't a Syla, is she." Very stony silence. "You're something special, boy. Why don't you dry off those sparkling wings? They've been out of the water for hours but still seem a little moist, and the glittering of water on gold is giving me a headache." He tossed another rough blanket at Demaren. As he rubbed his wings, which felt numb now, the man began to climb the crows nest again. "Name's Jeron. What are you called boy?" "Demaren." "Welcome aboard." Demaren dried his wings absentmindedly. "Where are you taking this boat?" "She's called Noon Day, and she's bound to Ixlar. A small port in Xian. That work for you or are you taking your leave earlier?" "Xian... Is that to the south east of Tovsyla?" The man didn't respond. A moment later, he appeared again beside Demaren. "Why are you heading south east, boy?" Demaren felt put on the spot and frowned. "Just looking for my mother..." "Where?" Still, he didn't want to say. "Don't try to keep a secret from me, boy. I've been all over this damn world and if anyone is going to know which way to send you, it's me. Now, where are you heading?" "... Star mountain." Jeron furrowed his lined brow. "South east all right. I'm afraid our port is a little more east than your goal, but you should probably make the flight over land as much as you can. And stay high." He glanced at Demaren and caught the confusion. "I'm used to your people, boy. But the world outside of traders and merchants isn't. They probably haven't even heard of you. Or ever seen one of you. You might get attacked for looking so strange, or being so damn huge. There will be problems. And..." The man narrowed his eyes, which were a foggy blue, and stared at Demaren's shadow. "You will get side tracked." Alarm gripped Demaren. "Side tracked? How would you know that? Why? What would--" Jeron held up his hand and smiled, "It will be a good kind of distraction. It will lead you to your future. It will solve your problem and save your life." "How do you know these things?" Jeron looked at Demaren's shadow again. "What is past mirrors what will come." Demaren looked at his own shadow. It looked normal. He glanced at the man, looking for his shadow and realized there was no shadow. He looked back at Jeron. "You don't have a--You're a Shadow Reader?" Jeron's eyes softened, "My mother was. When I was born without a shadow, as we usually go without, she taught me how to see through other shadows. I don't do it if I can help it. I don't always want to know where people's lives will take them. I'm glad I don't have one, for I would hate to know my own damn destiny." Frowning again, Demaren sat down. "So. A distraction. Will I know it when I see it? What if I don't let anything distract me?" A smirk stole across Jeron's face, "Oh, you won't be able to resist this one." The journey with Jeron was uneventful, but time consuming. Demaren often considered just leaving and heading out on his own, but he didn't know exactly how far it was to land. He didn't want to risk the fall into water again and take the chance of landing face down. A lonely death. So he stayed on the boat. When the wind was dead, he'd take a rope and tug the ship along. During the day, he'd survey from above for schools of fish. At night, he perched on the crow's nest. He stared at the stars, especially the shining one. He thought of his mother as he stared and touched her lock of hair in his earring. He did this every night and began to think of the star as his mother, from a distance. He thought of conversations he would have with her. The star became his source of comfort. After two weeks, Demaren sat in the nest as usual, but Jeron climbed up to sit with him. Demaren didn't look at Jeron, but simply gazed at the star. "You going to tell me about her?" "Who?" Demaren looked away from the star, to Jeron's face. "Your mah, boy." He dropped the lock of hair, but it still shimmered like a lock of moon light. "She must be something special. I've never seen hair the color of the moon before on anyone. Not even in the shadows. It must be from her hair that your wings their color." Demaren rustled the wings. He liked to believe that about them as well. "Although, your own hair is like hers I think. No, not as pearly, but definitely abnormal. It's much like light itself, so bright and pale." "My father is a Syla. Black hair, black wings, tan skin. He's not nearly as tall as me, though." "Interesting. Is your mother tall?" "No, she was petite. Petite and pale and delicate. I'm tall and tan, but seem to glow. I sometimes intimidate people if they catch me in the light of the evening. My mother was like that too, only she was beautiful and breath taking." "So she's at Star Mountain?" "Or somewhere near it." "Hm." They sat in silence for a long time before Jeron rose. "Well! Eventually, you'll get south east enough to find the sharp cold air. Huge ice flows in the water, that prevent ships but not creatures of the air. And then an island. From far away, you'll see pillars of ice and cold. But as you get closer, you'll see they are towers. Huge and frightening. Not sure what made them or even what they're made of, though. After that, I am not sure where you will go. I've never been on Grayman." "Grayman?" "The island where the massive mountain is. I assume it is your Star Mountain." "Why?" "It's the only mountain I have ever seen that I did not know the name of. Also, at night, it looks like all of the stars are erupting from it like a volcano. Didn't I mention you can see it from the sea? It is a damn big mountain, even to be seen from the far side of the island." Demaren pondered this. "So. Grayman. The south east." Jeron got up and patted Demaren's shoulder, then climbed over the nest wall and down to the deck below. The first morning of Demaren's third week on the boat, he unwrapped from his wings to the sight of a port in the distance. It would take the morning to get there, so he flew down to the deck. "Jeron?" Demaren looked around. Jeron was not in sight. He listened but heard no rustling of movement under deck. "... Jeron?" Suddenly, there was a burst from the ocean. Demaren shouted and fell back, into the tarps. Jaren climbed over the railing of the boat in nothing but his pants. A sack was tied to his back with ropes, and it looked heavy and bulky. "Jeron? What were you doing?!" Demaren struggled with the tarps as they tangled around him even more with each tug. Jeron dropped the sack and helped Demaren from the mess. "Fishing, boy, that's what I do." "Fishing?" Finally free, Demaren looked at the sack. It did not look full of fish. "Why didn't you ask me for help? You're soaked!" "You couldn't help me with this kind of fishing, boy." Jeron dumped the sack out. Strange looking creatures tumbled to the deck. Shells and claws tangles together and spindly legs kicked wildly. "Where did you get these?" "They live on the bottom of the ocean." Demaren kicked one with a huge claw, which it snapped at his foot--he stepped back quickly. "I hope they are not for eating." Jeron laughed, "Don't tell me you've never eaten cresttian!" He picked up the clawed one, legs kicking, claw snapping all around. Demaren looked shocked, "THAT'S a cresttian?" Jeron nodded, "Anyway, you can't dive so deep without training, so I did it myself." "But we're almost at port." "Yeah, which reminds me. You may want to find a way to cover your wings if possible. Or maybe just fly on over and through. Don't look at me like that! No one around here has ever seen a Syla. You could be killed. We have a tendency to be superstitious people; believe in magic, angels, and demons. He follow the stars and the gods. It's a crowded culture, so there is a lot of misunderstandings. I'd hate for you to end up as one." "Hmph." Demaren didn't want to cover up. More than anything actually. Besides, he didn't think he would walk anyway. After all, he had to fly to get across the water to Grayman, didn't he? So maybe he'd fly anyway. Then again. He was not ashamed of his wings! "I'll help you deliver your fish. Without a cover, thanks." Jeron narrowed his eyes at him. "I'm not saving you then." "I won't need saving." So, Jeron sailed the boat on. Demaren contemplated standing on the front of the boat, just to irritate Jeron, but decided not to go asking for trouble. But, it seemed that merely having huge shining wings basically asked for it. When they tied the boat down, Demaren tried to ignore how silent the pier fell. The sounds of carts ceased, voices hushed, and he could feel the burning gazes of hundreds of eyes. But he just picked up crates of fish to unload. He realized that the act of carrying four crates of fish was a little unheard of when the crowd gasped and then quickly tried to stifle it when his back stiffened. So when he finally raised his eyes to look at the people, hoping to disperse them, he was uncomfortable to find they did not even blink. He wanted to say something. But could mostly just think of what a fool he was. Then he felt a rough hand on his bare back. Jeron was stepping beside him. "What the hell are you all staring at? Hm? This boy here? What, you never seen wings? Maybe he ain't ever seen people as damn pale as us! Don't see him gawking! Go on, get back to work and leave the boy alone." He shooed at the crowd and picked up two crates of his own. The crowd slowly trickled away, and conversations fledged to life again. But Demaren felt two inches tall. He realized he was being proud when he'd ignored Jeron's warning. What if they'd attacked him? He could see the glint of fear in everyone's face and tried to imagine what they felt. A man about seven feet tall, with huge white wings, dark skin, and a bright shock of hair carrying four extremely heavy crates of fish... He could have kicked himself. "Don't think about it anymore, boy. Just help me. Ya can stay at my house--my wife will feed ya, and I suppose my daughter will fancy ya." "Wife? Daughter?" "Yeah, didn't I mention I had a family? Jain and Lia. My wife, Jain, is my better half. And Lia, she's the prettiest little thing on this side of the city. You'll see. I suppose you'll fancy her too, won't you." Demaren wasn't sure what to say. They unloaded quickly and Jeron sold off his haul surprisingly fast. He joked lated that everyone wanted to buy some of the fish carried by the bird man. Demaren didn't find it all that funny. Jeron walked with Demaren the dozen or so rows of houses to a small, but very pleasant looking house, shoved and plastered between a endless stretch of houses. Probably about two rooms wide and three rooms deep, they had the most length in the height. Each house must have been about three floors. Hesitation clung to Demaren. Maybe he should just leave now. He wasn't sure he wanted to scare Jeron's wife, or get his daughter's fancy. But before he could say a word, the door flew open. A blur of blue and red shot down the steps and tackled Jeron. "Feela! Feela!" Laughed a high voice. Demaren circled the fallen Jeron, who was now laughing and buckling. On Jeron's chest was a little girl with straight red hair, cropped short, wearing a blue little dress and black boots. Jeron and the small child jabbered to each other in Xianic. The little girl, finally, looked directly at Demaren. Then she scrambled off of Jeron (who tickled her as she climbed, and she swatted at him) and rushed to Demaren, throwing her arms out as she came. Understanding her intention, Demaren quickly caught her when she jumped and she landed into a seated position in the crook of his arm. "Imia Lia koh no kin." She said, smiling. Then she patted his naturally tan cheek. She seemed to be waiting for him to say something and Demaren looked imploringly at Jeron, who merely laughed and went towards the house. Demaren followed, his face looking stricken. "Chi hia je koh ten to ell?" She asked. She started running her hands in his white-gold hair, then started looking in great detail at the earrings he wore. Demaren stopped at the doorway and looked inside. "Jeron? What do I do with her? I don't know what she's saying!" "Just put her down and she'll find something else to do. Then come in and get some food. Jeron will be down in a moment." Came a soft voice from another room. Demaren looked down at the small girl, who was tracing the tattoo on his left pectoral. Then he just brought her down and set her feet gently down. She straightened her dress and scampered to the voice from the other room. Demaren then had to navigate the doorway. The frames were much smaller than the ones from home, and he wasn't even sure his wings would get in. He had to extend one horizontally and slide in sideways halfway. Then, in order to preserve the inside of the house, he had to fold it back up and extend the other before entering fully. He was halfway through the maneuver when a tall, pretty woman came in. "What are you doing? I told you to--" She paused mid sentence to gape at Demaren. She had the same thin, pale Xian eyes as Jeron and the small child, and her red hair was woven around ribbons and trinkets, carefully done up. She looked at Demaren, one wing inside and folded (which also meant it was grazing the ceiling, curses, he hadn't taken that into account), the other outside the house and extended, and then started to laugh. Demaren was slightly alarmed. But felt a bit better when she came over, still laughing though trying to stifle it, and helped him with he other wing. She smoothed some ruffled feathers, admiring them in the process, and then spoke again, voice full from the laughter. "I'm Jain, Jeron's wife." She held up her hand, palm facing Demaren. He placed his hand over hers, palm to palm. "I'm Demaren." "So you're a Syla? Excellent, I've never met one before. Please come into the kitchen, the ceiling is higher there." And she hurried down the hall to investigate a clatter in the kitchen. Demaren smiled at her more refined way of speaking, especially after weeks of Jeron's coarse speech. The clattering sound turned out to be the little girl again, climbing on some precariously stacked cooking pots. Jain pulled her off, much to her objection, and dismantled the tower. The little girl proceeded to yell a long string of Xianic, and the woman turned to respond calmly. The little girl stomped her feet and turned to Demaren, running over to bury her face into his legs, her hands clutching the feathers of the nearest wing. He could hear he crying, but suspected she was faking it. "She wanted to climb as high as you," said Jain. "That's flattering." He mused. Then he reached down and pulled the girl from his legs. She scrambled up his arms and wrapped her arms around his neck, dangling herself down his back. "What the--?" Demaren tried to pull her off, but she would nip his fingers if he reached back to her, and she tightened her grip rather painfully if he pulled at her arms or hands. Finally, he accepted it and let her remain attached. It wasn't a real bother. Demaren sat in the kitchen, waiting for Jeron, the small girl dangling down his back and jabbering on, and having pleasant conversation about home to Jain. It was a decently long amount of time before Jeron came down, but he looked clean and much younger. Demaren realized the man probably looked so much older when he was away from home and proper hygiene. Jeron looked at Demaren, and then his eyes trailed to the girl. Then he started to laugh and came over to pull the girl off. The girl tightened her hold on Demaren's neck, and mumbled something at Jeron. Jeron looked at Demaren, who shrugged, and then backed off, smiling. "So you met Jain and Lia, I see." "This is Lia?" Jeron nodded. "Oh. Good to know." "Like I said, she fancies you." Demaren reached over to swing the girl around so she was facing him. She fought it for a moment, then relented. Once tugged to the front, she dropped into his lap and traced the tattoo again. Demaren smiled in spite of himself. "And you fancy her too. As I said you would." "She grows on you quickly, doesn't she?" "Yeah." Jeron pulled a long thin pipe from the shelf and started packing some dark herb into it. "How old is she?" "Almost 4." Demaren looked at the girl, who met his gaze. She opened her thin eyes as wide as she could, then gave up. "Jeron, don't you light that now, we're going to eat in just a minute!" Jain shouted from the stove, a large cutting knife in hand. Jeron put the pipe back on the shelf and smiled coyly. Then he sat down and he and Demaren talked on. The dinner was delicious, with all different kinds of fish and vegetables. Lia fell asleep mid-dinner and Jain carried her up stairs, returning a short while later to direct Demaren to where he would sleep. The bed was in the middle of the floor, Jain admitting that she wasn't sure how else to set up a bed for him and his wings. Demaren had laughed and consoled her fears. He slept very well, but in the middle of the night woke up to stare at the stars. At that moment he missed his mother terribly. He was very worried about his father, too, unsure if he should have left him so close to death. Demaren hated to imagine his father could be dead. Just the thought made him feel heavy and alone. After about an hour of gazing at the stars, his heart heavy with the inevitable loneliness his life would turn to, he headed in. A light downstairs distracted him and he slipped quietly down, his feet excellent for sneaking. He peered into the kitchen, remaining as unseen as possible. Jeron and his wife were standing there, Jeron holding her around the waist. She was stroking his face and looking at him with love and worry. Her eyes were red from some crying. Demaren realized that Jeron's excursions must worry her, and he felt even more alone. He hurried quickly back upstairs to sleep. Before he fell asleep, he said quietly to the darkness, "No one worries when I am gone..." The next morning, Demaren told Jeron he had to go. He didn't think he could wait anymore. He thanked him, and told him he wanted to go before the sun got too high. Lia cried hysterically, and Jain wiped at the little girl's eyes. She was only consoled with Demaren gave her one of his long shining feathers. She clutched it and then clutched him saying, "Teh ie o kama, Dema. Ni so heh?" Demaren glanced at Jeron, who said, "She said, I miss you, Dema. Come back, okay?" Feeling he would miss her too, so strong was her little spirit, Demaren quickly asked, "How do I promise I will?" Jeron, said quietly, "Jeh ten tor jemo." Demaren pulled the girl free from him and held her in his arm for a moment, "Jeh ten tor jemo." And she hugged him, sobbing again. Jeron patted his shoulder, but his eyes were sad. "You are a good man, Demaren. You will find your mother." He handed Demaren a folded piece of paper. Demaren looked at it and saw it was a map of the known world. He noticed that only the trading port and the south-eastern tip of his home were on the map. But there was a vague island to the far south with a name written a fancy script in Xianic. But a short hand had written it in Syla, "Grayman" and had labeled everywhere else too. "Follow the south eastern route. Fly over the Maukra basin and the Bomo swamp lands. You'll want veer and be careful not to pass over Catta or Lilli--they are at war. I would cover Ellipt. It's neutral." Demaren hugged Jeron then, ignoring whatever customs there were. This man was like a father to him. Jain had packed him food in a satchel. The satchel was a gift and would be useful. Demaren was grateful. He left feeling heavy hearted. He missed the small family already, despite the insanely short time spent with the women in it. He spent the days flying high and fast. The nights were perched in the tops of the tallest trees (though none as tall as the Lowe from home). The landscape was beautiful in the basin and he hoped to visit it again someday. Jeron had told him to fly straight over the swamp. He warned him that the swamps would swallow him if he stopped, so he had to make it one shot. Demaren packed down the night before in a tree, waiting for the long day ahead. He fell asleep to the hum of the night animals, his eyes staring at his mother star. A slight tussle in the night woke him half heartedly, but he quickly fell back asleep and forgot it by the morning.