The Forbidden Compass Trilogy: Book One- Caged

Mahna

Mahna sits and stares out the window of her wooden tower. The window is too small to fit even her head through, to discourage her from jumping. All she can see is the sky and the tops of a few tall trees; the window was made so she can’t see the town below. Sometimes, Mahna will stick her hand out to feel the wind and imagine she can break free and fly away.

She has a large feather bed with a mountain of pillows. A small table stands in the corner with a wooden chair. The remains of her breakfast is on the table for when the servants come to take it away. A room of books is her entertainment; Mahna thinks she has memorized every book, she could recite them in her sleep. A giant wardrobe for her clothes stands by her bed, all the latest styles gone to waste. She knows she’s considered lucky, never having to work a day in her life, but she’d give it all away to be able to feel grass under her feet again!

She hates wearing pretty things, being beautiful has only brought her pain. She wishes she could be just plain and homely, nothing worth seeing. She does everything she can not to look beautiful. She stays away from cosmetics, wears her simplest, dullest dresses, and only wear her hair in a braid or simple bun. She has even tried leaving her hair uncombed and rubbing dirt on her face, but when she had looked in the full-length mirror, she had still been beautiful.

There are no sharp objects in her quarters, the only source of heat the winter clothes and blankets they give her. Anything that could be dangerous or used to escape was taken away. Even the forks she uses are wooden, dull, and taken with her food. She had given up any chance of escape long ago. The only way out of her tower is when she marries whoever her uncle tells her too, and even that will be a life of imprisonment. Everything she has is made of wood, no stone or metal for the lord’s pretty niece, and she has never been told why.

There’s a knock on the door, and Mahna answers, “Come in!” Though she doesn’t know why they knock; they can come in anyway. The door opens, and a maid, Verna, comes in. Verna is plain, with dull brown hair and small, hazel eyes. Mahna wishes she could look like her.

Verna goes to the wardrobe and opens it, pulling out a gold silk dress with a bodice that Mahna knows will be far too low. It is heavily decorated with lace, pearls, and embroidery, with short, puffed sleeves. Mahna calls to Verna as she pulls out a pearl necklace, “I’m already dressed, Verna.”

“I know, Lady, but Lord Madrid says he wants you prettied up and brought downstairs; he has guests.” Verna answers as she sets out earrings to match the pretty collar disguised as a necklace. He wants me in the castle? These guests must be important...or he’s drunk. He stomach turns at the thought. Mahna hates being called “Lady.” She had asked Verna not to once, but she had said, with rabbit eyes, that the matron wouldn’t approve.

Mahna’s stomach turns again at the thought of meeting her uncle’s guests. “I won’t go.” She says.

“But, Lady, your uncle won’t be happy with you if you disobey him.” Verna looks worried, her small eyes wide.

Mahna’s stomach turns harder as she thinks of her uncle. Her bravery gone, she relents, “But not something so fancy.”

“I’m sorry, Lady, he requested you wear this one.”

“Of course he did.” She mumbles.

“What was that, Lady?” Verna asks.

“Nothing, Verna.” Mahna answers.

She allows Verna to help her dress. After they finish struggling through the tight corset and golden gown, Verna sits her down in front of her vanity, which Mahna never uses if she can help it. Verna undoes Mahna’s purposely messy braid and brushes out her glossy brown hair that falls to her waist. Verna curls it and pins it up with pearls. Then she sprays Mahna with perfumes that make her nearly gag. The offending necklace is placed at her throat, and the earring are attached, weighing her down even more, keeping her grounded. Mahna feels like she’s about to faint between the corset laces and pungent perfumes. Maybe she can do it on the stairs and fall down as non elegantly as possible, maybe even getting a few bruises to mottle her beauty.

Mahna looks in the mirror and nearly cries. She has never been this beautiful, and she hates it. Her deep brown eyes stare back at her, twinkling with unshed tears, her complexion perfect, her lips full, her body curved and slim. She hates her body, her face, her perfection. All she wants is to be plain, to be free, but her beauty keeps her prisoner. Verna hovers behind her and says in a voice filled with awe, “You look beautiful, Lady.”

Mahna whispers, “But I don’t want to be beautiful.”

Verna gives her a confused look, “Of course you do; I wish I could look like you.”

Mahna shakes her head, “No you don’t, Verna, you don’t.” Verna gives her an even more perplexed look. Mahna is saved from explaining by the matron entering.

“Come, Lady, you don’t want to keep Lord Madrid and his guests waiting.” The pale, thin woman tuts, gesturing for Mahna to follow her.

“Of course.” Mahna follows her out and down the winding steps, her wooden rooms giving way to a tower of solid stone. She’d definitely get bruises if she fell down these steps. The matron leads her down a windowed hall. Mahna has never seen so many windows in one place. Maybe she had as a child, but she doesn’t remember. She sees a large garden with a tall stone wall beyond. She wonders what is beyond the wall. Before she can even consider asking, they enter a large, high-ceilinged room, giant, carved, double doors revealing a long banquet table filled with extravagantly dressed men and women. Her uncle sits at the head of the table, wearing the thin gold band of a lord, his studded with jasper for Korom. A brightly-colored and masked acrobatic troupe flips in the background, and musicians play a melody. Most of the men already look drunk. Mahna feels disgust roll through her. One man notices her; he is muscular, has an arrogant look about him, and he watches with her a hungry look. Mahna dislikes him already.

Her uncle notices her and stands up, announcing with a bright smile, “May I introduce my beautiful niece, Lady Mahna!” Everyone turns to look at her as one, and Mahna feels like a doe cornered by a pack of wolves. The men all look at her with awe and hunger while the women watch with bright green envy as she strides painfully graceful down the seemingly forever walk to her uncle’s side. I don’t want to be here anymore than you want me too. She silently tells the women watching her with murderous glares.

Her uncle gestures for her to sit by him, across from the man she noticed when she entered. She sits, wary because her uncle seems unusually happy, smiling and joking with his guests as opposed to how he’s usually stiff and angry.

“Mahna, may I introduce the heir to the throne of Megnia, Prince Garmond.” Her uncle beams. His name’s as ugly as he is. Mahna thinks as she smiles at him; the heir’s presence would explain he uncle’s strange behavior. She notices the gold crown studded with diamonds of the Royal House for the first time. He is handsome by most standards, with curly dark hair and blue eyes, but he is too muscular and full of himself for her tastes, like most men she’s met.

He smiles at her and says, “You’re beauty precedes you, Lady Mahna.”

“So I’ve heard.” She answers, grimacing slightly.

“I’ve heard rumors of your unexplainable beauty, but I had to see you for myself. And you are much more beautiful than the rumors claim you to be.” He smiles at her more, showing his bright white teeth, some slightly crooked.

“Thank you, you are too kind.” She says politely, looking down at her lap.

Garmond continues, taking her blushed cheeks as bashfulness. “I’ve asked your uncle for your hand, and he has given his consent. What do you say?”

Her head whips up, startled. Refusal is ready on her tongue, but the look her uncle gives her says she has no choice in the matter, no choice in the course of her life, no freedom. That word is only a dream to her, and this is only just another reminder of that. She gulps. “I would be honored.” She nearly chokes on the words.

Garmond is either ignorant or in denial of her hesitation because he grins wider. “Excellent! We will be married in two months’ time, to give you time for preparation.” Mahna’s heart sinks farther at his words. Two months? Normally courtship lasted a year and betrothal another before marriage. He was the prince, so he was above those rules. He could do whatever he wanted. If only I could say the same.

The music changes, slowing down. Couples join hands and start to dance on the floor quickly cleared by invisible servants. Garmond smiles at her, holding out his hand. “Would you honor me with a dance, my lady?” I’m not your lady. Though that’s not really true, but she likes the thought of it. Mahna nods, placing her hand gently in his. Her mind spins with her feet. She is betrothed! It has all happened so fast. Soon she will be someone’s wife, any chances of freedom ripped away from her in one swift movement. Most people would be overjoyed to be engaged, but this isn’t real. There’s no love, no romance, nothing like all the tales Mahna reads and only can dream are her life.

She sees Garmond lean closer, and instinctively, she steps away. He grabs her roughly near. Fear pulses through her, her heart hammering in her chest. She gasps as the once solid stone floor rises in a spike between them, throwing the prince away. Instinctively, she turns to run.

Men and guards reach for her, the ladies screeching in terror, but whenever anyone gets too close the stone floor rises up to stop them. Mahna doesn’t know what is happening, but she knows, somehow, she’s the cause. And that she’s been given a chance at freedom. Freedom!Is it possible?Might as well try, things can’t get any worse than they already are.

Her slippers and flashy gown are getting in her way. She trips slightly as a guard grabs her skirt. She shrieks and tries to yank it out of his hands. I can’t lose it now, not when freedom is so close! A spire of stone rises up, spearing the guard through the chest and tearing her skirt. Blood spills onto the floor, dribbling down the spear of stone. She stares, hand over her mouth as she stands frozen in shock. I just killed someone! She hears her uncle shout, breaking her from her trance.

“Mahna, get back here, you ungrateful wretch!” Mahna ignores him and keeps running, images of dead men speared through by stone burning behind her eyes.

She feels someone grab her wrist, yanking her back. She’s spun around to see the prince, her betrothed. He sneers at her, “You will marry me, you witch! I don’t care what you are, I will lock you in a wooden tower if I have to!” He pulls her closer until their face to face. “I always get what I want.”

Mahna feels the stone calling her. Fear and desperation grip her as the stone floor rises up around his legs. His grip on her wrist loosens. and she pulls free. Feeling brave, she smiles sweetly and says, “Not this time, prince. And they already tried locking me in a tower.” She gives him a mock curtsy then turns and runs. She runs to the servants’ floor, knowing that all the servants will be busy in the kitchen or banquet hall, and she really needs to change out of this horrid outfit.

She runs into what she hopes is the servant’s quarters, her muscles burning from the exertion and lack of oxygen. Based on the dresses hanging on pegs, it’s a female quarters. She struggles out of the gown, the corset laces slipping through her sweaty and trembling fingers. She pulls it off, feeling her chest expand with air. She pulls on a white, long-sleeved petticoat, a brown skirt, a black over-corset, and brown leather boots. She quickly shakes out the pins in her hair, hoping to be able to pass as a servant until she makes good her escape. She hides her gown and other things under one of the neat and simple cots and slips out of the room.

Mahna follows the hall until she finds a door that leads to the garden. She can hear the chaos inside as she walks into the neatly cared for garden. She’s following a path when she finds a small door in the wall. It’s open and a performer’s mask lies in the center of the path. Not stopping to wonder why, she walks out, closing it behind her. She walks through the forest outside, trying to keep hidden and not leave any tracks. In reality, despite her best efforts, she stumbles along blindly.

She is walking, exhausted, and the sun nearly set, when she hears the sound of a branch snapping. She jumps in surprise. Have they found me already? It’s only been a few hours since I left the castle. She keeps walking, more cautiously, when something jumps out in front of her. She screams at the huge, heavily armed man. Have Garmond and Madrid already sent bounty hunters after me?

The man has ice-blue eyes and greasy blonde hair that glows in the moonlight. Mahna steps back as he advances, grinning wickedly. She turns to run, but doesn’t get far. She falls heavily on the ground and screams as her ankle twists painfully. She had run into something hard, maybe a tree. She looks up and sees she’s surrounded by men just like the first. She tries to scream again, but the biggest one, the thing she ran into, clamps a heavy hand over her mouth, pulling her roughly to her feet. She cringes as her ankle is wrenched again.

He smiles cruelly, “Looks like we found ourselves a pretty girl.” He releases his hand from her mouth and asks, “Where do you come from, pretty girl?” Mahna is too afraid speak, her breath coming out in ragged pants, her words seeming to have turned to stone in her throat. She just stares at them, waiting for and afraid of what they will do.

Her captor’s grip releases. Something in her flares as he moves forward, and a spike of earth appears suddenly between them. The man steps around it, his cruel smile replaced with a sneer. “Looks like she’s not just a pretty girl, she’s an eritha too! Come on, let’s bring ’er back. I think our other guests will enjoy the company. Especially the mer; she almost slit the other one’s throat.” Mahna tries to call back the earth, but one of the men picks her up and swings her over his shoulder effortlessly. She feels her connection to the earth disappear as her feet leave the ground.

They bring her to a group of wagons parked in the woods in a circle, fires lit. Her captor brings her to a cage made of a dark metal, with three solid walls and a latticed fourth wall with a door. Maybe she will be able to get out. The man unlocks the door and tosses her in. She hits the floor hard and groans.

“Are you alright?” She hears a voice ask. She looks up and sees a tall young man with golden hair, bright green eyes, and a worried expression.

She sits up, a little too quickly, wincing in pain. “I’m fine,” she says, again a little too quickly.

“Are you sure? You don’t look very good.” Her asks, kneeling down beside her.

“Just let him look at you. He won’t stop asking until you let him fix you.” Mahna looks at the source of the new voice. It is a short girl with a very light blonde braid with pieces of blue cloth studded with shell woven in. Her clothes are strange; a white skirt opened to reveal blue leggings, a short-sleeved top, sandals, and a green sash pulled through a white buckle. Her eyes are a hundred shades of blue that change like water. She stands looking at Mahna with curiosity and disdain, arms folded.

“Fix me?” Mahna asks, her voice squeaking in fear.

The boy tries to reassure her. “I’m half-elf, so I can heal other people. I promise I won’t hurt you, I think you might have some bruised ribs and wrist and a twisted ankle, not as bad as a burn.” He gives the girl a look, which she rolls her eyes at. “But should probably be treated in case they get worse.”

“How can you tell?” Mahna isn’t sure she likes that he knows that much, feeling that he is invading her privacy.

“I can sense when things are hurt.” He smiles gently and says, “Don’t worry, I can’t read your mind. I’m Fenn by the way. This pretty young woman is Irelle,” he points at the girl. “Don’t be offended by her spiky attitude; she’s actually quite sweet.” Irelle punches him in the arm, and he smiles at her, rubbing his arm. “I can heal anything you do to me, remember?”

Irelle smiles sweetly back. “That just means I can do it more.” She sits on the floor and starts singing, water appearing around her in the shape of birds, which Mahna notices Fenn makes sure to stay away from. Mahna watches them fly around, mesmerized by their life-like movements. Irelle must be the mer and Fenn must be the “other one” that she almost slit the throat of.

“I’m Mahna.” She introduces herself as she was taught. Fenn looks at her questioningly, and she nods. He touches her ankle, and a feeling like a cold wind fills her as she feels ankle, wrist, and ribs healing. He looks at her, and she says, “Thank you.”

He smiles disarmingly, and Mahna feels a blush crawl up her cheeks. “You’re welcome. Why did the Hunters throw you in here? I mean, I’m an elf, and Irelle’s a mer and just bad-tempered, but what did you do?”

“I can control earth. They called me an ‘eritha.’ I don’t know what that is.” Changing the subject, she asks, “Don’t mer have tails?”

“Yes, we do, but I can change between legs and tail because I’m only half-mer. And all mer can sing to move water. And Fenn, you’re not just in here because you’re an elf!” Irelle had stopped singing for her outburst, but now she returns to it, the notes vibrating around the small cage.

Now it’s Fenn’s turn to blush. “What does she mean?” She asks him.

He runs his hands through his curling hair. “I...I’m also a thief. You know, the thief who couldn’t be caught? That’s me, or was me, because now I have been, caught that is. And right after I robbed Lord Madrid!” Irelle glares at him but continues singing, causing her bird to splat in Fenn’s hair. He wipes the water out of his eyes. “Thanks for the bath!” Fenn calls to her, shaking his hair out, spraying Mahna with droplets.

“Anyway, annoying water birds aside, it’s not the most, um, I’m not the most proud of that. Being a thief, that is, not the bird.” He huffs through his nose, blushing bright red.

“You robbed Lord Madrid? I didn’t know.” Mahna wonders if that was why the door she escaped through was open.

“I did just today. I bet they’re out there now, trying to catch me.”

“That’s not the only thing they’re trying to catch.” Fenn gives her a quizzical look, but Mahna doesn’t explain. She stands up and walks to the wall, a small flicker of hope rising inside her. “Maybe I can get us out. I can manipulate metal.” She says as she reaches out to touch the metal.

She hears Fenn and Irelle both yell, “No!” but her hand had already made contact. She leaps back, a pain like nothing she’s ever felt pulsing through her hand. Tears leap into her eyes as Fenn and Irelle run over.

She hears them talking through the pain, though it sounds like they are miles away. She feels hands holding her’s. “I can’t heal it!” She hears Fenn shout, desperation scratching his voice.

“We’ll just have to wait for it to wear off.” Irelle’s voice is surprisingly calm. Mahna feels water flow over her hand, Irelle’s sweet voice finding its way into her ears, and the pain dulls.

Outside she hears a shout, “Is everything alright in there?”

“Yes, not that you care, you flaming hunk of burning meat!” Irelle shouts back, her voice gone to angry and heated from calm and reassuring in an instant. Mahna has only heard someone that angry when her uncle had been angered by the reports of the thief, Fenn, and had taken his anger out on her. She remembers being angry at the thief and how he didn’t think about how his actions affected others. She still holds a small grudge against him.

The pain slowly wears off, until Mahna is able to sit up and see clearly again. Her hand has red blisters that turn back to her perfect skin before her eyes. She can’t help feeling disappointed. The scars would have made her less beautiful. She feels the cool feeling she had felt when Fenn had first healed her. She swallows down her annoyance and say politely, “Thank you.” He grins and looks ready to say something, but the glare Irelle shoots him shuts him up.

The voice she had heard outside comes back. “What happened?” She looks through the door and sees a young man, tall and muscular, with chin length black hair and a scar on his cheek. His clothes are dirty and he carries a smoke-stained sword on his back. His eyes are gray with flecks of orange. He is smaller and looks different than the other men she has seen. Fenn had called them Hunters.

“The metal burned her, you sorry excuse for life. And why do you care?” Irelle snaps angrily.

He shrugs nonchalantly. “I don’t. I just don’t want to have Alpha after me because one of his prizes died.” His eyes change from gray to orange and fiery, pupils narrowing into slits. Mahna gasps; his eyes look just like the pictures of dragons’ eyes she has seen in her books.

Irelle glares at him, “That circus trick doesn’t scare me, Omega.”

“Not anymore.” He smirks. Irelle glares harder, which Mahna hadn’t thought was possible. He turns away, still smirking. “Don’t kill anybody, Killer Shark, alright?” Irelle growls and throws a water ball at him, which just disintegrates as soon as it hits the cage door.

“I think I know what this metal is.” Mahna say, trying to change the mood.

“What is it?” Fenn asks, leaning back on his elbows, watching the sky.

“I think it’s blood iron, an iron that’s made poisonous to everybody but humans and vjorc by melding it with blood.” She cringes at the thought.

Irelle comes over, a little cooled down. “Tell us something we don’t know. How do you know this?”

Fenn shoots her a glare worthy of her. Turning back to Mahna, he asks, “Why is it harmless to vjorc?”

“I’ve read a lot of books. And I think it’s harmless to vjorc because they created it. They made it harmless to humans so they could blend in; they prefer to live among humans, like humans. It makes it easier to hunt.” Again she cringes.

“Oh great, so not only is she gorgeous, she knows everything!” Irelle exclaims, throwing her hands into the air.

“You have no idea how much I wish I didn’t look like this.” Mahna says coolly.

“Really? Are you trying to make me feel better? Because I don’t care!” Irelle retorts, but it looks like she really does.

“Where are you from?” Fenn asks, clearly trying to change the subject, eyes still on the sky and whatever is so interesting up there.

“Korom.” Mahna answer, shocked by how cold her words are.

“Oh,” Fenn lowers his head, looking down so as not to meet her eyes. “How about we all lie down and go to sleep? Sounds good, right? We can continue this in the morning.” Under his breath, he adds, “Or not.”

“Fine,” Irelle growls. She goes and lies down, water covering her like a blanket.

Mahna makes sure Fenn’s asleep and snoring to wake the world before she lowers herself to the hard floor and falls asleep too.

She sleeps fitfully, her back aching. She dreams that she sprouts bird’s wings and flies away free, leaving the cage behind, and she also dreams about golden-haired boys with enchanting green eyes.

She wakes up to the cage moving. She stretches, twisting to relieve her aching muscles. She sees her back and opens her mouth to scream. A hand clamps quickly and gently over her mouth, muffling her scream. Her mind immediately jumps to the conclusion the Gormand has found her, and she elbows as hard as she can behind her.

“Ow!” Fenn yelps, his hand falling away. She stops struggling.

“Are you alright?” She asks, concern flickering in her.

“Nothing I can’t fix, but it’s nice of you to ask.” He answers with a small smirk.

Right, he can heal himself, and it’s not like I could have done much damage. Mahna looks at her back, wondering if she’s still dreaming. “What happened?”

“Um, you grew wings?” He says it like a question, running his fingers through his hair, like he’s not sure if he’s dreaming or awake. “I heard you whimpering in your sleep. I helped ease the pain. I’ve helped birth a baby before, but never wings.” He smirks again.

“When did you birth a baby?” She asks as she inspects her wings. They are brown with white tips and specks, reminding her of hawk wings. At least based on the illustrations she has seen in her books. They are wet, and a pool of liquid soaks through her dress.

“My mother was the village healer. She brought me to a birthing once. It was amazing but also...messy.”

He said ‘was.’ “What happened to her?”

His face crumples, a mixture of sorrow, pain, and anger. “She died in a fire, along with everyone else in my village. It’s nothing but ashes now.”

“I’m so sorry, Fenn.” Mahna whispers, placing her hand on his.

He smiles at her. “Thanks, I used to think I could fix it, not bring her back, but make it better. Make whoever did it pay. So I started stealing because I thought the king and the lords could have stopped it. I was just a stupid boy who thought he could fix everything.” He runs a hand over his eyes. “You probably didn’t want to hear all that.”

Mahna smiles at him, this time it’s a real smile. She’s not sure she’s had one of those for a long time. “I know what it feels like to lose a parent and not be able to do anything about it.”

“Yeah, doesn’t feel very good. You’re wings are pretty.” He says, probably trying to change the subject and not knowing how much that simple comment hurts.

“I guess.” She has to admit, they are beautiful. She spreads her wings out slowly. Their wingspan is too large for the cage, if they were fully out-stretched, she guesses they would probably go half and arm’s length past the cage walls. The feathers brush Irelle, who is still sleeping.

She jumps up, fins flared and fists balled, ready for a fight. She sees them staring at her and unclenches her fist, though her fins stay out. Mahna isn’t really surprised she has them, the sharp silver fins look like they belong. “What happened to you?” Irelle asks in surprise.

“I grew wings?” Mahna supplies.

“You’re a fairy now too?” Irelle asks, exasperated.

Mahna considers. “I could be; I never met my mother.”

“Why do you think you’re wings came now, bookworm?” Fenn asks, his smirk back.

“Maybe because I never moved earth until yesterday, so they stayed hidden. Fairies aren’t born with their wings, they have to use their ability first.” Mahna remembers reading that somewhere.

“Don’t all fairies control wind, not earth?” Fenn asks.

“And he asks another pointless question!” Irelle exclaims.

Mahna ignores her. “Maybe I can move earth because my father was human, and they don’t fly, so they would be connected to the earth.” She supplies.

Irelle looks thoughtful, for once not adding a sarcastic comment. “That makes sense; I have legs because I’m half-mer, and Fenn can heal anything and other people within seconds because he’s half-elf.”

“Actually, I can’t heal anything, just somethings.” Fenn interjects.

“Whatever!” Irelle exclaims, punching his arm. “Take a compliment, elf-boy!”

“Thanks, fish-girl.” Fenn says, smirking.

Mahna sits on the floor and listens to them argue, her wings drying out. She could ask Irelle to dry them, but she doesn’t feel like it, and Irelle seems preoccupied. Mahna has always dreamed of sprouting wings and flying away from her tower. She has sprouted wings, but she is locked in a cage, just like a pretty bird.