Chapter Three

He spent the next month in a cage. Tall enough for him to stand and wide enough for him to spread his arms apart, its steel frame was built onto the base of a four-wheeled wagon. There were old scratches on the wood floor from claws trying to gouge an escape route.

This was not the first time someone had been kept in here. A man-sized cage designed for easy transport could mean only one thing:

His captors were flesh traders.

The realization made him crave their deaths all the more. He passed the hours dreaming of their painful demises and the creative ways he could deliver them. He came up with a great many scenarios, for there were a great many hours to pass.

He would crush the skulls of the men who sneered at him through the cage by forcing their heads between the narrow bars. Or perhaps he would impale them with various implements spotted lying around the camp. One who enjoyed whipping the animals a little too much would be strangled with his own weapon.

The leader of the group, a particularly nasty human called Cragar, would be delivered an especially gruesome death. Perhaps he would remove his limbs and watch him bleed out slowly in the dust, pleading for his life.

The images of purpling faces and struggling, bloodied bodies did not disturb him as much as they perhaps should have, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He did not have mercy for those who showed him none.

The first day of travel was spent baking under the harsh sun with no way to shelter himself. The shredded sarong he was given as clothing provided no relief. His wagon-cage was pulled by an antagonistic camel that spat upon any that strayed near. He sympathized with the irate beast, forced into service against its will.

The hours stretched on, the sun climbing higher in the sky. He was given no food, no water. By late afternoon, the cumulative effect of his injuries, dehydration, and malnourishment began to catch up. Staring at the flat, lifeless landscape, he slowly succumbed to delirium.

He slipped into unconsciousness, hoping for death to take him, only to awaken later in darkness, shivering in the bitter cold. Moonlight illuminated the rolling desert and the tops of the travelers’ tents a short distance away. A fire crackled between them, offering an inviting warmth that didn’t extend to him.

Inside his cage, he discovered a small bowl of foul-smelling porridge had been left along with another jug of water. For better or worse, his desire for death was not stronger than his will to live, and he greedily consumed both.

The next morning, after dismantling the tents, the traders threw one of the big sheets of canvas over the top of his cage for shelter. Evidently, they’d realized their prize wouldn’t be worth nearly as much if it died of exposure. A shame, because said prize lost his only source of entertainment—watching his camel companion traverse the arid landscape.

Thus passed the rest of the month-long journey.

During the day, he saw nothing but the underside of the canvas. At night, the canvas was removed, and he lay on his back and stared at the stars, watching the moon wane and then wax again.

Faced with the never-ending monotony and the black hole that was his past, his intelligent thoughts began to deteriorate. Gradually, he became what the traders thought he was—a creature. A frightening, feral creature.

He made no attempts at communication. He crouched in his cage and snarled at any who approached. He left his claws unsheathed and his fangs bared. He lost his mind to visualizations of bloodshed.

Just when his sanity began to slip irrevocably, everything changed. The day after the moon completed her next cycle, they arrived at their destination.

The creature didn’t see this. He could see nothing but the sun’s glow on the underside of the canvas. But he could smell it. The scent of cooking spices, the smoke of countless fires, and the pungent reek of unwashed bodies assailed his sensitive nostrils.

Then, he could hear it, too. The shouting of hagglers, the clanging of ale tankards, the jingling of coins, the barking of stray dogs… It all blended into a cacophony of madness-inducing clamor, especially unbearable after weeks in the desert’s penetrating silence.

They had finally arrived at the market where he was to be sold, though he would have preferred death over that fate. But what could he do?

Wait, he told himself. Watch and wait. Seize your opportunity when it comes. Kill anyone who stands in your way.

That tiny shred of determination was the last remaining tether to his sanity, and he clung to it.

…

“I’m telling you, it was uncanny. Looking at him was like looking into a void. This”—Cragar cast a disgusted look at the cage—“is some new trick.”

The creature in question had known he was valuable to the traders because of his supposedly strange appearance. So in the only act of rebellion he was capable of, he had altered it.

He had, in fact, discovered a new ability. Bothered by the attention he was receiving, he had briefly imagined blending in more.

And then his skin tone had changed.

All of a sudden, it had transformed to a golden brown, similar to that of some of his captors. He didn’t have a clue how he’d done it but figured it was just another trait marking him as an unnamable oddity.

He had suffered greatly for his defiance—they had tried to convince him to revert with a savage beating—but apparently, he was a stubborn creature as well as a resilient one.

And watching his captors squirm now made every second of pain worth it.

“I don’t know how he did it. We just blinked, and he looked like this.”

The buyer pursed his lips. Standing at a looming height, he radiated an unmistakable aura of power and authority. He held a staff with a small globe on the end, topped by a long spike, and a glint of loathing shone in his bright blue gaze, as though the creature’s very existence was deemed a stain upon his world.

Well, two could play at that game. If the creature hated his original captors, within seconds of meeting that hostile gaze, he hated his future owner even more.

“You’ve no idea what he is?” the tall man asked.

“Well, after his little display, we’re thinking he’s a chameleon Hybrid, sir.”

“A chameleon Hybrid.” He seemed to be enjoying the exchange, almost as if he knew something the flesh traders didn’t. “Then what about the wings?”

“Maybe some kind of flying chameleon Hybrid, then?”

“Flying. Like a bird?”

“More like a bat. A crossbreed or something. A bat-chameleon hybrid Hybrid.”

Dark brows climbed high on his forehead. “A hybrid Hybrid.”

“Must be, sir.”

“I see. Well, he doesn’t have wings now, nor is his skin changing colors. Why should I believe you?” But it was obvious by the light in his eye that he did and was just playing along as part of the bartering.

Cragar had obviously anticipated this. “Aye, but when he’s unconscious, he’ll change right back to black. Found that out earlier. I can knock him out if you’d like, but I figured you’d want to see him awake first.”

“And the wings? How can you prove their existence?”

Again, the trader was ready. “We figured out that if you prod him in the back in just the right spot, he’ll pop ’em out. They just appear out of thin air.”

“Indeed.” The tall man’s voice was unimpressed, but again, his eyes betrayed him. He surveyed the creature with more of that cold loathing and…recognition? As if he already knew what kind of beast was before him.

“And you can see his eyes. No Elemental brute I’ve ever seen has eyes like that. He’s dangerous. Lethal.” This seemed to be a selling point rather than a hindrance. “Hasn’t sheathed those claws once since we put him in that cage. Nearly killed two of my men with them.”

The creature wished anew for the strength to slaughter them all. He wished to break free from his cage right then and kill them one by one with his bare hands. He would tear them to shreds with his teeth and bathe in their blood.

“We’ve been underfeeding him to keep him weak. I shudder to think what he’d be capable of at full strength. I doubt that cage would hold him, for one thing.”

“I have ways of containing him. Loren!”

Another man ducked into the tent, this one with pale skin and hair the color of straw, stopping dead in his tracks when he saw the creature. His eyes widened.

“Prepare the horse. We’ll be hauling the entire cage back to the grounds.”

“Actually, sir,” Cragar said, “the cage isn’t incl—”

“Now, Loren.”

“Y-yes, sir.” The fair-haired man ducked back out of the tent.

“You can’t have the cage. We need it.”

“You won’t be needing it any longer.”

“But—”

“I will pay you three-quarters of your asking price after you prove to me he has wings.”

The trader snapped to attention at the mention of money. “Pay it in full, and I’ll prove his skin changes color too.”

“Ah, but he fights back viciously when antagonized, does he not? Why take that risk? Three-quarters of your asking price, and we need only to poke him in the back, as you said.”

“You’ve got to poke him hard or he just shrugs it off. It’s dangerous work, getting close to him.”

“Luckily for you, I came prepared.” The tall man brandished his staff with a cold smile.

Cragar seemed to take a closer look at the staff for the first time. He took a step back, eyes widening. “That’s not… You’re one of them.”

“Yes, I am indeed one of those Elemental brutes.” His voice was cold, his smile colder. The human swallowed visibly. “Let’s see if I can get our friend to show his wings.”

Cragar waved a shaky hand toward the cage. “Be my guest.”

Wielding the staff, the tall man approached the cage. Hatred burned bright in those blue eyes. The creature wasn’t used to making friends, but he couldn’t help but wonder what he’d done to inspire such loathing. Even the traders regarded him with only mild revulsion.

This man’s hatred was deep. Personal.

Whatever it was, he wasn’t cowed. He snarled into that proud face, preparing to fight.

The tall man thrust the staff into the cage.

Quicker than expected, the creature’s hand shot out and seized it in an iron grip. He tried to snap it in half, but he underestimated the power of the weapon. The staff didn’t break. Instead, what felt like a thousand bolts of lightning passed through his body, throwing him back against the bars. He landed on his stomach, stunned, though only for several seconds.

That was all the tall man needed.

The staff was thrust into the cage again, into his back. The second he was aware, he tried to roll over, but he wasn’t fast enough. The lightning pierced him, right between the shoulder blades, and reflexively, his wings burst out. The leathery expanses didn’t quite fit in the cage and crumpled painfully against the bars.

Immediately, he folded them back, and they disappeared as he sprang up into fighting position, head pounding from the aftershock of the lightning.

But the tall man stepped back. The pale, trembling human shrank away as he advanced, still wielding the staff. “I will pay you three-quarters of your asking price. Cage included.”

Cragar eyed the staff. It seemed his fear of the enchanted weapon was all that was needed to strike a deal in the end. “Sold.”

…

The canvas covering the creature’s cage was yanked off with a flourish, revealing…another dark, empty tent. And two men staring at him.

He stared right back, imagining all the ways he might rend the flesh from their bones.

“What is he?” the blond human hissed at the tall man. He bent over the wagon harness, unhooking it from the horse, who stamped its hooves and tossed its head nervously.

“He understands you, Loren. He’s a highly intelligent being, and his hearing is superior to either of ours.”

Loren glanced back at the cage warily. “Why hasn’t he said anything, then?”

The tall man shrugged, staring into the creature’s eyes. “Why indeed.”

After the deal was made, the tall man had tossed a sizable bag of gold at the flesh traders, thrown the canvas over the cage, and taken his new possession away to…somewhere. Wherever they were, it was still in the city. The trip had taken only twenty minutes or so, and the smells in the air hadn’t changed much.

“If he’s so intelligent,” the human asked, “why are we keeping him in a cage?”

“Because he’s evil. And he would kill us all given the chance.”

The human snorted an incredulous yet nervous laugh. “How can you know he’s evil? Sure, he looks frightening enough, but he hasn’t done anything but stare at us.”

The creature listened carefully for the tall man’s response. He didn’t trust a word out of his mouth, yet he had seemed to know more than he let on during negotiations.

“How much history do you know about the conflicts between the Queens, Loren?”

“A bit. Supposedly, after Furie’s warlord mate was killed in a raid on Darya’s borders, the Fire Queen lost her mind. She blamed Darya and retaliated, and then the other Queens joined in the fighting until humans got sick of it and turned against them. The Queens were forced to retreat and hide in their castles, and their once-noble Elementals became shunned outcasts of society.”

“An abbreviated version, certainly. More specifically, do you know how Furie retaliated against Darya?”

“Sure. By killing every one of Darya’s Seers.”

The tall man stared into the creature’s eyes as he spoke. “And how did she manage to wipe out an entire thriving group of Elementals?”

“Well, that part’s a bit controversial. Everyone has heard of wraiths, but most people agree they’re just a myth because Furie never created any Fire Elementals. I’ve heard they were Enchanter assassins skilled at fire illusions or some kind of winged Hybrid.”

The tall man smiled.

Loren did the opposite of smile. “It is a myth, isn’t it?”

“Is it?”

“Is it? By the Goddess, it isn’t, is it?” He stared at the creature, his voice a breathless rasp. “Surely he’s not… No. They’re supposed to be like ghosts. You can’t touch them, but they can touch you. They’re invisible. Practically invincible. He can’t be one of them.”

“He is.”

“But you can’t trap a wraith in a cage. According to the myths—which you’re saying aren’t even myths—they’re completely intangible unless they choose not to be.”

“All true. Except for this poor wraith, who got permanently stuck in his corporeal body.”

Loren stared. “How?”

But the tall man had shared enough for one night. He dismissed the question with a wave of his hand. “We’ll use him as a side attraction at the circus for the final week of performances in Allegra.”

If anything, this bewildered the human even more than the possibility of a corporeal wraith. “How!”

“We’ll keep him in this cage. Paint a sign. It will say ‘WRAITH’ in big letters across the top.” The tall man spread a hand through the air as though creating the sign right then. “‘Invisible. Invincible. The most dangerous killer in existence. Myth or reality? The answer lies within…but enter at your peril.’”

“Wow.”

The tall man’s eyes glinted again, full of loathing as they stared into the cage, and the creature took deep breaths to fight down the violent killing urge surging inside him. It did him no good in his state, and if he were to fly into a rage while trapped, he’d only hurt himself.

“Get started on the sign tomorrow. Tonight, I need you to make a trip back to the Underground. Find someone from the Ouroboros gang and get word to their leader that there are Elemental flesh traders in their district. The snakes will deal with them accordingly.”

“The Underground is Elemental territory. Are you sure they’ll talk to me?”

“Tell them I sent you. They’ll talk to you.” The tall man flung a hand toward the tent’s entrance. “Now go. I need to get to work enchanting the cage. It’ll take me all night to make it impenetrable.”

“Sir…what if he escapes?”

At this, the tall man smiled again. “Then he will surely kill us all. Best hope I know what I’m doing.”

…

The enchantments on the cage were completed the following day. The tall man had spent the night and half the morning working on it, careful to remain out of his prisoner’s reach while his concentration was engaged.

Plans for his enemies’ painful demises kept the creature occupied. Before the enchantments had foiled him, he’d begun weakening one of the bars at the top of the cage during the long trip. Soon it would have been loose enough to pry apart, and then, while the traders slept, he would have moved among them, as silent as a shadow, slitting their throats with his claws as he’d done before when—

When…what? When could he have done such a thing, and why?

He mulled over what the tall man had said the night prior. He’d called him a wraith. Some type of powerful, incorporeal being trapped in his physical form.

He tried the word out, but it seemed as unfamiliar as his own body had felt when he first awoke in the desert. But that feeling was distant now too. His body felt like part of him, not burdensome or confining.

By nightfall, he’d been fed three full meals and given access to as much water as he wanted. His shredded sarong was replaced with a pair of loose trousers—hardly respectable attire compared to everyone else, but certainly an improvement. A bucket, rag, and towel were provided for him to wash, and he dragged his fingers through his tangled hair.

After the evening meal, when the scents of food coming from the nearby meal tent had faded, the blond human came back into the tent. He was carrying an oil lamp and a bucket of painting supplies, dragging a big piece of wood behind him. He leaned it on the edge of the tent and spread out his brushes.

“Here to make your sign,” he muttered. “Boss’s orders.”

The creature tilted his head but didn’t rise from where he sat, leaning against the bars in the corner of the cage.

Loren glanced up and then recoiled. His face was a mask of repugnance, but he couldn’t seem to look away. “By the Goddess, your eyes are unnerving.”

The creature growled low. It wasn’t like he could do anything about his eyes. He’d already changed the rest of his appearance for the loathsome humans. If this one didn’t like it, he could leave.

“Have to paint the sign in here,” the human said as if hearing his thoughts. “Salizar doesn’t want people to know about you yet, though I doubt he realizes how much gossip there’s been already.”

Salizar. So that was his enemy’s name. Perhaps he would whisper it in his ear before he slaughtered him. Would he snap his neck, quick and quiet? Or would he draw it out and make it slow and bloody?

He gritted his teeth. He didn’t like the thoughts in his head. They seemed to come from somewhere outside of him, as if the inclination to violence had been developed by association rather than by choice. His wrath was tinged with revulsion, and he got the sense that the power he recalled possessing when he’d first awoken had been a lie.

Ignorant of the creature’s confusion, Loren went back to his task. Selecting a bottle of red paint, he dumped some onto a small tray and selected a brush. “What is this stupid sign supposed to say again?” He pitched his voice in obvious imitation of his boss. “‘Wraith. Invisible. Invincible. Scary as piss. Will slit your throat without a second thought.’”

The creature frowned. If those were characteristics of a wraith, perhaps he didn’t mind the association after all. Would it be so bad to use such powers to obtain his freedom?

Loren glanced up again. “Yeah, I bet you like that description, don’t you? Bet you’d love the chance to slit all our throats.”

The creature bared his fangs. Indeed, he would.

Loren recoiled once more. “Bloody Shades.” He looked quickly back at the sign, dipped his brush into the red paint, and then began outlining the shape of an R on the board.

R? Wasn’t it supposed to be the word “wraith?” He watched, curious.

The R was completed. Another dip of the brush, and the next letter commenced. A. Interesting. When the A was finished and the next letter began, he realized what was happening.

A hint of a smile lifted one corner of his mouth. He remained silent. Why wouldn’t he? If he told the human, it would spoil his fun, and this was the only fun he ever remembered having.

Soon, the word was complete. Loren dropped the brush in the water and stood, murmuring something about needing whisky to get through this. He trudged out of the tent, leaving his work behind him in all its glory. The creature looked at it with amusement.

Along the entire top of the board, written in stylized block letters, was the word raith.

His good humor faded quickly. Whether he was a monster of myth or not, these people believed he was. And after his ordeal traversing the desert, he had little faith in the kindness of others.

What atrocities were his new captors capable of in the name of their fear and greed? And perhaps worse…what atrocities was he capable of inflicting upon them in retaliation?

Because if given the chance, he already knew he wouldn’t hesitate.