Page 95 of The Serpent’s Shadow

That was what I considered the Lepers: my captors. It was interesting how I’d swapped places with Ravinica. Now I knew how she felt: held back, frustrated, antsy.

I wanted to get out. Over the past week, I’d planned my escape route if given the opportunity. I would not be escaping for the portal to Alfheim. I would be escaping to go find Ravinica, even if it was a death wish.

I had learned little about the Lepers Who Leapt. I still couldn’t get the measure of them. They were a stalwart, surly bunch; hard workers who did not veer from chores; competent fighters, with a mercenary air about them.

Dieter and Frida were two of their leaders. They had performed a ceremonial rite once we’d arrived to send the spirits of their fallen comrades off, and then life had picked up like usual for them.

The Lepers were inundated with scouts and spies, always trying to stay a step ahead of their adversaries. In this case, their adversaries were other humans—namely the leaders of Vikingrune Academy.

I did not know why these humans hated each other. They hadn’t told me. I assumed it was an age-old conflict similar to the one my people shared with the Dokkalfar in Alfheim.

If nothing else, it was beautiful out here in the wilderness, surrounded by high peaks, low valleys, snaking waterways, and bushy greenery.

These were red-blooded humans, just as privy to passionate frolicking as impassioned battle. I had caught more than a few of them fornicating in the woods during my stay, stealing each other behind the waterfalls up north. No one was ashamed here. They lived their lives like it was their last day on this plane.

“Live hard, love hard,” Dieter had explained to me when I’d caught him together with another man and a woman, all of their limbs entwined as I went about gathering herbs through the forest.

In the trees, the Lepers had makeshift hovels and bridgeways to create a thoroughfare in the sky. Those hovels were used as lookout towers for their scouts, or as hideouts for their orgies.

It was the concept of “lookout towers in the sky” that made this feel like a prison more than anything else. I always had eyes looking at me—suspicious, untrusting eyes from the pretty golden-haired lass Frida, or others who were aligned with her. Dieter was more open and trusting. An elder statesman of the group.

In all, they numbered nearly thirty members, with a smattering of others in other parts of the Isle, doing other work. Dieter had told me that tidbit over a campfire last night, and abruptly changed subjects after he realized he’d drunk too much and spilled his insider knowledge to an elf.

I brought up the threesome between lovers I’d stumbled upon in the trees, and Dieter had chuckled and explained the “live hard, love hard” philosophy to me.

“When death is around the corner at every turn, every day, you tend to embrace all manner of desire when it’s offered to you, Corym,” he’d said.

Staring back at the licking flames between us, I’d nodded. “I am not a stranger to this belief. My leader in Alfheim has four wives and two husbands.”

“What a life. Good for him.”

“For him, it is more a notion of prolonging his legacy.”

“Aye, surely,” Dieter had said, tossing a crackling leaf into the fire. “Having all those warm bodies to yourself surely must help theprolongingaspect.”

A small smile had curved my lips. “I suppose you’re right.”

Dieter had leaned back on his elbows in the dirt. “And what of you? Any special lady or lad in Alfheim for you, elf?”

My head had shaken on its own. “Only Ravinica.”

“Got you wrapped around her finger, don’t she? No surprise there.”

My head had lifted, eyes narrowing and jaw clenching. “You must let me leave to see her.”

With a sigh, Dieter had decided the conversation was over, and stood up. “Afraid I can’t do that, elf. Made a promise to some people. You’re safe here, until things change. Isn’t that enough?”

No, it was decidedlynotenough.

When would things change? I wouldn’t last a month out here with these cretins, like Ravinica had done with my people. I wasn’t like her. I felt no allegiance to these men and women, who lived their short lives like they were already doomed. I had no inclination to learn about their ways, their history, their plight.

I was starting to feel the very human emotion of depression fall over me, and as I sat on my stump and debated my options in the afternoon sun the next day, I sighed and shook my head.

Somewhere in the camp, beneath one of the lookout towers, a ruckus started.

I tilted my head curiously, watching as Lepers descended on the situation. Slowly, I rose to my feet. Looked left and right inconspicuously, and noticed my usual wardens—the piercingeyes of Frida Gorndeen, two of her comrades—were focusing on the situation.

I wandered over. A man was on his back, convulsing. Five Lepers were huddled over him, trying to administer aid of some kind. His skin was pale and yellow, sickly, and his lips were turning bluer by the moment.

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