Rthan
Rthan clenched his teeth to stop himself from crying out. The human dancers with their black bear claw knives were bad enough—but now Yellow fae had joined the cruel dance too. This kind of tama, a Torture Dance, was ancient. Both humans and fae seemed to enjoy it.
He couldn't see the Brundorfae, but he could hear their low growls. Worse, he could feel their claws, sharp and burning, cutting into his skin. They slashed, tore, and peeled his flesh until he felt raw and flayed.
The worst part wasn't the pain.
The worst part was what happened every time he or another prisoner came close to passing out—or even dying. Just when they almost slipped into darkness, the Yellow Dancers changed the direction of their steps. They began a Healing Dance.
Sometimes they even poured bitter liquid down Rthan's throat. It burned going down, but it brought back his strength. It kept him alive. Once the dancers healed them just enough, they changed direction again—and returned to the torture.
Rthan longed for Lady Death. He begged, in his heart, for her arrows of peace.
The leader of the Yellow Bear dancers wore a huge bear head mask. He came close and leaned in. His breath smelled sweet and rotten at the same time.
"Beg for mercy, sharkbait," the man whispered, "and maybe we'll let you die. Curse your mother, your father, and your whole tribe. If you do, we'll cut your throat and end your pain."
Rthan lifted his head and looked into the empty eye holes of the mask. His lips were dry. He tried to speak, but could only cough. The man leaned closer to hear.
Rthan spat in his face.
The spit hit true. The masked man gave a scream and jumped back. He lifted his mask and wiped his eye, careful not to let Rthan see his face.
Rthan laughed, even though it hurt. His body shook with pain, but the laugh still came.
The man punched him across the face.
"You won't die until you curse your tribe, you stinking worm!" he shouted. He grabbed Rthan's chin and forced more of the burning drink down his throat. Then he slashed Rthan's belly with his bear claws, opening a fresh wound.
Rthan cried out this time—but not for mercy.
The dance began again, crueler than before. They had it in for him now. But Rthan was not the first to break. One of the other warriors, a man Rthan barely knew, started to sob. His voice broke as he screamed.
"I curse the womb that bore me! I curse the fool that sired me! I curse the tribe of Blue Waters!"
"Grant him mercy," the masked leader ordered.
One of the dancers stepped forward and stabbed the man in the heart. His body sagged like an empty skin.
"You see how easy that was?" the leader asked Rthan.
"Come closer," Rthan rasped. "So I can spit in your other eye."
"Focus on this one!" the leader shouted to the others. "Break him first! Once the hero falls, the rest will follow!"
The dancers, all wearing their beast masks, closed in. They circled and stomped. Rthan could feel the invisible fae among them too, he was sure. A strange heat filled his limbs—energy returning. They were healing him again.
He cursed his strong body. It refused to die. That meant he would have to endure more. And worse, he might still break.
The bear masked leader opened his mouth to speak again, voice thick with hate.
But then a warrior, unmasked, jogged up to the circle. He whispered something into the leader's ear.
The growling of the fae stopped.
The dancers pulled back.
The bear masked leader hissed something in return. Rthan thought he heard the words "Mine!" "Hertio," and "outtriber."
After a short argument, the masked man finally turned away and walked off, angry.
Seven warriors came and untied Rthan from the post.
Their grins told him all he needed to know.
The Torture Dance might be over.
But what came next could be a worse fate.