Caged By the Lich

Vanessa

VANESSA

ONE YEAR EARLIER

T he words, words that I can never say out loud, rip through my head violently.

This is going to be impossible.

I have to stop myself from shuddering in front of my mother, who is looking at me with her usual critical eye.

My mother sits in the middle of the small living room of our tiny house with her hands folded in her lap.

This is going to be impossible.

I want to say the words out loud. I am dying to say the words out loud.

My mother speaks then as if she read my mind. Maybe she did. Or maybe she sees the pure desperation on my face.

“You failed?” she spits. “You failed again?”

I lower my head. My two younger siblings, who are in the other room, go quiet.

My face grows warm, and I wrap my arms around my chest. I am thin enough that my arms could practically wrap right around my body if I was a little more flexible.

“Well.” My mother shifts in her chair. She looks smaller and grubbier than usual. “There’s nothing to say about it, except that you will have to go back to the training center tomorrow and try again. I am sure that Pashchar will let you in, no matter how pathetic you have been so far.”

“Yes, Mother.” I keep my head bent, my voice low and respectful. ***

I am hungry. I am always hungry.

And I am cold, even though New Solas is warm, as it always is.

I am walking from the human village in the west of New Solas, to the north of the city where the xaphanian training center is based.

I approach the base of the hill that leads out of my village, and I sigh as I stare up the length of the hill.

“I pray that I make it,” I mutter to myself. The prayer feels empty but it is one that I say every day, anyway, no matter how empty or useless it feels.

I pray that I make it.

I am not only praying to get up the hill. I am praying that today is the day.

I am praying that today I get through the xaphanian trials. I am praying that today, I get my wings.

Because I am not quite sure what I will do if I don’t.

I have been trying to gain my wings since I was eighteen. It has been a brutal trial trying to gain my wings, which has caused so many broken bones, scars, and burns.

Trying to gain my wings has broken me over and over again.

But maybe today is the day.

I pray that I make it.

The walk up the hill is treacherous. I haven’t eaten since yesterday evening. This morning, there was only enough bread for my mother and my younger sister.

My brother and I allowed them to eat. My father was passed out drunk so I’m not sure he even noticed that he hasn’t eaten in days.

My brother will be fine. He works on the docks, and they’ll take pity on him there, so he will probably have a semi-decent lunch.

But I won’t.

It’s your own fault. If you had just worked harder, if you had just earned your wings, you would be living a good life right now.

As a human in New Solas, trying to earn xaphanian wings, trying to become one of those beings, is one of the most sought after achievements ever.

Gaining your wings means you become one of the xaphans. It means unlimited wealth and recognition.

It means you get power.

It means you never have to worry about anything ever again. It means your family is taken care of.

And very, very few humans have ever actually accomplished this.

Most humans who try to gain their wings are irreparably damaged and disabled in the process, and quite a large percentage of humans die trying to gain their wings.

It takes me half the day to get to the xaphanian training center.

I am dizzy and cold, and my throat is painfully dry when I get there. I am shivering and bile rises in my throat as I approach the doors.

I can’t keep doing this. My thoughts are almost frantic as I slow down. My breath hitches in my throat and my stomach, empty as it is, turns several times.

I can’t keep doing this. ***

I arrive home close to midnight.

My father is nowhere to be seen when I walk in, and both my siblings are asleep.

But my mother is awake.

Maybe she’ll let me stop today. Maybe today she’ll let me give up. I can probably get a job at the docks, or as a servant. That will help us out financially.

But I dread asking my mother this. I dread asking her to give me permission to stop.

I dread asking her for help.

She has wanted me to gain my wings to get us out of poverty since I was a child.

This is the one thing she wants me to do for her. And if I give up, I’ll disappoint her beyond measure.

But today was another disastrous day. Today I barely had the strength to lift my body off the ground.

Today, the xaphans in charge of the training, including Pashchar, just laughed cruelly at me.

Why won’t she let me work, instead of forcing me to do this futile exercise? This thing that will never result in anything?

I know that at some point in her youth, before my mother met my father, she also tried to gain her wings.

She also failed several times.

She met my father then, who at the time was a young, successful dockworker.

She thought that my father would bring us wealth through his connections with the xaphans and the gorgons.

But humans never get anywhere on Aerasak. Especially not on New Solas.

My father became a drunk very early in their marriage, and his drinking became worse after my mother gave birth to me.

And then my mother had her accident after the birth of my youngest sibling.

And her life, as she put it, was over.

“How did it go?” My mother’s voice is sharp and unforgiving when she speaks to me. There is not a hint of kindness in it.

She already knows what my answer will be. I wouldn’t have come home if it had been a good day.

“Mother.”

She remains completely unmoved as I fling myself to the ground, kneeling next to her chair and sobbing. My chest rattles as I cry silently.

“Please. I cannot keep doing this. I cannot go on. Please. It is going to kill me.”

She inhales heavily. When I look up at her, her face is blank.

“, do you really think that giving up is an option? Do you really think you have a choice? Look at us. Look at how we’re living. Gaining your wings is the only way for us to get out of this.”

“I can get a job.” I sniff and try to wipe my tears away. “I can work. That will bring the money in.”

My mother’s face twists angrily.

“You want me to continue living in this hovel? You want me to continue living among these degenerates?” She gestures at the front door, pointing towards our neighbors. “I deserve a life of wealth and prestige!”

She raises her voice, and I shiver at the anger in it.

“My life ended when I gave birth to you! You owe me this! So don’t you dare give up! Or just don’t come home!”

“Okay,” I say as calmly as I can after I have stopped crying. “Okay. I’ll try again tomorrow.”

My mother breaks into a pleased smile and pats my face softly with her wizened hand. I try to lean into her hand, but she pulls away too quickly, and I nearly fall over.

“Make me a cup of tea.” She shifts in a chair, and I do not miss the way she grimaces in pain.

I nod obediently and stand up, even though my right leg is aching from today’s exercises.

As I go about and make the tea, using an old teabag that I stored away for my mother a few weeks ago, I search my mind for ways to get through the trials.

You heard her. You don’t have a choice. You’ll just have to get through it.

After I hand my mother her cup of tea, I head up to the attic where I sleep every night.

Before I collapse into my bed, I examine my new wounds. I have a gash on my arm that stopped bleeding several hours ago. Now it is simply covered in dried blood, and an ugly blue-green bruise has spread around the edges of the gash.

I also have several cuts and scrapes on my face.

I sigh as I get into bed. I will bathe in the morning. For now, though, I have to figure out a way to get through the trials.

For now, I have to figure out a way to gain my wings and become a xaphan.

Without dying first.