The Forbidden Compass Trilogy: Book One- Caged
Chapter 3

Fenn

Fenn is the thief who can’t be caught. That’s at least what people call him. He doesn’t care about their awe or fear. All he wants is to make someone pay for the fire that destroyed his village and killed his mother. The only people he can think of are the king and his lords, the greedy men who do nothing as their people are killed, robbed, starved, and orphaned. He enjoys making them feel the sting of loss, so he takes the only thing he knows they really care about, their wealth.

His mother had been the village healer, but she had had a secret. She hadn’t been human; she’d been an elf. Fenn is half-elf; his father had been human. His mother had hid her ears with her hair and had always grown Fenn’s hair long enough to hid his slightly smaller ears. His mother had cured people of their illnesses and taught Fenn her art, how to heal with herbs and his gift. She had also taught him the art of archery, though even as he had aged, she beat him every time.

He had been out gathering herbs for their stores when he had seen smoke in the distance. He had run as fast as he could, but he had been too late. His village was the gone; the only remains were ashes and smoke. He had hunted down his mother, but he had barely recognized her when he finally found her. Her once golden hair was charred black, her body covered in burns, her clothes burned away. He had found her in the village street, under a stall; she had tried to escape but had found no way out. He had cried over her and yelled at the sky, vowing to take his vengeance. He had buried her in the forest she had loved, had planted morning glories and wild violets, her favorites, around her and an acorn over her heart, as was elfish custom. The legend was that the dead would live again as a tree, bringing life to the world in another way. He only wishes she was alive in the flesh.

He had left, bringing his bow and arrows and his fuel for revenge all the way to the lords, stealing what they loved as what he loved had been stolen from him. Now, he has set his sights on Lord Madrid’s castle. He moves through the trees’ branches, preferring to stay above ground.

Fenn climbs silently through the branches until he reaches Lord Madrid’s castle. He hides his bow and quiver in the branches of an oak before entering the city. Walls ten men high surround the castle while small houses and shops fill the land around behind a smaller wall. A large moat separates the city from the castle. Guards in shining armor stand around the wall, spears held in their hands. People in the town greet and trade with one another as he walks past. Lord Madrid’s flag, a red flag with two spears crossed over a bear, flies on every tower except one. It is built separate from the others, as if it was an afterthought, and the top room is made of wood. One small, narrow window looks out, and he thinks he sees a face in it before it disappears. He figures it was just a trick of the light and the tower is unimportant, maybe a trap for him, but he still wonders what the tower is for.

He knows Lord Madrid’s treasury will be in the center of the castle; all the lords’ castles are designed similarly. The drawbridge to the castle is open, allowing a procession of performers inside. He figures he can blend in and make his way to the treasury, hiding in plain sight. He can borrow one of their masks and get inside without being noticed.

He walks through the city, acting as if he belongs. He gets to the drawbridge just as the last performance wagon enters. He joins the procession, borrowing a mask from the wagon. He walks with the troupe, right past the guards in their flashy armor. The troupe files into the king’s banquet hall, laughter and feasting drifting out through the heavy doors. He quietly goes down a passage, removing the mask and, keeping his face lowered, acting like an ordinary servant.

He passes some guards patrolling the hall. Fenn keeps his gaze lowered, letting his bangs fall into his eyes. He hurries along, hoping they won’t harass him, but they don’t even notice when he shuffles past. He turns with the passage where a heavily locked door stands unguarded. He walks down it, careful not to make any noise. He figures the guards have abandoned their posts in favor of the feast in the banquet hall. Only makes my job easier.

Fenn pulls out a pick and goes to work on the locks, checking behind him every few minutes. Soon he has picked them all, and he lets himself in. The room is carefully stacked with gold, jewels, and silver. Fenn fills up the sack he had brought with and marks an F with a circle around it, his symbol, on the door. Now they’ll know I’ve paid them a visit.

He leaves the castle without any problems, leaving through a small door in the wall. He leaves it open as he ventures back into the serenity of the woods. Fenn likes to imagine the guards tracking him to the gate and then losing his trail in the forest. He buries the stolen goods at the foot of a tree. He only ever keeps a little of his profit, but he always hides what he doesn’t keep. He picks up his bow and quiver from where he left them in the oak then swings back into the trees and climbs through the forest.

Through the autumn leaves, he spies a flash of blue and white. Curious, he climbs closer, careful not to disturb any leaves. He looks and sees it’s a girl; short, maybe fourteen, but pretty, with a very light blonde braid with pieces of blue cloth woven in. Her clothes aren’t any style he’s ever seen. She wears blue leggings, a white wrapped skirt with shells sewn on in patterns, a blue, short-sleeved top, and a green sash. The fabric is too light for the regular, northern wools the people here wear; she’s definitely not a local. His gaze keeps falling on her eyes, which are a startling blue, maybe a hundred different shades that change like water. She is held captive by a young man, maybe twenty, with chin-length dark hair, gray eyes, a scar on his cheek, and a sword on his back. They are just standing there, and the girl doesn’t look very scared; furious, dangerous, but not scared. The look on her face sends chills rippling down Fenn’s spine. But she is a damsel, and she looks a little in distress. And Fenn likes helping people, especially if they are pretty girls.

He knocks an arrow in his bow and jumps down from the tree. He points it at the man’s head, right above the girl, who conveniently stands just below it. Neither say anything, just stare at him like he’s a human squirrel. They wouldn’t be that far off. He tries to sound as menacing as possible. “Let her go or I’ll shoot, and I don’t miss.” Neither moves an inch. Now that he’s getting a closer look, Fenn almost recognizes the man from somewhere. Maybe from one of his many expeditions.

They aren’t going to get anywhere standing around doing nothing. Fenn hates doing nothing. He decides to act. He looses his arrow, letting it slice through the air. The girl opens her mouth, Fenn thinks to scream, but sings a note instead. To Fenn’s astonishment, and clearly her captor’s, a bolt of water shoots through the air, hitting the arrow and knocking it out of the air. What in the world is she? Realizing it’s a trap, Fenn turns to run, only to see he’s surrounded by a group of large, heavily-armed men. He whips out an arrow and shoots it at one of the men, hitting him in the shoulder, causing him to stumble back. Fenn tries to bolt through the slight opening but another of the men closes him off. He jumps back as a man lunges for him. He searches frantically for an opening, but every way is blocked. Frustrated, he curses under his breath.

He hears the girl add sarcastically, “See, mer aren’t the only ones who curse.” He only has time to think mer? Before he quickly sends an arrow sinking into a man’s leg who had gotten too close. He tries to run again, but one of the men, who he assumes are bounty hunters, trips him with the handle of his spear.

Fenn hits the earth and lies stunned, trying to get air back into his lungs. He sees his bow next to him and reaches for it only to see a large hand pick it up. He flips onto his back and tries to leap up, but a heavy boot pushes him back down. He looks up and sees the ugliest face he’s ever seen, scars criss-crossing a cruel face with a sneer and ice-blue eyes. He has wolf eyes. The man attached to the face picks up the bow Fenn had made himself and brings it down on his knee, snapping it like a twig. A cry of sorrow fills the air and it takes him a moment to realize he had made it. He feels as if one of his own bones had been snapped.

“Look, boys! We caught the thief who couldn’t be caught!” He leans over Fenn and sneers. “Any last words while you’re still free?”

“You’re the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.” Fenn answers, smirking. The man growls and brings the handle of his battle axe down on Fenn’s head. The last things Fenn sees is the man’s horrifying face floating before his eyes before blackness blots out his vision. He manages to say, “Yup, still ugly,” before he loses consciousness.

Fenn wakes up to the sun in his eyes. He blinks away the darkness as everything comes back in a rush. He reaches for his bow only to remember he doesn’t have it anymore, and his quiver has disappeared too. He head pounds and with a thought he makes the pain go away. He looks around the cage; three black metal walls, a latticed roof and fourth wall, with a locked door. The floor is wooden with a small burnt patch revealing that underneath is the same metal. A closet-like space with a door stands in the corner. He walks to the cage door, digging his pick out, breathing a sigh of relief when he replaces it still there. He makes sure nobody is watching and then tries to fit his hand through a hole in the lattice. As soon as his hand comes in contact with the metal bars he recoils, spewing curses at the stinging pain.

“What is this stuff?” He yelps.

He’s startled when a voice answers. “I don’t know, but it’s supposed to be poisonous to everybody but humans.” He turns around to see the girl he had tried to save sitting on the floor, barely visible in the shadows.

“Who...Why...What are you doing in here?” He stutters out. Indignant, he adds, gesturing at the door. “And why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’m Irelle, and they keep me in here. And I figured it wouldn’t bother you.” She answers calmly, nonchalantly picking dirt out from underneath her fingernails.

“Why?”

“I thought you were human.”

“No, why do they keep you in here?”

“I’m mer. I lived with humans. Against the law, in more ways than one. Do I have to go into anymore detail?” She asks sarcastically. Thousands of questions spin around in his head. She seems to know what he is thinking and adds, sighing, “I guess I do. I know mer have tails; I do. I’m only half mer, making me against the law, no matter where I live. Got that through your thick skull? Or do you have any more pointless questions?”

“Why did you help him?” He asks, referring to the man who had held her captive.

She glares at him, daring him to judge her. “That was supposed to be your cue to stop asking questions. I helped him because he’s a little better than the rest, and I didn’t want blood stains all over my clothes. Do have any idea how long it took me to make these?” She lifts the hem of her skirt for emphasis. “Besides, you’re a thief so I don’t care if you get sent to prison. Is that a good enough explanation for you?”

Irritation sparks in him. “I only steal from the lords!” Fenn defends himself, sounding even to himself like a child.

She shakes her head, speaking as if she’s older than she is. “No, you don’t. When you steal from the lords, they tax the people to get back the money they lost. Then the people suffer and more people starve. So, in reality, you’re actually making things worse. Hate to burst your bubble.”

“How do you know?”

She sighs again and answers, “I lived with humans my entire life in a southern fishing village. Once, when the region’s lord’s tax collectors came, some of the people felt that Lord Argron was abusing his power, which he was. So they stole from him, but then he only taxed the village more. Ten people died that dry season from lack of food and fresh water, six of which were children under the age of ten, and one of which was my mother. Don’t repay evil with evil, didn’t your mother ever teach you that?” She eyes him with a mix of mockery and repugnance, wrinkling her nose as if even the idea of a thief soiled her space.

“Of course she did!” He snaps quickly, defending his mother’s honor as a child would.

Irelle smiles mockingly. “Well, you clearly care about her, so, honor her.” Fenn goes silent, hating to admit she’s right. Irelle sings for a little while, water appearing in her hands and forming butterflies that fly around or fish that swim through the air. He watches her with fascination. For such an unagreeable and unpleasant person, she definitely has an imagination.

“How do you do that?” He asks, the words leaving his mouth before he can stop them.

She glares at him, clearly annoyed at being interrupted. He almost regrets saying anything when she answers, the butterflies vanishing in puffs of mist. “The notes change the water into whatever I tell it to, it’s something mer can do. Our vocal cords are different or something. There’s water everywhere; in the air, in ice, in liquid form. Nothing really to it. So, what are you? The metal affects you.” She asks, staring him down with those terrifying blue eyes, daring him not to answer.

“I’m part elf?” He asks, not sure she’ll be satisfied.

She nods, touching her temple. “That explains why your cut went away. You were out for a about an hour.”

He touches his own temple, feeling no wound but blood crusted where it used to be. “Why didn’t you try to wake me?”

“I did. I splashed you with water, but you were out cold. After your cut disappeared, I figured you’d be fine.” She returns to her singing. Fenn notices the young man who had held Irelle captive the day before walking outside, keeping guard.

He looks around before saying, “Thanks, for yesterday.” Fenn figures he is talking about the arrow Fenn had shot into his skull, and that Irelle had neatly deflected.

Irelle shrugs, her voice trailing off, and the bird she had been making fly around the cage, and splatter in Fenn’s hair, disappears. “I didn’t want blood on my clothes.” She replies.

“That would be why you didn’t stab me with the fin in your back.” He says. “Unless it doesn’t exist?”

She glares, and a gray and black, spiked fin rises out of her back, making her even more fearsome looking. Fenn hadn’t been sure that was possible. “Believe me now?” She doesn’t wait for his answer, laying her fin back down and returns to singing, recreating her bird. Fenn dodges it when it flies too close, which makes Irelle smile evilly.

“You have a fin?” He asks, a safe distance away.

“Did you not see it or are you blind as well as daft?” She snaps, her bird vanishing as her song cuts off.

Not answering that, Fenn asks instead, “Who is he?”

“His name’s Omega, and he’s our guard. Don’t make him mad, he burns.” Fenn sees the hand-shaped burn on her forearm.

“He did that?”

She nods. “But I got him back. He has a scar now for his trouble.”

“Can I see it?” Fenn asks cautiously, worried she’ll make her bird release on him again, or worse. Her expression says she’s considering it, but she relents and sticks her arm out awkwardly. He touches the burn, which is red and flaming, sending some of the cool reserve that fills his body into her arm. He feels the burn disappear, once he’s sure it’s gone, he lets go.

“Thanks,” she mutters, and he can see it pains her to admit that she needed help. She studies it, making sure the burn is really gone. “How did you do that? I thought elves could only heal themselves.”

“Who’s asking pointless questions now?” She glares at him, and he gulps. “Um, actually elves can heal others but only small wounds like bruises and small cuts. That burn would have been too big for a regular elf, they maybe could have eased the pain. And a regular elf couldn’t have done it that fast; it would have taken a couple minutes. You’re not the only one who’s special.” She doesn’t comment, just snorts.

He feels a bit more at ease with her. That it’s less likely she’s going to drown him where he stands if he puts a finger wrong, and that it’s more likely she’ll just make her water bird do its business on him again. His hair is already wet, so he figures he can deal with her little friend. He moves a safe distance away from her and asks, “How old are you?”

She looks at him, clearly confused by his question, and answers, “Eighteen years.”

“Oh. I thought you were...younger.” Before he can react, he is on the ground with her kneeling over him, a sharp fin that had not been on her forearm before held against his throat. Guess that wasn’t a safe enough distance. And of course she has fins in her arms.

“Is it because I’m short?” She snarls.

Before Fenn can answer he hears a loud “Hey!” from outside. Irelle gets up and Fenn stays on the ground, rubbing his throat even though it doesn’t hurt and hoping that if he doesn’t make any sudden movements she’ll stay calm. Omega stands by the cage door, and Fenn feels safe to assume that he was the one who called off the beast. Irelle still stands over him threateningly. “No fighting. I don’t need anymore trouble with Alpha. He’s already angry that I didn’t stop you from singing.” Omega warns.

“I saved your sorry life. And it doesn’t matter if I hurt him, he can heal himself. He healed my arm, you know, the one you burned.” Irelle retorts angrily. Omega flinches just a little. Does he feel guilty?

Fenn sits up, eyeing Irelle warily. “Actually, I can’t heal death wounds.”

“But if I hurt you just a little bit, you wouldn’t feel anything and you could fix it, right?” The glint in her eyes makes him want to run far far away, but he’s not going anywhere.

“I can still feel pain.” He supplies.

“That only makes it better!” She exclaims. Fenn back away hurriedly. I’m stuck in a cage with a psychopath!

Omega speaks, “I don’t care if he can heal himself, don’t hurt each other. Alpha’s starting to think you need the collar.”

Irelle glares at him, and Fenn is worried she’ll try to jump at him. Instead, she sighs and snarls, “Fine!” before sitting back down in the shadows and singing again. Fenn stays far away, watching her every move like a rabbit watches a wolf and getting disturbed with the way she gets her anger out. He finally tires of her antics and lies back, watching clouds float by through the roof, free and not confined by the earth. The thief who couldn’t be caught has been, and his short reign is over.