Years Later
Scavenging for food on the edge of the hive is dangerous at the very best, suicidal if at the very worst. For me, it was an everyday chore that needed to be done. Food here was slightly easier to obtain here than in the city, mainly because few were stupid or desperate enough to even try. Sadly, I rank pretty high among the desperate ones. Being the youngest ‘street pest’ ever to survive alone carried much risk. Cannibalism was more often an occurrence than a simple mugging. Wading through the field of long rotten foods and waste, corpses were a common sight. If you were lucky, you could find a couple with some meat left on them.
Not today though, a couple apple cores, three rats and a bit of water was all I could scavenge for today. Nimbly traversing the sea of trash on the more stable islands, I safely made it back to the boundary with my meal in tow. My home, if it could be called that, was a small tarp-lined cave hidden inside a crack in the wall. Thanks to my size, I could fit through easily, but the older Changelings could not. Inside was a simple one room affair, with an old cloak for a bed, a pit for a fire as well as a pile of random things I’ve collected from the dump. My most prized possession was a blade, little more than a knife but easily a sword in my little hooves. It was a black, simple thing which I polished to a sheen every day. I see the same knife strapped onto every soldier I’ve seen so far.
Settling down with my food, I grab a piece of chalk and scratch a ‘|’ into the wall above my head, adding to the numerous other scratches. After finishing my less than satisfying meal, I only had one more place to go before I turn in for the day. Taking a bucket with me, I headed out once again.
(\^/)
The Changeling City was a mass of stone houses, clumsily carved into the low mountain’s face. If you weren’t already inside, all you could see was a huge conical spire, built with a glossy metal that reminded me of my prized knife. There was where all the wealthy changelings lived, which were a select few for the size of the structure. The lower elements were a maze of sandstone huts. They were fragile and let all the elements inside, either rain or cold air. I would give all of what little I had to live in one though. The tropical forests that encircled the city were engorged by the huge amounts of rainfall. My little hovel provided protection, but not merely enough to withstand a down pour.
Having made this trip for almost two years now, I had a firm map of the maze-like lay out of the lower elements firmly attached to my brain. Every twist and turn was committed to memory, as well as all the undesirables I was sure to meet. On the streets, it was kill or be killed. I was small and weak, barely a mouthful for the bigger street pests. If any were hungry enough though, I could end up on the menu. As well as the regular pests like me, you had the gangs, who sought survival the most violent way possible, and the disabled, changelings who fell from grace due to injury, age or financial ruin. These changelings knew next to nothing about survival, so most were left to die slowly, or quickly at the hooves of gangs.
After a while, I finally arrived at my stop. A square patrolled by guards like the centre of a maze. These bored, well-muscled changelings were the products of the unforgiving training regime that every recruit went through to become a soldier. What went in was a starving foal whose parents could no longer support, and thus sold it for temporary financial assistance. What came out after several years, was the pinnacle of physical shape. A merciless monster in navy blue armour. I knew not what happened to them in those years, but I was never eager to find out.
Their hooves beat the sandstone ground in a synchronised march around the central fountain. A simple stone well with a bubbling spring in the centre. It was the only source of water that I knew was completely clean. Drinking bad water was death wish here. We all knew how important water was for survival, yet whatever higher powers decided to put a hefty price on it. Six silver coins a bucket, if I had that much, I wouldn’t be where I am now, for a time at least.
All I had to do was wait for some civilian to come get some water, then I would dart in with my own bucket take some water and runaway as fast as I could. The civilian takes no punishment for it and I get a bucket of water, win-win. I did this every day of my life.
After a minute wait, I saw a small Changeling, smaller than me, in a brown robe approach the guards. It was a good head shorter than them, and carried bucket in its mouth. That told me it was either very young or very poor. Not as poor as me, but poor enough not to receive an education in magic. Weaving through should be easy.
I could see them now, the changeling reached into its cloak and withdrew six odd shards of silver that looked like they were pulled straight from the ground. The guards stopped their march to face the newcomer. One approached and took the silver shards, placing them in his armour. With that done, the guard nodded and motioned for the newcomer to advance with a shake of his spear. The changeling approached the well at an agonisingly slow pace, my muscles just itching to go.
Just when she reached down to scoop the clear liquid, I sprang into action. I galloped hard and fast, crossing the square in one second flat. The guards reeled in surprise, but quickly reached for their weapons, drawing swords and hefting spears, all towards me. The stranger dropped the bucket into the water as I approached, mouth agape in surprise.
As simple as that, I hoisted my bucket in the water and ran away.
Only, it wasn’t as simple as that.
(\^/)
Suddenly, a great pain lanced through my body. I collapsed just before I could retreat to the shadows of the adjoining alley. My precious water splashed across the sand, all that effort wasted. Looking back, I saw an ugly black stick tipped with feathers buried in my right back hoof, blood welling at the impact. A guard stood away from the rest, a bow held up by magic and a predatory smirk on his face.
Scrambling feebly back into the alley, the guards hot on my tail and my back leg out of action, I had little option left but to fly. I was a only a young nymph, so my wings were severely underdeveloped, but with will power, I managed to drag myself into the alley and down a sewer hole. The guards paused at the hole entrance, gazing in disgust at the torrent of sickly brown water down below. They knew that if my wound got infected down there, I was sure to die.
The torrent enveloped me instantly, a thick green-brown mess not worthy of the name liquid. It washed me down the rocky tunnels without concern as I was dashed against every single adjoining wall and odd jutting stone. All that was clear was repetitive lances of pain. I kept my mouth lest I swallow any of this foul liquid.
It seemed like it went on for hours, constantly tumbling and turning through the sewage. As confusing as the journey was, I knew where I was heading. It was a place I went to regularly after all.