Rain, it hammers down my back. Heavy shackles slow me a I walk in the mud.I’m not alone. Maybe forty others walk with me. We are all where shackles on our wrist and ankles. There’s a long chain locking us together. They are all from different races. We were all unfortunate to be spotted by an elven patrol. Now we were heading for the same fate, slavery. We would of been more lucky if it was a Vampire patrol. As ironic as it seems, they are more humane. It still doesn’t change the fact they are allies with the humans. My entire race wishes they were dead. Than again, my race is separated into two groups. There’s the light-folk, and then there’s the fallen. I’m one of the fallen. My black wings make that very clear. My kind isn’t accepted among any race really. The orcs are fairly debatable. The imps, they are just the imps. They hate everyone. Every now and then you do find a decent kind Imp.
“Hey! You!” I turn my head to see the line stop suddenly. What happened?
A elven guard throws an Fallen to the ground. I can hear a crack from where I am, which isn;t far. Maybe about five people between. It was a male fallen. Fellow slaves whisper down that the fallen had tripped. “What do you think your doing?” The guard adds. Elves are out for blood. I still don’t understand how their ears can be so long. They are often the length of their heads. Elves are often very tall. The females tend to be taller, reaching seven feet tall.
“I’m sorry” The fallen says. He sits on his knees now. His black hair falling into his face as his head points downwards. It’s impossible to make out his eyes. But my sharp eye sight tell me, they are probably grey. My common knowledge actually tells me that. It’s common for my kind to have black hair with grey eyes. Although, that’s not always true. For example, I have brown hair with eyes to match it.
“I’m sorry” The guard mocks in a high-pitched voice. He knees the fallen in the stomach. The elf takes a dagger and holds the fallen’s head up. The lf carefully places the blade on his neck. I swallow hard, elves hate my kind. They especially hate the fallen. The fallen are more complicated than the light-folk. We all came from the light-folk. One of them rebelled, not liking how the high council ignored problems like these, slavery. They casted him out and he had one follower in which they became partners. Centuries later here we are.
We are often thought as evil. Yes, some of us very well are. But that’s because it’s in our blood to not settle down. If we feel something is wrong, we want it to stop. That isn’t always a good thing. Sometimes it can be like cancer, a thought comes into your head and it takes over. It’s spreading and soon, you follow that thought. Like now, I know it's not rational to act out and help that fallen. But I want to. If I’m not careful, it could control me and cause my doom. I’m okay about controlling myself, but sometimes it’s too much. It’s like an instinct. You can’t just ignore it at times.
I feel the emotion shift. Every jumps and looks away. I am pulled out of my thoughts. The guard killed him. My chest feels heavy and it feels hard to breathe. Despite differences in the fallen, we consider everyone family. When we see one of us die, it’s like we lost our sibling. It’s not something you can forget. Can you imagine seeing your brother or sister dying in front of you? Without caring? I hope not.
The line continues, and I start to follow. My patience level isn’t the best, I hope we get there soon, despite the location. I just want to get out of the rain and mud. The clay like mud coats my legs, all the way up to the knee. Some is splattered above it from the others in front of me. What makes it worse, my kind often doesn’t wear shoes. All I’m wearing now are shorts and a grey t-shirt. Of course the other stuff, but no shoes.
I look up to see that we are entering a wooden barn-like building. I hadn’t noticed before, I was on autopilot. That’s something I tend to do often, space out and subconsciously follow whatever path I need to. I don’t know if that’s common among my kind or not. Sometimes when I space out it can get dangerous, like when I take flight. Other times it doesn’t matter, it just comes with boredom.
Once we walk into the wooden barn, I see the human slave masters. My blood runs still, I struggle to breath. They take each slave and throw them into a cell, not gently either. Soon it’s not long a cell becomes my new home. I look up at the man while he unhooks me from the group chain. He definitely isn’t pretty. His face is rugged and had a black leather jacket. He’s jeans are baggy, like his dirty blonde hair. His eyes sum up his character, those dark green eyes that say so much. “What are you doin’? Get in there!” He tosses me as hard as he can. I’m lucky to not land on my wing. The door of bars is slammed, closing me in for the night. The next day, humans, vampires, and elves will travel here to buy someone. I hope it isn’t me.
***
My eyes open to the sun shining through a barn window. It’s somewhat passed sunrise. The slave owners will be here soon. My eyes fall onto a small silver bowl, like the bowl you would give your dog. Inside is one single biscuit. This might be the best food i’ll have, depending on who my master will be. Sometimes it’s dependent on the race, others the rank. Then there’s times your just plain lucky. Most of the time it’s just random, you get a nice one or a mean one. Simple is that.
More sun is let in as the slave masters open the door. There’s a huge crown coming, either to buy or watch. Sometimes they come like it’s a zoo. Races like the humans and elves bring their kids here to see other races. Schools sometimes take trips here. At least that’s what I heard from my flock. I know very little about this lifestyle. All I know is that the slave masters are those who capture us and own places like this. I hear this is one of the biggest jobs, but it’s hard and dangerous. Not many want to risk their lives thousands of times, just to be killed by seraphs or even imps. My kind is thought to be aggressive and dangerous because of that. It’s highly dependent on the flock. Some flocks love war and bloodshed. Others like mine, would rather choose defense. A flock is like a tribe, or clan. They are essentially just a group of seraphs. Flock leaders are chosen at birth. They are other eggs are chosen and trained. When your 18, you can choose that leadership isn’t for you. That’s what I did. I didn’t like conflict or confronting people. I decided to train to be a medic. That’s what I been doing these past three years. This past year I finished and went to collect herbs or trade for them. That’s how I got caught. The other fallen probably was doing the same.
My kind is confusing, we fight yet we can’t stand to see each other die. But like I said before, depends on the flock. My flock and I were raised to treat anyone like family, even if they were from a enemy flock. My flock has an idea of unity. We wish our kind would be as close as the humans. They think then we can became more advance and have our own kingdom. Then the humans won’t bother us. It’s a stretch, but I can see how it can work. To the humans, being not together in small groups is weakness.
Footsteps approach in front of me cell. I look up to see two people, A girl my age and her father. She has long red hair with green eyes. Her father shares her features. He is muscular built while his daughter is built tall and skinny. The man has a sharp jawline and a round face. The daughter shares his round face, but lacks the jawline. They both are wearing clothes that suggest they are slaves themselves. They have dirty brown clothes. Another joins them, the slave master from before. He looks to them and instructs them to get the keys. Is he buying me?
“Get up” The slave master says to me. I hide my sigh and get up. The girl walks over with the keys and unlocks the cage. I nod in thanks to her, then get a glare from the slave master. This almost reminds me of the time I had fallen. Not all angels are born as fallen, I wasn’t. I was one of the few that wasn’t from my flock that actually fell. Then somehow they wanted to train me as leadership. I still remember it clearly, I was only maybe 14. It happened so fast.
I feel the rush of the wind beneath me. The wind constantly pushing against my white wings. They soon will no longer be white, but black. I see my old friend looking at me with hatred. It hurts. I only spoke my opinion, and this is what I get. I turn my body to watch the ground come. I hear not all survive. Will I?
I remember how painful it was. Thinking about it almost makes my body hurt. I see my new master call me out. I follow, and I hate it. We walk outside to the barn. Now that it’s not pouring down rain, I can actually see what this part of the world looks like. It’s wide open and ironically beautiful. Large oak trails line the trails with grey moss hanging from them. Bright green grass covered every inch on soil. On the trail where the carriage is, there is a long trail of gravel. Behind some of the trees, there is deer watching us. I haven’t been here before. I was casted into what's called the Frost Ridge. It’s almost uninhabitable. But wolves, foxes, and elk still thrive. There would be large pine trees everywhere. And whenever the snow would melt, dark lush grass would emerge. The fox’s pelted would turn orange, it was beautiful. Seeing something lacking of color transform into a rainbow, wonderful. Here, it’s almost as beautiful, if not more. It’s more green and summer-like. Makes me miss home. I wonder if it ever snows here.
I board the back of the carriage. Holding on will be hard, my wings threaten to push me off. Too bad i’m chained to it. I’ll just be dragged around like a rag doll. The carriage takes off. I feel myself get nervous. How far will this place be? What is this man like? Why did he take me? I hope I will find out.
We reach a small cabin, a rest stop as the slave master says. He unchains us and then locks us in a small shed. There’s no windows or lights. The girl finds a lantern and lights it. I look around to see it really is cramped. It could fit two horses. That may seem like a lot, but I have large wings.
There’s a knock on the barn dooor. We all look in surprise. “Hello?” The girl says. Her voice is smooth and soft, but hesitant. There’s no response. We do hear something fall to the ground. The slave master opens the door and drags in someone with wings. “Guess we have another one of you” she says, referring to me.
“Tis’ one of your friends?” The slave master says with an dangerous tone. I look at the body. I fall silent. It can’t be her. The last I seen her was when I fell. My friend from one I was a light-folk, before I lost my powers. She looked at me with hatred and now she’s here?
“Yes- and no” I say hesitantly. The man just shakes his head and drops her. We walks out. The barn is still and silent. We wait for each other to speak. I just look at her. Her wings have a soft gold glow to them, like mine once did. It is a sign of being related to an archangel. I watch as she starts to stir. She then wakes up and turns to look at me.
“Jasiel?”
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