A Slave to Magic

  A Slave to Magic

  Tales from Nōl’Deron

  Lana Axe

  Text copyright © 2015 Lana Axe

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover art by Michael Gauss

  The moment the slave resolves that he will no longer be a slave, his fetters fall.

  He frees himself and shows the way to others.

  ~Mahatma Gandhi

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Various colors stained the wall of the tiny room where Kwil practiced his magic. As they slid down the wall and puddled on the floor, the various magics came together, popping and fizzing as they met. Kwil approached with caution, choosing his steps with care. Master will be furious if he sees this, he thought.

  Kneeling down near the mess, he waved a hand lightly above it. A force field appeared above the mixing colors, neutralizing the magic inside. Fading into nothingness, the magic disappeared before his eyes. At least that spell works the way it should. With a sigh, the young man stood back on his feet and returned to his duties.

  Kwil had long believed himself destined for great things. His heart yearned to study magic, and despite the fact that entrance to the Wizard’s College was forbidden to him, he still considered himself a wizard. After all, he had studied every book he could get his hands on, and he practiced at every opportunity. Why should he be denied his education? He had already proved himself worthy to enter the College. From a very young age he displayed a talent for magic. He should have been given his place and allowed to learn.

  Unfortunately, Kwil was born a slave. He was a mere human destined to serve a superior race. The Gatans considered themselves above all other species inhabiting Nōl’Deron, and as a result, they enslaved all others who came to their land. No species was safe, and none ever returned. As far as the outside world was concerned, the land of Gi’gata did not exist. There were only stories of a land of fantasy and mystery, where few dared to travel.

  Kwil’s parents had traveled aboard a ship that set out to find the mythical land. Though no ship ever returned after making such a voyage, the wandering spirit got the better of many people. Unsure which land his parents had originated from, Kwil could only guess at his true origins. Wherever they had sailed from, his parents had met a fate that awaited many ships that sailed too near the waters of Gi’gata. They were attacked, taken prisoner, and forced to serve as slaves to the Gatans.

  Vaguely remembering his mother’s face, or at least the woman he believed to be his mother, Kwil would often compare himself to her. His own eyes were blue, his hair dark, and his skin rather pale considering his long stints of service out of doors. With ears that stuck out slightly from the side of his head, he knew he wouldn’t be considered handsome, even for a human. The face he remembered, however, was lovely. She had golden hair and deep brown eyes, and she sang to him in a soft voice. The image of her face brought with it a sense of peace and warmth, and he took comfort in it whenever he felt low.

  His father was unknown to him, but he was certain he must favor him in looks. How else could such a beautiful woman give birth to a child such as him? His father had been a lucky man indeed. Kwil didn’t need to worry about attracting the opposite sex. It was unlikely he would be of interest to slave breeders. Looking down at the plain white shirt and woolen breeches he wore, he felt inadequate, even for a slave. He was slight of build, and as far as anyone else knew, untalented. Love was not allowed among slaves, so Kwil didn’t give much thought to the slave girls he encountered. It was likely for the best. Passing on his magical tendencies to offspring could be dangerous.

  With the colors of his magic swept away, he turned his attention to the duties he was supposed to be performing. Stepping outside the door of his quarters, he dropped his pretense as a wizard and assumed his true role as a slave. First, as always, he had to collect water for the family he served. They would insist on cleaning themselves before breakfast, and the punishment would be severe if their baths were not ready.

  Moving through the darkened corridor, Kwil found his way outside. The well was not far from this side of the manor, and he was glad of it. A chill had settled in the air through the night, and he would not be given thicker winter garments for another month or so. Taking great care not to splash any water on himself, Kwil filled two buckets and carried them inside.

  Fetching water was among Kwil’s earliest memories. He had always been slender, and it was believed that by forcing him to carry water, he would become muscular and strong. Unfortunately his body had other ideas. He fell often, spilling the water and earning himself a beating. No matter how hard he tried to be large and strong, he was physically incapable. As he had grown over the years, he hoped to at least be tall. That too eluded him. His height was average for a slave, slightly shorter than most Gatans.

  Carefully opening the door, Kwil smiled to himself. He hadn’t spilled a single drop. He might not be the strongest, but he was meticulous and efficient—qualities required of a proficient wizard. Filling his masters’ baths would require at least a dozen more trips, and that would give him time to concentrate on memorizing his spells. Though having a moment to read was rare, he would soak up any magic words he found and repeat them in his head as he went about his chores. That way he would not forget, and perhaps another day he would learn what the words meant.

  Magic came as naturally to Kwil as any reflex. Though he had been warned by other slaves to hide it, he desired more than anything to let the magic flow. Humans in Gi’gata were forbidden to perform magic. Death was the immediate sentence for any slave suspected of doing so. It was widely rumored that humans weren’t intelligent enough to practice magic, but the Gatan leaders were no fools. They were well aware that humans of other lands practiced magic freely, and that their own slaves were quite capable of learning. To avoid a rebellion, they kept their slaves ignorant, refusing to allow them to learn to read or have any education worth speaking of.

  Kwil had been lucky in that regard. His failure to develop muscles had led to the easier job of brushing horses for an elderly Gatan woman. She was quite eccentric and insisted that her slaves make no noise in her home. One day while in the gardens, her eye fell on Kwil. She noticed the easy gait with which he moved, and his gentle nature with her horses. She favored him and invited him into her home. For years he served this woman, always taking careful steps and tiptoeing as he went to avoid disturbing her. When she fell ill, she insisted he tend her at her bedside. She helped him learn to read, and eventually insisted he read all of her correspondence aloud to her as she lay abed. With her constant corrections, he learned to read difficult words, and to speak clearly and eloquently. As her mind deteriorated, she mistook him for her own son.

  Kwil’s memories of his mistress were mostly good. Though she had been demanding at first, she rarely punished him or any of her other slaves. Her tenderness toward him at the end of her life had been alien to him. No one had ever spoken to him so kindly, nor cared whether he learned to read. Her last words to him had been a whispered “I love you, my son,” which had stu
ck with Kwil ever since. Though it’s doubtful she would have uttered those words had she been in her right mind, it was nonetheless special to him.

  After his mistress died, her estate was divided among her real descendants, who brought in their own slaves. Kwil’s services were no longer needed, and he was sold to Lord Orva. Rumors of Lord Orva’s cruel treatment of his slaves had not escaped Kwil’s ears. It was said that a graveyard existed near the manor, full of the slaves Orva had personally murdered. Kwil was unperturbed.

  He was a hard worker, and he would adapt to Orva’s expectations in order to survive. Holding to the dream that one day he would become a great wizard, Kwil’s outlook on life was not as grim as other slaves. A bright future awaited him, he was certain of it.

  As he reached the steps, he took great care to balance the water buckets on each side of him. One splash of water on the stairs would render them slick, and if his master should fall, Kwil shuddered to think what might be in store for him. Carefully placing each foot, he climbed to the fourth floor, where his master and mistress resided. Their rooms, which occupied the entire floor, consisted of separate bedchambers, two sitting areas, a trophy room—where Lord Orva’s prized dead animals hung upon the walls—and two separate bath chambers.

  Kwil made his way along the corridor, his eyes ever looking down. Making eye contact with his master without permission would lead to trouble. He learned upon their first meeting to follow the lord’s rules. Kwil had been brought before his master along with three other slaves he had worked with previously. Lord Orva barely looked at them before ordering them to be whipped. “A reminder never to cross me,” he had called it. Kwil had been dragged outside, his arms bound to a post, his shirt ripped from his back. Three lashes were more than enough, the spiked leather straps tearing into his flesh. The pain was excruciating, and the bruising lasted for weeks. Kwil would not forget it. Though he refused to live in fear, he made note of his master’s ill temper. He would mind his duties carefully to avoid Lord Orva’s wrath.

  The following three months had not been all bad. Kwil steered clear of both master and mistress, doing only as he was told and making himself scarce. Rarely did he encounter either of them, and he intended to keep it that way. As long as he remained unnoticed, they would likely leave him in peace.

  Emptying the bucket into Lady Orva’s tub, he was startled by a maidservant who trotted past him. She was Gatan, a paid servant rather than a slave. Her sleek feline form moved silently across the room, adding rose petals to the tub before scurrying away. She barely noticed Kwil’s presence, as if the tub were filling itself. He quickly dumped the second bucket before heading back downstairs to repeat the procedure.

  As he reached the top of the steps a voice called to him. “Don’t forget to heat the last few,” the maidservant reminded him.

  He turned to face her, bowing his head that he understood. This was the same reminder she gave him each day. How could he possibly forget? A cold bath would probably earn him more lashes, and he hoped to avoid any and all forms of punishment. Perhaps the young woman thought humans were too stupid to remember a daily task, or maybe she felt duty-bound to speak to him. Whichever it was, the pity in her yellow eyes was unmistakable.

  Silently he walked back outside, lowering his buckets into the well and filling them. This time, he took the buckets to the fire pit, which the stable hands had already lit. He hooked the buckets a few inches above the flame, allowing the water to heat. If only he knew the correct spell, this work would be much faster. So far, he could do little more than manipulate objects at a distance. Looking around to be sure no one was watching, he gently waved a hand, summoning the smoke toward him. Twisting and shaping, he moved the smoke into spiral patterns, eventually swirling it into the shape of a rose. A half-smile came over his face, but the sound of approaching footsteps forced him to abandon his work. Waving the smoke away, he spun around, grabbing two more buckets.

  When both baths were finally full and warm, he made his way downstairs to the kitchen area. He hadn’t eaten since midday yesterday, and his rumbling stomach reminded him that he could not live on dreams of magic alone. Jenn, the elderly slave woman who ran the kitchens, smiled warmly at the young man’s approach. Taking two biscuits from the tray in front of her, she shoved them in his hand and mussed his hair.

  “Dear boy,” she said as she turned back to her work.

  Kwil took a bite of one biscuit and observed a moment as Jenn went about her work. She hummed as she dawdled through the kitchen, checking various dishes as they simmered or baked. She took pride in her kitchen, despite being forced to work in it. Here was a true example of making the best of one’s situation. Kwil felt a fondness for the old lady, and she reminded him of his former mistress in many ways. She was kind to him, and even among fellow slaves, that was not easy to find. Many of them felt their work was a competition, fearing that a younger man might outshine them.

  Kwil had encountered opposition so far only from those who worked outdoors, likely because they felt he had a more comfortable position working inside the manor. They were probably right, but Kwil could not trade places if he wanted to. The master told the slave where he would work, and the slave obeyed without question.

  Before Kwil could vacate the kitchen, Lady Orva happened to appear in the dining room. Her black and brown fur was slightly disheveled, her green eyes showing signs of fatigue. It would seem she planned to eat before enjoying her bath this morning. Kwil knew what that meant—he had better keep the water hot.

  As he turned to leave, Jenn nudged him gently. “She’s with child,” she said.

  “Are you sure?” Kwil asked, wondering how much extra work an infant meant for him.

  “If I had a coin, I’d wager it,” the old lady said with a crooked smile.

  Kwil nodded. She would certainly know better than him.

  As if reading his mind, Jenn looked up from her cooking pot and said, “Don’t worry. They’ll hire on new staff for the kit.” Reaching into her pocket, she said, “I almost forgot.” She handed him a small bundle.

  With a nod of gratitude, he peered inside the bundle to see fresh grapes. His eyes went wide. Normally his meals consisted of day-old bread and a handful of raisins if he was lucky. “Thank you!” he said, wrapping an arm around the old woman’s neck.

  “Off you go,” she said, waving a hand to shoo him away.

  Stuffing the bundle into his shirt pocket, he scurried back outside. Today will be a good day, he told himself.

  A horn blasted behind him, breaking him from his reverie. Spinning around, he spotted Lord Orva, perched atop his destrier. He was a large man, who preferred a large, impressive horse when he rode out on the hunt. The tigerlike stripes of his face gave him the look of a fierce hunter. Kwil stepped aside as the lord and his friends galloped past without so much as a glance his direction. Listening to the thunder of footfalls as they moved farther and farther away, Kwil knew how he’d be spending the afternoon—cleaning and processing whatever his master managed to catch. Magic would have to wait for another day.

  Chapter 2

  “Boy!” Lady Orva called.

  Kwil nearly dropped the bundle of laundry he was carrying. Lady Orva rarely came downstairs except to eat, and she had spoken no words directly to him since his arrival at the manor. He dipped his head, a sign that he was listening for her command.

  “My daughter is returning home from school this evening,” she said. “Make sure her room is spotless!” With those words, she twirled her skirts and headed back up the stairs.

  Kwil was not aware the couple had any children, other than the one on the way. He’d never been asked to clean the rooms on the third floor, likely where the girl’s room was located. The second floor was reserved for guests, and Kwil was very familiar with those.

  Bundling the washing under one arm, Kwil pushed open the front door and stepped outside. The weather was pleasant, with few clouds present in the sky. It would be a good day to help with the ho
rses, but it was unlikely any daylight would remain when he had finished cleaning. Making his way past the gardens, he headed toward the large tubs where the laundresses were busy scrubbing garments and hanging them on the line to dry.

  “What’s this?” a heavy servant asked. She placed her hands on her hips and stared at the young man. She was a Gatan and had little patience for human slaves. Kwil had encountered her almost daily, and she never bothered to speak a kind word to him.

  “Laundry,” he replied, extending the bundle toward her.

  “You been wearing these fine dresses?” she asked, cackling with laughter.

  Kwil did not reply. He remained silent, still holding out the bundle for the woman to take. After a few moments of looking him over, she said, “Don’t give it to me. Take it over there.” She gestured with a plump thumb toward another servant.

  Without a word, Kwil moved forward and approached the girl. She was a young Gatan who barely looked at him as he approached. Reaching out her thin hands, she relieved Kwil of his burden.

  “You can bring them straight to me from now on,” she said in a quiet voice. “There’s no need to bother Sal.”

  Kwil nodded his understanding, unsure if the Gatan wished him to reply verbally. A glance at her eyes suggested she was kind but shy. She avoided his gaze but showed no anger that he had looked at her. Before he could get himself into trouble, he marched on, avoiding the heavy laundress as he went.

  Keeping his head down for fear of running into someone, Kwil moved up the manor steps. Another servant passed him, but she paid him no heed. Stopping on the third floor, Kwil raised his head and looked at the area before him. Rows of paintings hung on the walls, all of them depicting families with young children. As he moved along, he observed their faces, deciding that they must be relatives of the Orvas. Their fur came in a wide variety of colors, as was common among Gatans. Sometimes the children looked like their parents, and sometimes they looked entirely different.