My WIP

For anyone who’s interested, here’s chapter 1 of my WIP, Healer. It’s sort of long lol

I’ll tag some people just in case you want to read it: @freedomwriter76 @gwyndalf-the-wise @thearcaneaxiom @artsy-dragon @mineralizedwritings

Sorry if I forgot to tag anyone who was interested! I’m fairly sure I got most of you 😅

Chapter 1

I can still remember the day of my capture. The day of my impossible choice, that really wasn’t a choice at all- give away my secret, or live forever in captivity- which, to be honest, would probably happen either way. My silence was an answer of its own. But I never could tell if I had made the right decision. It seemed so clear then, but now everything was a blur. Could a secret’s value outweigh the value of my life? What if you didn’t know the answer to that secret, the one that was supposed to be yours? It made the situation incredibly difficult.

I’m standing in a small room with walls so white they almost blind me. As far as I can tell no cool air runs through this room. If it does, it must be broken, because I have to lie on the floor to get any cooler, and even that doesn’t really help. It’s a familiar place- I’ve been here for over a year now- but not a nice one. The door is locked from the outside, as usual, and no matter how long I pound on it, there is no response from the other side. I’ve stopped trying by now.

If there’s one thing I’m not, it’s bored. No, they’ll let me out soon enough, and I’ll be put to work. It’s much preferred to this heat, anyway. I’m not built for these temperatures. I should be running through snow on Lupus, not stuck on Lacertilia with these creatures. My ears prick as I hear tapping claws from outside. An unlikely visitor, or a grumpy soldier?

There’s a click from the door and it swings open, a large blue-scaled creature squeezing through the frame of the door. His yellow, slitted eyes land on me and he lets out a gurgling hiss that would normally make me want to run away, but this is different. His thick tail slithers in behind him, and his maw boasts two yellowish fangs. Dull blue spines run from his head to the tip of his tail. I hold my breath as the unmistakable odor of the Serpenree fills the room.

It’s a grumpy soldier.

As much as I fear the creature- though not this specific one- they have become normal for me by now. They are my captors, after all, from the planet Lacertilia. This one is the usual color, dark blue, but I have seen greens, yellows, browns, grays, and even a couple red. The worst of them by far is Dragor- twice the size of a normal Serpenree, with midnight black scales and scars criss-crossing his face. He is the king of Lacertilia, and has a special hatred for my kind.

“Get up, creature,” he hisses. One of his clawed hands gripped the long spears the Serpenree were fond of- intricately engraved poles and a diamond-shaped blade tip at the end. I jumped up from my position on the floor and gave him a defiant stare that I hoped hid any trace that I was kind of glad to see him. I could tell him apart from the other Serpenree easily with the scar under his left eye, not to mention the fact that compared to other Serpenree, he’s almost scrawny, though I would never tell him so.

The shackles around my wrists clanked as I repositioned my arms. “Quelin. Where are we going?”

Quelin snorts. “Wouldn’t you like to know? Move.”

With an exaggerated sigh I walk ahead of him, and he gives a little shake of his spear just to startle me. His growly laugh echoes down the hall as I almost jump.

If I ever get my hands on that spear…

It’s a ridiculous thought, really, and I let out a dry laugh. Quelin raises an eyebrow at me but doesn’t speak. With my hands shackled all the time, how could I even make that kind of attempt? Besides, there were too many Serpenree. From what I’ve seen, just one of the more skilled creatures could take out at least five of my kind’s best fighters at once. Even as the thought ran through my mind, I knew I could never hurt Quelin. He’s the closest thing I have to a friend in this place.

Quelin shoves me up against the right wall as a line of Serpenree pass us on the left. They pay me no mind, but the last one tries to trip me with his tail. I stomp on his tail instead, and he yowls, catching me across the arm with his spear. As blood trickles down my arm, I manage not to wince. With a hiss, the Serpenree marches after his group. Quelin growls and shoves me forward again, and we proceed down the long hall. My lips try to quiver into a smile. Not much exciting happens here, and when any conflict happens, it’s usually something I can’t do anything about. I hope the smug Serpenree’s tail is sore for a while.

Aside from my little stunt in the hall, I expect the day to be like any other on this miserable planet. That is, if you’re a ‘mutant’ prisoner like me. The Serpenree and my kind don’t get along very well. I’ve never really heard a reason why, but apparently it’s been this way for centuries. Unfortunately, the Serpenree are stronger and, surprisingly, faster, despite their large size. Their tail swings like a hammer behind them, batting away enemies like a flyswatter. I should know. I’ve seen it right before my eyes- the way they crush opponents with their massive tails, or run them through with their sharp spears. Worst of all, when they sink their yellowish teeth into their victim, and they collapse to the ground, poison rushing through their blood. It’s not a pretty sight, but I know I’ll be forced to see it again.

My job, at least on a normal day, is the same as most prisoners’. I clean, cook, polish- basically do whatever the Serpenree make me do. Their technique for teaching is a cruel but efficient one- the hunger teaches you. Get something wrong, and you starve for a couple days. That, or if you really mess up, something I’ve done more than a few times, you get lashes across the arms. Which, I figure, might be my punishment for disrespecting a serpenree. The tattoos on his scaly arm tell me he was a soldier. Not great luck for me, as they are some of the most highly regarded on Lacertilia- the better you do in battle, the higher your rank. Interestingly enough, I’ve never once seen Dragor charge into a fight, even though he seems to be close to invincible. If the serpenree notice, they don’t let on- either that or I’m too dull to tell. By how long I’ve spent in this place, I might as well be dumber than a Serpenree.

Though my normal task is the same as any other slave’s, I’ve been chosen for another role, one that I hate as much as anything in the world. During a battle, serpenree- though quick and powerful- have little regard for their own well-being. While this generally doesn’t get them killed, they pick up quite a few injuries. It’s my job to sit on the sidelines and be a kind of doctor to the soldiers. At first this seemed like the perfect opportunity- I could always “mess up” and get an important Serpenree general killed. But after my first attempt, I never tried again. Turns out the punishment for killing a Serpenree is usually death. Luckily for me, I’m one of the few doctors skilled enough to be on the spot beside a battlefield. The punishment was harsh, but at least I’m still alive. And while I do enjoy healing in itself, I always feel a strong sense of shame every time I help a Serpenree in that way.

As the hall opens up into a huge walkway, bustling with the lizard-like creatures, I spot a few Serpenree that stand out. Most Serpenree are always clad in heavy metal armor, but these ones are covered by black cloaks cinched together at the neck. Thinner armor lines the scales underneath. Though their hoods are down, they look large enough to completely mask their faces if they were to dawn them. As a rule, Serpenree are praised for strength and “courage”- arrogance if you ask me- but these Serpenree are quite different. Their eyes, unlike the yellow eyes of  most of their kind, are blue, and the sleeves of the robe are short to show off a phoenix feather in black ink on their upper arm. I know these as signs that they have magic- powerful magic supposedly granted by the Celestial Phoenix itself. I’ve seen them do crazy things- read minds, move things without touching them, and disappear in the blink of an eye. The Serpenree love them, but in my book, they’re creepy. No way is their magic from the creator of the planets. If it is, I don’t want anything to do with the Phoenix.

Quelin is looking especially grumpy this morning, which is saying something. His tail is smeared with blood- not his own, as there is no wound. I’m pretty good at figuring out this kind of thing. A few dents in his armor mean he probably got hit by some arrows, but they deflected, because there is no hole. That’s when I see it. A small, pinkish scar in the ocean of blue scales on his arm- right where his soldier tattoo should be.

I stare at him in shock. “You got demoted!”

He hits me in the back of the head with the dull end of the spear. “You don’t have room to talk. You’re the lowest rank you can be.”

I put my hands on my hips, which is difficult with the chain connecting them. “I can’t exactly get promoted, now can I? Or demoted, for that matter.”

Quelin seems to ignore me. “Battle today,” he grunts. “Better be ready.”

I scowl. “I guess I have to be.” I try to make eye contact with him, and he glares at me. “If you’re not a soldier, then what are you now?”

The dragon’s eye tattoo, the one taken from Quelin’s arm, means you’re a soldier. The next mark down, a Serpenree fang, is less specific. It could mean anything from a blacksmith to a noble, with even the nobles ranked lower than soldiers. They were seen as lazy, sitting in the palace all day while the soldiers did all the “noble” work. I doubt Quelin is a noble now, but I can’t picture him as a blacksmith, either, so he must be something else in between.

Quelin muttered something under his breath. “What’s it matter to you?” Then, a little quieter, “But if you must know, I’m assigned to guard you now.” He hisses with amusement at the surprised look on my face. “Don’t get too excited. You won’t be able to try anything.”

I shrug. “Not like I could anyway.”

As much as I hate the Serpenree- they imprisoned me and took me away from my family, after all- I can’t help but begin to enjoy Quelin’s company. At this point, he knows me better than anyone, and he’s the only face I’ve been able to look forward to seeing. Our relationship is an odd one, but what isn’t on a planet like Lacertilia? I think, or at least hope, that somewhere underneath all the growls and grunts he has grown to like me a little, too.

Unfortunately, any friendly thought towards me was probably outmatched by his hate for my kind. But I couldn’t control how I was born. Besides, just because I’m a halfling doesn’t mean I have to follow after the ways of my kind. The halflings- a people born from the creatures of two different planets, whatever they may be- are known in general to be rebels and thieves. And yes, over ninety percent of them are like that, but that doesn’t mean all of us are. I’d like to think I’m part of that small nine or ten percent.

What makes even less sense is that we’re classified as the same kind- there’s not a different name for Serpenree-Vulcari, or the Felisaro-Lupinari. Then again, that many names would be too much for me to remember, or probably anyone else. I glance down at the gloves covering my hands and wish I could tear them to shreds and escape this place. As an Arcanin-Lupinari hybrid, I am similar to a wolf. Like the Serpenree, I stand upright on two legs. Otherwise, I have sleek gray fur, claws, sharp teeth, wolfish eyes, pointed ears, and even a tail. Thankfully, I have a wolf’s stamina as well, or I could already be dead by now. As an Arcanin, I should have some sort of magic, but I haven’t seen it at work so far. The only visible sign is the star-shaped patch of white fur on my forehead, and the backs of my ears. Otherwise I look exactly like any other Lupinari, so “halfling” isn’t that accurate. Arcanin are bear-like, white, brown, black, or red, depending on where they live, and they have powerful magic. That’s the secret the Serpenree want from me- they want to know my power. How am I to tell them if I have no idea?

They say each Arcanin has one gift, unlike the magical Serpenree, who have some small ability in a few different types of magic. There have been Arcanin with mind reading, the ability to move things with their mind, super-strength, incredible speed, impossible wisdom, shape-shifting, and other gifts. I’ve always wondered why they don’t just take over all the planets; it would be a small task for the bears. I got my answer one day from Quelin- their kingdom is divided, and they like to keep to themselves. They only retaliate if someone attacks first, which, luckily, no one has been dumb enough to try so far. The Serpenree say I’m a little stronger than the average Lupinari, and that my fur is thicker, so I suppose that’s what I get from my father, a white Arcanin bear. How he met my mother I have no idea.

My arm burns where the spear slit my skin, and the fur around it is matted with blood. Quelin leads me down the walkway, past a few other prisoners and swarms of Serpenree, and down another hall, until finally we reach a room I know very well. Quelin unlocks the shackles on my hands and I twist my wrists around, feeling free. I grab up the satchel on the shelf at the back of the room and sling it over my shoulder. I can’t help but grin at the opportunity to be outside, even if it means healing a bunch of stinking serpenree.

Quelin raises a scaly brow at my expression. “I can’t tell if you’re trying to be excited or menacing.”

I run my tongue over my teeth. “Not my fault my teeth are so sharp. Besides, I bet you Serpenree would have weird grins too, if you ever actually smiled.”

Quelin shrugs. “There’s time to play when you are young. We smile then, but the fangs aren’t fully grown in. It’s uncomfortable to smile with fangs.” He nods towards the door, and straightens. “Come on, prisoner. You have a job to do.”

The stubborn Serpenree is always like this. Can’t stay unprofessional for too long, or he’ll be looked down on. I don’t blame him. Being demoted probably damaged his pride, and he’s trying to build it back up. For some inexplicable reasons, I feel compelled to help.

Don’t be foolish, Rina, I scold myself. How can you feel sorry for a Serpenree, even if it is Quelin? He’s always hated you, or at least pretended to. Why help him now?

Still, I feel sorry for him. I’m surprised this kind of feeling is left in me, but it’s still there, annoyingly prodding me to do something for this Serpenree.

I look back over my shoulder. “Sorry about your rank.”

Too forced.

Quelin eyes me warily. “As am I,” he says with a cough. Then, “I guess I’m stuck watching your Lupinari tail for the rest of my life. Unless I become a soldier again, which I will.”

“Lupinari,” I say. “That’s an improvement over ‘mutant’ and ‘creature.’”

He snorts. “Don’t get used to it, halfling. Your race is still evil, and good for nothing but to serve the intelligent races.”

“Intelligent races,” I repeat. “Well, we’re born from two of them, so I guess we must be smarter than you Serpenree.”

Quelin growls. “It appears you are too dumb to figure out how being a halfling works.” He pokes my arm sharply in the wound, and I let out an involuntary whine. “You do what you’re told. That’s why you exist. And I am to watch you, to make sure you don’t ruin everything, as halflings often do. To the battlefield, mutant.”

Now you’ve done it, Rina. Pull yourself together.

I walk quickly out of the room and down the hall with Quelin until we meet the door that takes us outside. For most prisoners, it’s a punishment to be put out in the wind of the plains without a thick cloak, but my fur serves me perfectly well. The Lupinari planet- Lupus- is in a constant winter, and this is nothing compared to it. I know that the Felisaro have fur as well, but live on a hot desert planet, Leor, which means a Felisaro halfling would be miserable in this place. The Falcor are covered in all forms of feathers, depending on which you met, meaning a Falcor-Lupinari halfling would most likely be immune to some kinds of weather. I’ve seen a Falcor halfling up close only once, and his feathers were white and fluffy like an owl’s. I briefly wonder what a Falcor would do in case of the supposedly toxic rain of Arcania. No one has gone there, but the Serpenree are supposedly immune to the otherworldly rain. Here, though, rain and wind are almost constant, and on a sunny day the Serpenree are even grumpier, as their scales are stiff and dry.

These thoughts send me thinking about what Quelin calls the “intelligent races.” As far as we all know, there are five- the Serpenree, the Lupinari, the Felisaro, the Arcanin, and the Falcor- a group of bird-like creatures. I’ve never been to the planets other than the Lupinari planet, Lupus, and Lacertilia, but I’ve heard stories. The Felisaro planet, Leor, is covered in something called sand instead of grass or snow, and is the exact opposite of Lupus- hot sun all the time. I don’t think it sounds like a great place to live, but I guess they like it. The Falcor live on one of the more diverse planets- a sunny planet called Aavian that will occasionally get rain or snow, though snow is rare. For Arcania, it has mostly remained a mystery, though we know some about their weather from what we can see from outside the planet. This seems like a bit of a contradiction, since you mentioned acid rain on Arcania above.

For Lacertilia, the tastes of the Serpenree are simple. Blues, greens, yellows, grays, browns- the duller colors of the Serpenree scales, make up every building and structure I’ve seen. Most of the ground in the cities is covered with metal and stone, with hardly a patch of grass, although there are potted plants set outside of buildings, like trees and bushes that can easily survive the windy, rainy weather. The grass is reserved for the large battleplains separating the cities in sectors, which in turn are reserved for battles. The Serpenree are set in their way that if their enemies want war, all important battles should happen on Lacertilia soil. After all, in their minds, the opponent- whoever they may be- is going to lose anyway. Who can match the all-powerful Serpenree, especially under the leadership of Dragor?

The weather outside is similar to a hurricane. The wind nearly knocks me over, but the rain stays on my outer layer of fur. Quelin, as usual, isn’t fazed, and I try to position myself so that his body blocks most of the wind. Fortunately, he ignores me besides a quick glance to make sure I’m not going anywhere. I can see the plain in the distance, and my tail droops. The enemy the serpenree are facing- it’s the Lupinari. My people. Sure, the Arcanin are technically my kind, too, but as far as I’m concerned, I belong to the Lupinari. Not that they see it that way. Even though I’ve hidden from them that I’m a halfling, they see me as a traitor, not a prisoner.

Quelin seems to notice my uneasiness. After a moment, he turns me around by the shoulder and sighs. “You get one run. One. From here to your post.”

My tail wags a little, but I cock my head at him as he unlocks the manacles around my wrists. “Won’t another Serpenree see me? They’ll think I’m trying to escape, won’t they?”

He shrugs. “Eh, they’ll be too focused on the fight to run off after a single small Lupinari like you. Besides, if they do, you can use that magic you never talk about.”

I want to argue that I don’t know anything to talk about, but it won’t get me anywhere. As a smile creeps across my face, I drop down on all fours, lean back, and get ready to run, flexing my claws in anticipation. I know from experience that the lower I am to the ground, the less the wind will slow me down. Now the wind is blowing against my side; it’s not head on, so I should be able to get some real speed. Quelin sure knows how to bribe a Lupinari, but I don’t care. Prisoners don’t just get to run like this, but I know he expects my best work on the field if he allows it. I loop my satchel around a few times so that it rests tightly on my back.

“One more thing, Rina,” Quelin says, just before I leap into a run. I look back over my shoulder, my tail still wagging uncontrollably. “If you try to escape, I will personally hunt you down.” I flash him a toothy grin, turn around, and set my paws on the stone, pushing back against the ground as I start to run.

Quelin lets out a soft hiss of laughter from behind me while I take off down the slope, paws scrabbling on the stone. The field will come soon, and I build my momentum going down the hill. The stone switches to soft grass halfway down, and my claws grip the dirt, giving me more speed. My tongue lolls out the corner of my mouth while I run, my legs moving faster than I’ve moved in almost a year. I resolve to thank Quelin later, but for now, I just focus on the run. The smell of rain and damp grass fill my nose, while my ears pick up the howls of Lupinari. Instinctively, I join them, lifting my snout to the air and letting out a long howl of my own. It’s pointless, I know, but it makes me feel like I belong with them.

When I finally reach my post, I have to dig my claws into the ground to stop. A few Serpenree glower at me, and I hear more than one mutter, “dumb halfling.” I don’t really care what they think. I stand, shake out my fur, and, as an afterthought, raise the hood on my light cloak to hide the white stars on my forehead and ears. I hope no Lupinari saw before I did, but they were probably too far away to tell. Quelin is just reaching the bottom of the hill, about a mile away, but I can feel his eyes on me. He really would hunt me down, I’m sure. His loyalty is with Dragor, not me. I’ve done nothing to make him loyal, so I guess it’s fair, but neither has Dragor.

As Quelin makes his way to my post, I enter the large tent that serves as my post. Leaning against one of the beds for future patients, I flex my claws restlessly. Not only will I have to treat the Serpenree in the tent, I’ll have to go out and help them to the tent if they’re too injured to walk on their own. At less than half the size of a full-grown Serpenree, the idea isn’t thrilling to me. I’m rooting through my satchel when Quelin enters the tent, barking a laugh- probably at some overrated joke from a soldier. While he isn’t smiling, he’s definitely lighter than usual. A good sign. Means the soldiers didn’t give him a hard time about his rank.

“Hour ‘til the sun’s peak,” he tells me, sitting on the ground along the tent wall, only four or five feet away. “Then the battle starts. Make yourself comfortable.”  I nod and return to my satchel, pulling out a few pouches, tied tightly at the top. The labels are in the written language in the Serpenree, which I can’t read, but I have them easily memorized by smell. Being a Lupinari has its advantages. After a moment, Quelin positions himself at the opening and begins to snore, and I repack the satchel and use it as a pillow.

After a few minutes of trying to get comfortable, I stand and peek out the opening to the tent. The Serpenree and Lupinari have taken their sides- the Lupinari in orderly ranks and the Serpenree standing wherever they please. They don’t specialize in order, but they don’t need to. I know as well as any that they will almost definitely win this fight.

These are the thoughts running through my mind as I wait for the chaos to begin. I’m restless for reasons I don’t know. After all, this is just another battle.

Isn’t it?