Sky Lord - Rowan Erlking (interesting books to read for teens .txt) 📗

dirty stone streets and a strong division of people in the hill top city. She first tried to find work as a servant, but the people turned her away because of the color of her skin—usually saying, ‘We don’t take runaway slaves.’ Some said, ‘Go back to your island.’

They all seemed to know where she had come from, and all regarded her with disdain. The people of the city had higher respect for the lords of Maldos—who were richly dressed men with charcoal black skin who sold jewels and pearls to the merchants in the city. Even the sly copper skinned barterers from the distant land of Hann were treated with more respect. Tia had seen some slaves, all islanders with the same rich brown skin as hers, but unlike her they had hair as black as coal and brown eyes as dark as wells. They ran errands on the road wearing the worst rags. None of them looked her in the eye.

So she fell to begging. She also resorted to scrounging in the form of an animal. She found she craved transformation at times, so perhaps all the rumors around the prison were true. Maybe she was a demon or a monster. Everyone she touched she hurt. Every animal she used ran from her in fear afterward. From every animal, or from every person, she drew away thoughts, feelings and experiences. Tia often wondered what she gave them in return.

She knew the lord of the underworld loved her gift, but Tia had come to hate it. She hated the world being afraid of her. She also hated some of the thoughts she absorbed when she drained people and became them. Their malice, their jealousy, their lusts and petty thoughts all swarmed around in her head, sometimes indistinguishable from her own identity and hopes. Her lord had her steal hours from people then hide them in closets. Then she would sneak about their homes and steal from them, knowing combinations to safes and locations where things were hidden. He had made her a thief. His tasks grew more dangerous day by day, and the people of the city talked of a demon that stalked them, making people lose hours and have nightmares. She often wondered what she made them see when they were unconscious.

Leaning against the wall of her prison cell, Tia closed her eyes and wished once more the police had killed her. Her head was so full now of other people’s pasts; their own foul deeds, their own corruption. Though she purposely forgot most of their personalities and lives after committing the act and returning to herself, some memories remained because they were so poignant. Often she did not know when her own thoughts ended and theirs began, and she felt relief when she could drain the simple empty thoughts of an animal just to clear them out.

But the Underlord did not like her clearing those thoughts out. He wanted to use them for blackmail. A double theft. He had become most powerful using Tia as his sneak thief. So perhaps that was why he wanted her back. But why did the government keep her alive after she had committed that murder? And further, if they truly thought she was a demon?

It kept tormenting her.

Why was she alive? Why was she alive! Why didn’t they execute her?

She stood up and walked to the window. It was only a slit in the stone. She had to stand on her tiptoes to see out. It was sealed with a glass and doubly sealed on the outside so that the room itself was nearly airtight. No insect could get in. Tia had never tried being an insect before, but she had no doubt they figured she would attempt to become one to escape.

Outside, through the glass, she could see the gray sky above. She could not see the city towers below. She could not tell if the police transporter was coming up the steps or was even within the prison walls. The seconds stretched into hours in her mind. Tia fell back to her thoughts as she stared out into the gray sky, wishing more than ever she had caught that bird in the prison yard. But of course, then they would have seen what she could do and known for certain she was not an ordinary slave. That alone frightened her. After all, the police themselves had not seen her transform, only those on the streets.

The door opened. Tia turned, hearing the creak of the brass hinges, lifting her eyes to the man in the crisp suit and high collar standing with the door guard. He looked her over, staring mostly at her shining bright eyes that stood out against her dark skin.

“You will come, and keep your hands at your side,” the man said.

Tia let out a resigned sigh. He had arrived.

The door guard wearing long gloves as well as a hood to cover all his flesh except for his eyes, stepped forward and pulled out his prod. They never touched her except with that prod, and it sent a jolt of electricity through her each time they did.

“I’ll come,” she said and stepped forward.

The guard stood between her and the police escort, keeping a fixed eye on her as she walked through the doorway. 

But Tia kept her arms down. She kept her head up. Looking around and trying to remain aware of ways of escape without looking too conspicuous, she walked into the hall. The walls were stone. The steps were tiled rock. The corridor was entirely filled with soldiers armed with prods like a gauntlet. Seeing that, she knew for certain they were taking no chances with her.

The police escort walked behind her with the door guard. Ahead of her, another guard, carefully hooded, walked. There was no way she could even slip a hand under his collar with how perfectly sealed up it was.

Through the compound they went, down the stairs, through the long corridors, and out into the other prison areas. The other prisoners watched from their open caged cells, clenching the bars as they stuck their faces between them to get a good view of the captive. Tia felt a twinge of jealousy that they at least had each other to bicker with in the late hours of the night. She had no one. She had nothing. Not even normal human contact.

The procession passed by the cells. The prisoners inside threw out jeers, brave under protection. The calls echoed against the stone, mingling like enormous crowds of contempt for her. Of course, had Tia been free those jeers would have been screams of fear. She had heard those in the outside yard when she had been let out for exercise. But that thought brought her no satisfaction—only pain and sorrow. Her gift was a curse.

They passed the guards’ many gates and then the warden’s office, walking down the last bare corridor to the outside. Emerging into the open courtyard, she saw guards standing along the walls to lead her to the very car they were to enter. They opened the door to goad her in. She gripped the top edge of the doorway and paused.

Tia looked up at the gray sky above Calcumum, drew in a breath and sighed. There were clouds in the sky. On the roof she could hear the cooing of doves. She looked up at the gray tile where she saw a flock on the roof of the prison—very common for most big cites in Brein Amon. Sitting among the doves was a small man.

He grinned at her.

His grin widening, the man threw down a shower of grain into the courtyard, sprinkling over the guards and Tia. Many of the guards ducked, cursing as they as the white and gray cloud of feathers and feet fluttered to the ground around them.

“Get her in! Get her in!” the guards shouted, one shoving the prod in Tia’s side with a large jolt.

Tia toppled inside onto the back seat of the car, reaching out for anything to hold on to. Kicking her legs in, they slammed the car door shut, locking it.

“Ow!” they heard Tia yelp, glaring up at them through the thick glass.

The police transporter ran around the vehicle front, yanking open the door and jumping inside. He glanced back once to see Tia pounding with one hand on the window that divided them. Shoving in the key, he strapped on his seat belt then swiftly turned the ignition. The vehicle engine rumbled, the car shaking. Rolling across the open prison square, he drove off. The birds scattered away from the charging car.

The police transport car roared down the main road from the center of town, hastily turning with the winding curves as it spiraled down to the main gates. The driver glanced back only once to see their prisoner still pounding on the window. Satisfied, they passed the guards to the city gates, rolling out onto the road highway. But the pounding soon changed to tapping. Tapping, tapping of the beak of a bird. A pigeon had somehow got inside the car. Tia had gone quiet.

The driver blinked, staring through his rearview mirror. He slowed to maintain control of his vehicle as looked back for better inspection, but Tia was not there.

Slamming his brakes, he then quickly pulled on the emergency brake and stared at the back seat. The girl was gone and only this bird remained. He looked out his rearview mirrors, hastily unbuckling his seatbelt. And with a shiver of fright, the man struggled with his door handle with a jerk to it open. The moment he hopped out of the car he ran back down the road, drawing his gun as he looked over at the tall fields of grass that grew in the farms around the vehicle.

“No hiding, girlie!” the police escort called aloud.

Nothing but the swishing of grass answered.

Shaking his head, he turned and walked back to his vehicle. His eyes on it, he halted on the road. Then he ran.

One of the windows in back was entirely shattered. Pawing the side window, he then peered around and inside. Nothing was in the back seat but one unconscious pigeon.

Getting into his car, he cursed loudly. Immediately he released the brake, committed a U-turn and drove back into the city to inform his superiors of her escape.

Two men crawled out of the grass, watching after him. One petted a pigeon, and then released it to fly away.

Chapter Two: The Underlord

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The lord of the underworld was a powerful man, a lean man, and a shrewd man. He did not look rich, and in public he did not live rich. The people of the city of Calcumum thought he was but a humble bread maker. In private he was a different sort.

When he lived as a baker, he dressed commonly. He looked jolly and kind, and he went the name of Hil. Everyone knew him as jolly Hil Baker, the son of Bunn Sweets—a sweetshop owner a generation ago. His reputation preceded him as a simple man who wouldn’t blink wrong at a policeman, let alone cheat on his taxes. No one suspected him of anything worse than tossing out old bread to the