Any manual labour. Ours is logging.
And there is one group that services the humans. Sometimes one or other of our group is taken. We used to think they were killed but we realise the truth now. Iad or ula , man’s tastes are as depraved as they are godless.
We live in filth because they won’t give us enough water to wash, only to drink. We are hungry because the food they give us is insufficient and of the poorest quality. We sleep on sacking and dirt. We cannot even all sleep inside because the space is so limited. Our young ones are sick from the day they are born – we would not procreate but for the fact that Ystormun punishes us if too few are born into his workforce. We can only hold to the belief we will be freed.
That belief is being challenged. More men are arriving every day and often they are not soldiers or mages but workers. They will take our tasks eventually and then we will be superfluous. Ystormun does not want the elves to survive. We are only slaves until we are of no use, until there are enough invaders here to take our place. No one knows how long that will take.
Ystormun has only made one mistake as far as I can see, beyond not sweeping the forest to find and kill all who escaped the cities before they were closed. He thought that mixing the threads would weaken us, stop power blocs forming and lessen the chances of an uprising. For a decade, he was probably right. Not now. He has done more to strengthen the harmony between the threads than Takaar did in a millennium. Funny, isn’t it? We gather strength from each other, we pray together and we suffer together.
And we wait. We wait for you, we pray for you. You will come, won’t you?
Auum listened to it all as if he were walking in a dream. Only at the last did Koel’s desperation leak through. The two of them had walked a way into the canopy, and Auum indicated they should return to the clearing.
‘How many logging gangs are there?’ asked Auum.
‘Thirty. We are destroying the forest much faster than it can regrow. Beeth screams his pain. Appos roars his fury.’
‘But not at you. At man.’
Koel shrugged. ‘We could refuse to raise our axes.’
‘No, you couldn’t,’ said Auum. ‘I see that now. Gather your people. Let me speak to them before you go.’
Back at the clearing, the gang was making ready while food was being prepared. Barges had sail canvas ready to fill. The smells of roasting meat floated on the light breeze. Koel called his people to him, and Auum watched them come: Apposans, Beethans and Orrans for the most part but two he recognised as Ixii. Their exhaustion was plain in every pace they took and in every stumble on the uneven ground. All of them wore the same expression, one which told of an inescapable fate approached with courage. Auum’s heart swelled with pride.
‘It is for you that I do what I do each day,’ said Auum. ‘The strength of the elven race lies in our spirit and our faith. In a hundred and fifty years they have not broken your spirit. And in that same time you have learned to love elves of every thread.
‘I am proud that I have met you and spoken to you. And I shall speak of each one of you in my prayers. I shall use your strength and your determination to inspire all free elves I meet. Your story will be told throughout the rainforest.
‘But even as my spirit soars with the dream of freeing you, I must urge you to remain strong. Do not lose faith, even in the years that might pass before you are freed. We know we can beat them blade on blade but we have no answer to their magic. Until we do, we cannot hope to rid Calaius of man.
‘Speak, any who will.’
For a time there was an awkward silence but then a hand went up. Others followed. Auum picked one at random. He was a Tuali, sunken-eyed and pale with a fever.
‘What was it that attacked the masters?’
Every other raised hand was lowered. Auum gave a rueful smile. In their captivity they had missed the evolution of a whole
And there is one group that services the humans. Sometimes one or other of our group is taken. We used to think they were killed but we realise the truth now. Iad or ula , man’s tastes are as depraved as they are godless.
We live in filth because they won’t give us enough water to wash, only to drink. We are hungry because the food they give us is insufficient and of the poorest quality. We sleep on sacking and dirt. We cannot even all sleep inside because the space is so limited. Our young ones are sick from the day they are born – we would not procreate but for the fact that Ystormun punishes us if too few are born into his workforce. We can only hold to the belief we will be freed.
That belief is being challenged. More men are arriving every day and often they are not soldiers or mages but workers. They will take our tasks eventually and then we will be superfluous. Ystormun does not want the elves to survive. We are only slaves until we are of no use, until there are enough invaders here to take our place. No one knows how long that will take.
Ystormun has only made one mistake as far as I can see, beyond not sweeping the forest to find and kill all who escaped the cities before they were closed. He thought that mixing the threads would weaken us, stop power blocs forming and lessen the chances of an uprising. For a decade, he was probably right. Not now. He has done more to strengthen the harmony between the threads than Takaar did in a millennium. Funny, isn’t it? We gather strength from each other, we pray together and we suffer together.
And we wait. We wait for you, we pray for you. You will come, won’t you?
Auum listened to it all as if he were walking in a dream. Only at the last did Koel’s desperation leak through. The two of them had walked a way into the canopy, and Auum indicated they should return to the clearing.
‘How many logging gangs are there?’ asked Auum.
‘Thirty. We are destroying the forest much faster than it can regrow. Beeth screams his pain. Appos roars his fury.’
‘But not at you. At man.’
Koel shrugged. ‘We could refuse to raise our axes.’
‘No, you couldn’t,’ said Auum. ‘I see that now. Gather your people. Let me speak to them before you go.’
Back at the clearing, the gang was making ready while food was being prepared. Barges had sail canvas ready to fill. The smells of roasting meat floated on the light breeze. Koel called his people to him, and Auum watched them come: Apposans, Beethans and Orrans for the most part but two he recognised as Ixii. Their exhaustion was plain in every pace they took and in every stumble on the uneven ground. All of them wore the same expression, one which told of an inescapable fate approached with courage. Auum’s heart swelled with pride.
‘It is for you that I do what I do each day,’ said Auum. ‘The strength of the elven race lies in our spirit and our faith. In a hundred and fifty years they have not broken your spirit. And in that same time you have learned to love elves of every thread.
‘I am proud that I have met you and spoken to you. And I shall speak of each one of you in my prayers. I shall use your strength and your determination to inspire all free elves I meet. Your story will be told throughout the rainforest.
‘But even as my spirit soars with the dream of freeing you, I must urge you to remain strong. Do not lose faith, even in the years that might pass before you are freed. We know we can beat them blade on blade but we have no answer to their magic. Until we do, we cannot hope to rid Calaius of man.
‘Speak, any who will.’
For a time there was an awkward silence but then a hand went up. Others followed. Auum picked one at random. He was a Tuali, sunken-eyed and pale with a fever.
‘What was it that attacked the masters?’
Every other raised hand was lowered. Auum gave a rueful smile. In their captivity they had missed the evolution of a whole
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