Breaking the Shackles

Excerpt

Breaking the Shackles
Mell Eight © 2021
All Rights Reserved

The haze covering Laine’s mind faded. Slowly he became aware of his surroundings and flinched at that realization. Awareness equaled pain: pain from the knowledge of those who had been so violently lost and pain as his own flesh writhed from the cruel ministrations of the creatures that had taken control of him.

The magi, his mind hissed. The magi had taken him captive with five others of his clan. Only he remained alive. The return of memories that came with his first moments free of the haze was one of the reasons Laine so hated each return to consciousness.

As the haze further retreated, Laine expected to feel a whip on his back or an excruciating pull as his magic was forcibly drained from his body. His magic gave him life eternal, brought breath to his body, and made his heart pump. Without it, the other five of his clan had perished, gasping for air they could no longer breathe for hearts that could no longer beat. The magi stole the magic that gave them life, and they died.

Shackles surrounded Laine’s upper arms, but pain did not wrack his body. His magic felt strong and hale, as if the magi had not drawn from him in hours. Strange, and worrying. What twisted plan did the magi have in store for him now?

Laine’s surroundings came further into focus. He felt like he was riding on something. His body was lifting and lowering in the air as whatever he was tied to bounded forward. His fingers were clenched in what felt like fur.

Laine did not open his eyes. That would alert the magi that he was awake and aware, which would lead to more pain. Instead, Laine enjoyed the soothing feeling of the fur below him. His mind drifted away into a dream—one in which he watched the magi die.

Wolves howled in the woods. One of the magi tugging Laine along the tangled forest path swore. The wolves were truly wondrous creatures. They broke cover and appeared in the clearing. One wolf with a white muzzle, as if he had dipped his nose in a bottle of milk and hadn’t yet licked himself clean, stood out. That wolf killed the magi who liked to giggle when he drew power from Laine.

Two more wolves appeared, the first a female of russet color and the second a light-brown male with large black splotches on his back. Together they ripped apart the magi’s second-in-command, a man with long brown hair and light-blond stripes growing from his temples. Laine found it strange that the magi bled the same color as Laine’s back did whenever the man gleefully used his whip.

And then a beautiful dark-brown wolf with the deepest, most wonderful brown eyes appeared in front of Laine and dove directly at the magi holding him captive. The connection between them snapped as the magi used both hands to defend himself against the wolf. Laine fell to the ground, released from the magi’s clutches. Claws slashed wickedly as the wolf backed the magi into a tree. Every time the magi opened his mouth to lay a coercion spell, the wolf increased the fervor of his attacks until all the magi could do was gasp and bleed. The wolf ripped the leader of the magi’s throat out soon after. Laine glimpsed the long black hair with two white stripes growing from the temples before a spray of blood disfigured the leader’s face forever.

The dream ended with Laine sitting on the forest floor while blood and wolves surrounded him. Even in the dream he returned to the haze. Laine wished it were possible for such things to come true. For the magi to be dead and Laine to be free. Well, it was a nice dream, but reality abhorred dreams.

Laine drifted. Hours, days…he couldn’t keep track of time. He didn’t want to keep track of time.

When he came to again, the situation had grown stranger. His side was warm and he heard crackling. Was he lying in front of a fire? He lay on a real bed with feathers and a pillow. A blanket was even tucked around his body. How many years had it been since Laine had felt the comfort of a simple blanket? He didn’t keep track of time for a reason.

He knew it would alert the enemy if he moved, but Laine couldn’t help it. He curled deeper into the warmth of the mattress and pulled the blanket over his shoulders. Laine ignored the shocked whispers behind him. Surrounded by unfamiliar comfort, his body fell into a real sleep—the first in a very, very long time.

∗

Laine woke strangely, fully conscious without any of the usual haze that clouded his mind. Confused and worried, he opened his eyes. He was still lying on the mattress covered by blankets, but the fire had burnt out and bright sunlight illuminated the cozy one-room building he was in. His pallet was situated next to the fireplace in a kitchen area with cabinets, a small table with four chairs to the left of the fire, and a door just past that. Bookshelves, baskets, and wooden trunks took up the rest of the wall space. A ladder led up to a sleeping loft in the back of the cabin. The building was neat and well kept. Laine had no idea where he was.

Laine could tell he was alone in the building. He gingerly sat up and let the blankets pool around his waist. He had been dressed in a pair of loose-fitting pants and a shirt, but he felt the hated shackles around his arms. Despite the strange turn of events, Laine was still a prisoner. Nothing had changed.

“He hasn’t moved since,” a man’s voice said through the front door. Laine barely had time to lower his eyes to his lap before the front door was pushed open and two people entered. “You’ll understand if I ask you to wait until he wakes,” the man continued.

Out of the corner of his eye, Laine saw the man speaking. He was tall with dark-brown hair, and there was something strangely familiar about him. Laine didn’t know what drew him to the man, but he wasn’t about to risk himself by looking directly at the stranger.

The second man grunted and pointed at Laine. All Laine saw was a sweep of green hair and a flash of gold before he returned his eyes to the blanket covering his legs.

“Your charge has awoken,” the second man said in a deep, officious voice.

“So it would seem,” the first man agreed. The brown-haired stranger walked quickly to Laine and knelt at his side. “Are you okay? Can I get you anything?” he asked in a soft, gentle voice.

Laine had to work hard not to respond. Such kindness was totally foreign to Laine after spending so many years with the magi. He felt an urge to look up at the man and smile to show he appreciated the compassion, but the chance that it could be a trick kept his eyes fixed in place.

Laine’s body betrayed him when his stomach rumbled. He glanced at his stomach in shock. It had been years since he had felt the need for sustenance. The leeching away of his powers had left his body separated from normal functions like hunger. Had it really been so long since the magi had stolen his magic from him that his body was beginning to recover?

The strange man laughed and moved to the hearth, where an earthenware pot was resting in the cooling coals. The man pulled the pot free, wrapped it in a protective towel, found a spoon, and deposited the bundle directly into Laine’s lap.

Laine looked up in surprise despite his efforts not to respond.

“Eat,” the stranger said gruffly. “You’ve had a hard time of it these last three weeks, but hopefully you’ll recover soon.”

Laine knew he wouldn’t recover as long as the shackles still held him prisoner. Still, he took the lid off the pot and dipped the spoon inside. The broth was thick with large chunks of meat and vegetables. Laine’s stomach rumbled again as he stirred the spoon through the soup. He tentatively brought the spoon to his lips and sipped the broth.

It tasted good. More than good. As the first thing Laine had actually eaten in years, it was amazing. Laine was quick to bring more to his mouth, much to the amusement of his audience.

When the pot was empty, Laine set it aside. He didn’t want to return his eyes to his lap, not after being treated so nicely, so instead he set his focus on the stranger’s shoulder.

“I am Reese,” the stranger said in his gentle voice. “I’m of the werewolf pack. And this is Dean, An’dadean, and he’s a dragon.”

At the word “dragon,” Laine glanced over at the second man in the room. The man had brilliant golden eyes and long green hair, a very odd color, although it would be a glorious color on dragon scales. Laine had no doubt the man was a dragon. But what was a dragon doing with Laine? They had no need for his powers, and neither did the werewolves.

“Together, we have eliminated the magi,” Reese continued.

Laine gasped.

Reese nodded to Laine. “It wasn’t easy, but when the magi went too far, we were forced to eradicate them.”

Dead? The magi were dead? It could be a cruel trick made up to force Laine into finally giving up his hopes for freedom. Yet Laine saw the sincerity in Reese’s brown eyes, eyes that echoed his dreams.

“They’re gone?” Laine warbled in a voice unused to speech. He lifted a shaking hand in Reese’s direction as if asking for physical confirmation of the fact.

“I ripped the leader’s throat out myself,” Reese affirmed. He caught Laine’s hand in his own warm one and clutched it tightly to his chest. “I promise, you’ll never be a captive of the magi’s cruelty again.”

Laine ripped his hand free from Reese. “I may not be captive,” Laine hissed, “but I am not free.” His voice rose. “You would use me exactly as they did!”

“I don’t understand.” Reese’s expression was hurt.

Perhaps Reese didn’t understand, but as long as the shackles were still there, Laine wouldn’t trust the werewolf or the dragon. Laine would remove his own shackles and free himself. Then he could finally return home and save what was left of his family.

Laine turned away from Reese and slumped back down under his blankets. He was exhausted. The amount of exertion he had used that day was more than he had put forth in years.

“Thanks for the food,” Laine added because the hurt look in Reese’s eyes was still fresh in his mind. Laine closed his eyes and forced his body to sleep.