The Menyarian Project

PHOENYX

I lay on the cold hard concrete, thinking of a way out. Harlot sleeps soundly next to the fire she created a few hours ago, to which we were both shocked. I didn't know I could do that, she'd admitted after she got the fire going. A moment later, she'd passed out, probably from fatigue. We needed to get some food. Fast. 

The howling of the Wolves is low and eerie, and I can tell it's sunset. Even though the Menyarian Plains is always dark, you can see the moon and the stars during certain hours. Those hours are when the Wolves come out, devouring everything in their path. 

The cry of a moonshrill startles me. The sound is near, in this big hole in the ground. I quietly grab my bow, so as not to disturb the silver-winged bird. I listen to Harlot still slumbering peacefully beside me, feel the heat of the flames. That's right, I think. Moonshrills are attracted to fires. 

The rustling of feathers alerts me that the bird has moved closer, and within an instant, I nock an arrow and release it, piercing the bird in the breast. It falls to the ground, not too far from me. The sound of its body hitting the ground startles Harlot from her sleep. 

She grabs the knife attached to her belt and pulls it out, silently warning an enemy to come near. "It's okay, Harlot. It's just me. I found us some food." I show her the moonshrill and she gasps. "Phoenyx, it's illegal to kill them."

I roll my eyes. "Think about it this way, Harlot. We're fugitives. Already breaking the law. Rokoni's law anyway. And we have to eat or we'll starve. So what's it gonna be? Us or a shiny bird?"

"Fine," she mumbles as I start cleaning the moonshrill. Its feathers are razor sharp, and I keep getting cut. "Here. Let me." She takes the bird from my hands with her own leather gloved ones. The leather in her gloves is strong enough to stop a sword in mid-slice, which is exactly what those kind of gloves are intended for. 

Harlot plucks the feathers from the bird without problems. No cuts or nicks are on her fingers when she's done. "Here. Finished." I smile at her in response, taking the moonshrill from her hands and starting to cut and skin the bird. Minutes later, we sit by the fire, wart hint the meat cook on a slab of stone. "So what happened?" I ask, breaking the silence. "Why were they after you?"

"I escaped. Duh."

"I mean, what did to do? Why do they want to keep you alive?"

"What do you mean? They sent the Morthearok after me."

I shake my head. "The Morthearok don't usually kill. They just feed off your fear. Make you scared and submissive. Even make you pass out. That way they can drag you away and keep you. Keep you so they can feed off your fear some more. They don't kill. They torture."

"So… they want me alive? The Rokoni, I mean."

"Apparently. Otherwise, they would have sent their own breed of Wolves after you. More feared and deadly than the wild ones. Hard to believe that, though."

"Did they come after you?"

"Indubitably," I say. "I'm an experiment. They sent the Morthearok after me first. Then the Wolves when the Morthearok came back empty handed. Like you. Although they haven't sent the Wolves for you. Yet."

"If they're so feared and deadly," she begins quietly, "how did you escape?"

"My lucky bow," I say, handing her my polished, cherry oak recurve bow. "And a couple of steel arrows. Stainless." I point to the arrows in my quiver. She picks one up and says, "They're so light. I was expecting them to be a bit heavier."

"Ah. The eyes deceive, my love. It's hollow. The arrowhead is sharpened to a point far thinner than paper. Just a touch and it slices through. Like butter."

"Are these moonshrill feathers?" she asks of the feathers on the tails of the arrows. 

"Only the sharpest. If the head doesn't kill them first, the feathers will. Usually." 

"How did you find such a thing?" Memories flood into my head; things I don't want to remember rush back to me. An annoying habit, that. "I stole it."

"From the Rokoni? How?"

"You ask an awful lot of questions."

"Sorry."

"It's okay. I kinda like it." I hear her laugh quietly before I continue. "I was born in the lab, the best of the best at one point. I was loved by the Rokoni. Feared by some. I was able to practice at any moment I chose, dine with the Nkrm, and my words, my opinion mattered. But I hated it. They wanted me to become a weapon. Something they could use.

"I was a toy to them, a slave. Nothing more. I wanted to leave. I didn't want to be a part of their scheme anymore. When I told the Director this, he had me locked up in a cell. No food for two and a half weeks. 20 days, to be more precise. I couldn't think straight, I was angry all the time. I got sick. Really sick. Then the hallucinations started. And the convulsions. I sometimes went into fits of spasms. 

"The water was different. I had a few cups every five days. Enough time to make me experience severe dehydration. Over and over. It's a wonder they didn't kill me. They'd let me suffer then give me water and watch me suffer over the next few days. Always, on the last day before the water, my body was cold. So cold. And I felt I was about to die."

Harlot shifts in her seat, sniffling quietly.

"But I escaped. Somehow I escaped. The doors opened one day - a day after I had water, so I was refreshed, though still weak. I knew where the weapons room was, and amidst the chaos, I was able to quietly sneak in and retrieve my bow and thirty arrows. Then I ran. Not with the grace that I used to have, though. 

"I'd smelled food on the way out, which stopped me. My body started shaking, and I almost headed for the smell. But someone grabbed my arm, telling me the Rokoni would kill me. It was a girl's voice. I followed her until there were no more sounds behind us. 

"She killed an animal that night in the Plains. She cooked it for me as I sat, staring off into space. I don't remember much about her except the fact that she was kind. And that she had a certain scent about her that was intoxicating. I ate the whole moonshrill she gave me, and soon after, wanted another. 

"We both went to hunt for another in the night. We'd hidden in an unnoticeable cave not far from here as the Morthearok passed through. But as we killed another moonshrill, the Wolves came. There were four of them, and it took all thirty of my arrows to kill them off. They were tough. 

"Most of the arrows survived, and I gathered and cleaned them. But the girl was nowhere to be found. I searched for her thoroughly, but she had disappeared, probably killed. I owed her a debt I could not repay. She saved my life and now, two weeks later, I'm still alive."

Harlot is silent for a while, and I await her response. It seems like a lifetime before she gives it. "I'm… I'm so sorry, Phoenyx. It must be so hard. I'm sorry."

"Hard doesn't even cover the half of it. She's all I could think of. For a couple of days. Then I realized that we're experiments. We're not supposed to exist anyway. Doesn't mean it didn't hurt." The silence chills me. "I think the meat is done," I say, reaching for a piece. The meat is tender and flavorful, even without spices. The heat of the foods warms and satisfies me. Harlot eats hers slowly, savoring the taste. 

"You haven't told me your story yet. Why do they want you alive? Who are you?"

"It's a long story," Harlot replies.

"We have time. A lot of it. And I'm willing to listen."

"Well…" she begins, pausing to eat a little. "It began when I lived with my parents in Kineirion. When I was a Nkrm. When the world was normal."