“We are your slaves, great Flynn.” it repeated slowly. He could tell that it was being respectful but there was something to its tone. An element of confusion, as if it were the bewildered one between them. Flynn swallowed back the jolt of irritability that coursed up his spine and sucked in a breath.

  “Okay.” he said after a soft exhale. “Why do you think that you’re my slaves?”

  “Because you defeated our chosen champion. As such, we whose will he represented in divine combat are also defeated, and the defeated must serve the victorious. So, says Siestemi. So, it shall be.”

  What. Wait. No. What?

  “Does something trouble you?” asked one of the others.

  Yes. A whole lot but Flynn didn’t feel like he had the freedom to voice those thoughts – those likely sacrilegious thoughts that may turn these maybe-allies into possible threats - so he filtered them into the actually important questions. Meeting the elders' eyes, he wove a look of calm understanding over his features as he spoke.

  “What exactly is a slave to you? Like, what is a slave expected to do?”

  It seemed like the most pertinent way to tackle the situation. There was the hope that he was just misunderstanding their intent after all. Linguistic differences existed. Hell, different dialects within the same language could sport massive differences, or so he’d read, and what was an alien language to that?

  Maybe the word slave meant something else that whatever magical force was auto-translating for him hadn’t gotten exactly right. It was a possibility. Maybe it meant temp-worker, or ‘guy who owes me a favour’ instead of brutally subjugated chattel. Maybe it was something that like that. Something more easily swallowed down.

  There were a lot of maybes carrying his hope aloft.

  Maybe he was right.

  “A slave is a servant, great Flynn. A slave is subject absolutely to their owner’s will unto death.”

  Right. No chance of that having been mistranslated. He sighed deeply.

  “That’s... that’s not what I was hoping to hear.”

  “You weren’t?” They shared a look. “I do not understand, great Flynn. Please enlighten us.”

  Flynn blinked. “Is slavery... is it just... alright with you people?”

  “Of course. Servitude is a simple fact of life. All things serve all others. The breeze serves the bird. The flesh serves the mushroom, and the mushrooms serve us. The lawful people serve each other, and thus the great cycle goes. It is known. Do you... do you not serve, great Flynn?”

  “No. Not in the way your people do, at least. My people don’t practice slavery anymore.” Not in the literal sense, at least. Being a wage slave felt close or so complained his uncle often enough.

  The group looked aghast at the knowledge, as if the thought of a slavery free world was something inconceivable. “I-I see. I cannot claim to understand this, great Flynn, but under Siestemi’s divine guidance we must serve our betters, even if you do not want us. Apologies, it is the way of things.”

  A ridiculous way of things, but he kept that part unsaid.

  “And your leaders will be just fine and dandy with that? You serving me?”

  “Of course. Once our new leaders are chosen, they will no doubt acknowledge our debt of service to you.”

  “What happened to the old leaders?”

  “We were the old leaders, great Flynn.” The youth balked at the revelation. He wasn’t sure if that made their eagerness to embrace their new status more or less abominable. “Of course, as we now serve an outsider, we can no longer hold our former positions.”

  “It would not be proper. We must join with you as is the way.” added another with a knowing shake of its head.

  “Oh yeah, no. Absolutely nothing proper about that.” chimed in Flynn. If the others noticed his sarcasm, they said nothing about it. They even nodded along.

  “It is a sad thing.” said an elder softly. “There is much I wished to achieve with my remaining years, but such is the way of things. It is known.”

  “It is known.” they all repeated matter-of-factly.

  Flynn huffed exhaustedly. Try as he might, he just couldn’t wrap his head around it. Maybe it was the red-blooded American in him, or maybe it was a modern youth’s sensibilities, but he just couldn’t figure out how someone, and a leader no less, could just throw away their freedom like that. Worse, the little buggers were awfully cheery about the whole thing and that just made it worse.

  They acted like it was just another job to do. Another role to be filled. It was mind-boggling, and despite himself, he wanted to know why.

  What was it about their development that had made them this way? What environmental pressures created a people that would openly welcome themselves into slavery, versus just having it as a disagreeable part of their culture?

  His interest had been piqued, and Flynn couldn’t help but ask more questions.

  Questions that grew more open once he realized that they were happy to enlighten him to their ways, and that they wouldn’t take any offence at his obliviousness. As such, he eventually came to learn that every one of the lawful people, or the alf as they called themselves, was a slave.

  Even the leaders and generals.

  The elders themselves, prior to becoming his slaves, had both slaves of their own and masters whom they served. One of them eagerly told him how he only had two masters, which was a point of pride amongst their people. All had to serve, but the fewer one served, the greater their esteem.

  Their entire diminutive race was bound together in a complex, interwoven web of service and ownership, and it was those binds that kept any one of them from growing too powerful, or too tyrannical.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  After all, those cruel to their slaves may just find themselves suffering at the hands of their own owners, and vice versa. A despot could easily be commanded to take their own life, and by the will of their god, Siestemi, they would be forced to do so.

  It was almost strangely fair, in that way.

  Not sane though. Never sane.

  But it was the way apparently and Flynn didn’t see himself changing that any time soon. He didn’t have the time, the power, the clout and frankly the will to commit to an endeavour so great. Getting back to the school was his foremost goal, and a large-scale distraction was something he could do without.

  “Is there any way I can un-enslave you from me?”

  One of the elders gasped at the question, an affronted look on its face. The others patted it on its back, and he could hear them murmuring to it how he was only ignorant and did not mean to offend. “Apologies, great Flynn. In our culture it is a great insult to wish freedom on your slave. It would be as if you had deemed us useless, and thus unworthy of service. I am sure you were not aware of this.”

  Flynn had to suppress the urge to frown.

  “I was not, and I don’t mean to insult you, but my question still stands. I wanna get topside soon and it wouldn’t be right for me to drag you along into danger. Can I order you to stay here?”

  “You can, of course, and we will obey. But we are no longer a part of the Aziethi and will not be accepted amongst them. There will be no succour for us here. Only a slow death by starvation.”

  Flynn grimaced. Stupid fucking cultural insanity.

  “What about family though? Don’t any of you have wives or children?”

  “Indeed, we do, but their binds will keep them from interacting with us as surely as ours would them in the same situation. It is known.”

  “As for the breaking of a bind, there are two ways. The most common method is if you, our master, were made a slave to another outsider, as you made us. Doing so breaks all ties of ownership you possess, as ours were broken, and thus we would be free. Of course, you would then be a slave, but that is one way.”

  No, that was no way. The only thing he hated more than the idea of slavery was the idea of being a slave himself. He pressed it for option number two.

  “A holy edict from Siestemi herself.”

  Flynn couldn’t help his frown this time. He suspected the answer but felt the need to ask anyway. “And how likely is that?”

  The elder gave him a faint smile. “We have not received an edict for over five centuries, great Flynn. It is very unlikely.”

  Yup. As expected. He wanted to punch something. Killing hordes of shitlings had been more enjoyable than this. How the fuck was he expected to worm his way out of this situation? Did he just take the five along with him? Four elderly monsters and one weak spearsman? He could, and as long as he didn’t care whether they lived or died he’d be fine. But he would care. Flynn was many things, but heartless wasn’t one of them.

  He wished he were though. It’d make his whole situation a lot more manageable. He could just abandon them along the way and be fine. But no. Damn bleeding heart. Babysitting had not been in his to-do list for the day.

  But apparently, that was the way things were going.

  “Okay, whatever. You can tag along.” he said defeatedly. It was his only real option, though maybe he'd be able to figure a place to stash them soon. The elders looked absolutely overjoyed, exchanging hugs and cheery smiles amongst them. Even the spearsman looked mildly relieved, though he still wasn’t meeting Flynn’s gaze. The youth almost smiled himself, a sliver of their good mood wafting onto him.

  “Ya’ll done now?”

  They nodded eagerly.

  “Good. Now, about that map.”

  ◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆

  Flynn had been wary. He had the elders to vouch for him, but he’d still been prepared for violence to erupt at any second. And they’d known it. More than one eye had traced along the arrow nocked on his bow. Fortunately, cooler heads had prevailed and the new tribal leadership seemed to accept that he was not in fact the violent, bloodthirsty monster of their fears.

  He’d met them in a large, spacious room decorated beautifully with roots and leaves in twisting, winding patterns. Even the furniture had been made of woven roots, which hadn’t made them at all uncomfortable.

  Not at all.

  The new leadership had still been settling into their new office, but it seemed that as a people, the alf were unsurprisingly well used to sudden changes in authority, and they had the processes to ensure a smooth and quick transfer of rule well in hand. There’d been four of them, all elders just like his newfound friends were, and their discussion with him had been short. Perhaps even curt.

  They’d asked him questions about what he was and where he came from, and he answered as vaguely as he could, not that it mattered. They didn’t seem overly interested in his answers.

  It felt to him like they’d just been going through the motions, and after less than five minutes of questioning, they finally agreed to give him a map.

  Flynn suspected that they wanted him to be on his way as fast as possible. He was more than happy to abide.

  Walking through the tunnels with what they’d claimed was honour-guard of twenty spearsmen - though it felt more like a criminal escort - had been a strange repeat of the way he’d come in, save for the lack of a cage. He liked that. The alf who’d been responsible for his capture had also been in charge of showing him out, which he found deliciously ironic. It did not look as amused as he was.

  It was less than ten minutes before he finally left the tunnels and emerged through a hidden stairwell into the fungal forest beyond. The sun had fully set by then, and a chilly night’s breeze kissed his skin as it swept past. All around him echoed a multitude of bestial cries and bird calls, and not all of it sounded cute and cuddly.

  “We do not have long.” said one of the elders – he really should ask them for their names at some point - as they took the lead. The alves set a hurried pace as they led him to the tree that he’d fallen through in. They likely didn’t want to be outside at night, and to be fair, neither did he. Maybe he should’ve asked the tribe to shelter him until day.

  To his relief, his backpack had still been there when they arrived, perfectly untouched.

  Slinging it on, Flynn allowed himself to be led by the spearsman to what it claimed was a better spot. Safer, and with room enough for all of them. It knew of such things, it said. It had often led the Aziethi’s hunting parties, and the forest around the tribe was as familiar to it as its own spear was.

  Flynn accepted the quiet confidence of the being – the man, he corrected. He supposed that despite their brutal culture, they’d still proven themselves more than just monsters. They were a people, no matter what his Monster Sense said. He would need to start thinking of them as such.

  The elders as a group were wary but still jovial as the group went about their moonlit trek, and despite their age they managed to keep up without much of fuss. He even lightly engaged them in conversation as they walked, though most of his attention had been on the surroundings. He’d occasionally send out a discrete Illusionary Self to scout for any lurking dangers.

  Fortunately, they reached their destination without encountering any untoward troubles. The spearman’s spot proved to be the hollow of a massive mushroom, its roots like meters-long pipes winding through the ground around it sprouting from a stalk that stretched at least a dozen storeys up into the air. The mushroom’s head loomed above them like some massive umbrella, shading them from a view of the night sky.

  Creeping inside one of the many nooks and natural dens that littered the mushroom’s roots, Flynn found it a far more comfortable hideaway than the last nook had been. All six of them had space enough to stretch out, though Flynn asked the five of them to share it amongst themselves. He would use another nook elsewhere. As cozy as he’d gotten with them, he had no intention of trusting his back to them whilst he was asleep. Not yet.

  They’d seemed disappointed by his choice but had said nothing to convince him otherwise.

  Finding his own spot hadn’t taken long. A nice little hole just a few meters away from where the five were camped. In bear terms, it was just right.

  With Cheek designated as overwatch, Flynn made sure to thoroughly check for any hollow spaces in the floor before he whipped out a Lucky Gift pillow from his backpack that he’d forgotten to take out the last time. It was a small thing, just large enough to cup his head, but it didn’t matter. The day’s exhaustion piled on him to the point that a rock and thorns would’ve still been enough for him. He’d scarcely laid down and shut his eyes before he was out like a light, dreaming of normlacy amongst the madness.