Krea felt a chill, as if she was pressed against cold metal. Different than the gusts of ocean air. She knew she was no longer welcome here. A fire began to burn in her belly. Rage, lust, longing — for what, she did not know. She took a deep breath and pretended to pray.
The itch wouldn’t go away. It got worse and worse. Her finger began to sear. In terror, she pulled off her glove. Her skin was coming off her finger like the peel of an orange but she felt no pain. She could see the muscles and nerves underneath pulsing and pounding. Her stomach knotted.
She should have never gone to wyvern’s flowers: she should have never accepted the gift. She had done the unimaginable. She heard the sounds of the girls behind her and quickly put back on her glove, breathed in deeply, and stood. She bowed shakily to the large statue of Ametza before walking out the door.
From the corner of her eye she saw the shaman standing behind the statue, her eyes creased, with a dour look on her face.
She had seen Krea’s finger.
Chapter Six: Hat Pin
Krea left the temple without waiting for Angus. She was afraid that if she did, the shaman would talk to them. She didn’t want Angus to know about her hand. The air was colder than it had been and clouds were coming in. Perhaps it would snow later.
Krea’s right hand began itch, and as she walked over the uneven grey cobblestone streets of the town, the stares from the townsfolk didn’t even bother her. The fire in her belly grew. No matter how hard she tried, no calming breath could soothe it.
Krea wondered if this is what it felt like to no longer be protected by the goddess. The world is harsh, she remembered the shaman saying, the goddess is our protection from its endless cycle of misery.
But this didn’t feel like misery. Krea liked this feeling, she liked it far more than she should have liked.
As she walked through the crowd, she saw on a balcony above them the prince waving down, as young women screamed and people cheered. On his neck he wore an amulet, a symbol of protection from Ametza, and it glowed blue.
A man bumped into her, and she tripped over the cobblestones beneath her feet. Her world spun, and she fell into his arms.
“I’m sorry—” she began. His eyes stopped her. They were open a little too wide. The man, nearly the same age as her, had long wild hair and a tight grip.
He head his tilted, peering down at her. She realized that the crowd could not see her, and, if she screamed, no one would hear.
“You’re not like them,” he said, not loosening his grip.
The fire in her belly burned hotter. Her fear was replaced by rage.
“Let me go!”
He smiled at her, his eyes gleaming with their own light. “I know what you are.”
He pulled her toward him to get a tighter grip. She surprised him by moving even closer, breaking his grip as she pushed off his stomach. She pulled her hatpin out of her hair. He moved his hand toward her once again.
“I —” he started to say, but she didn’t let him finish. She stabbed directly into his wide open palm. He howled in agony.
“Never touch me again!” she roared. As he grasped his injured palm with his other hand, she raced away, losing herself in the crowd. She buried herself in it, certain of safety.
Chapter Seven: The Fire
The crowd engulfed her and Krea felt safe in it. If only her hand would stop itching! She turned to get her bearings just as —
“Fire!!” A man screamed from the edge of the crowd, and hundreds of hot sweaty bodies slammed into her from every direction in their panic. She held on to her glasses and with her other hand slammed her parasol against the crowd. She worked her way to one side of the crowd and was just about free when she felt a large man slam into her back and her parasol and glasses went flying.
Her eyes began to sting as the air became thick with smoke. A thick hand grabbed her waist from behind. It pulled her through the crowd, which seemed to part for whoever held her. Krea gasped for air, coughing and flailing with the force of her rescuer’s motions.
The cloud of smoke thickened and her vision darkened. She could feel the crowd part, then subside, then finally she felt no more bodies at all. The screams became fainter and fainter in the distance. Clean air began to fill her lungs, and she choked it in.
A door opened and closed behind her. She was inside. The hand then released her and she fell onto a bed. She tried to look around, but the light was too bright and she had to close her eyes once again.
“Where am I? Who are you?’ she asked.
“You could’ve died out there, lass,” said a voice that she immediately recognized.
“Oh, Ibb!” she cried in relief.
Krea had known Ibb all her life. He was the one who got them the marvelous steam cleaner that Krea used in the kitchen. He bought horseshoes from her father, for reasons he never disclosed. He was a traveler, calling no one place home. Many did not associate with him because he worshipped another god, and belonged to an ancient people who believed in transferring their souls into the cold cogs and gears of machines rather than going with the Ferryman to judgement and rebirth. His tall, stocky metal body was topped with a metal head: a mixture of gold and brass, cogs, with two glowing red gems for eyes and thick expressive metal eyebrows.
He was one of the few people she knew that never paid attention to her, good or bad. To him, she was just a normal girl, which was one of the few reasons she loved accompanying her father to town.
Her eyes burned, and she grasped her head in pain. “The light —”
“Rest them,” Ibb said. “You are safe in my workshop now, far from the fire.”
Krea began to cough. Ibb’s large mechanical hands reached out and grasped hers. She flinched away. Her father could not know about her finger.
“You are rubbing your eyes with gloves covered in smoke, best to take them off!”
Krea didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. Her heart beat louder and louder. What could she say? He was right. She was helpless.
She heard his feet stomp in the other direction, and the familiar squeaking of a tea kettle.
“What are you hiding, Krea?”
Blood pounded in her ears. Anything she told him he would repeat to her father and Angus. But how could she hide her finger from Angus?
Ibb didn’t worship her gods: maybe he would understand. Perhaps he was her best hope.
She took off her glove. He gasped and took a loud, clanging step backwards.
“Oh, lass! What have you done?”
Chapter Eight: More Tea
“Your shaman is right, Ametza protects you here, but I think she holds on to you a little too tight,” Ibb said after Krea had told him of her encounter at the temple.
Ibb poured her a cup of tea and guided her healthy hand to it. The tea was sweet and spicy. He told her it helped with opening lungs. He said that he used to drink it back when he was in his human frame.
“My mother is dead,” Krea said. She took a moment to wonder what mother she meant: her own, or the goddess? Or both?
“What happened to you finger?”
Krea took a deep breath. “I don’t know,” she said. “I made a choice and this may be the consequence.”
Ibb snorted, “And what choice was that?”
“I accepted a gift,” she said, “from a wyvern.”
Ibb stared at her in silence.
“Ibb,” she asked in a small voice, “am I going to die?”
The mechanical being stood still for a very long time. Finally he said, “Did anyone see your finger?”
“I think the shaman did,” Krea said miserably, trying to find him in the glare of the room. It hurt her eyes. “Ibb?”
Ibb moved in a blur of speed. Krea gasped as a pair of goggles were placed on her head. Suddenly, she could see. Her eyes stopped hurting.
“Anyon
e else?” Ibb asked, glancing down at his handiwork and nodding to himself. His bright eyes were unwavering.
Krea wanted to tell him about Ophidian but found she couldn’t say the words.
“There was a man on the street, he seemed to recognize me,” she said at last.
Ibb sighed, “You are no longer protected by mother Ametza. I think you are safe here no longer.”
“What about my father?”
Ibb shook his head, “People in these parts don’t like those who don’t worship their gods, Krea. Whatever is happening to you is beyond me. And I know many things I shouldn’t.”
“What will happen to me now?”
“You didn’t make a mistake Krea, you chose for yourself,” Ibb said reassuringly. “There is a difference.”
“I was being selfish,” Krea confessed miserably. “I never thought of my father or Angus.”
“Perhaps,” he said with a wave of his hand. “But it was your choice. Being able to make a choice, and to experience the good and bad that come from it, is what makes us adults.”
He gestured for her to drink more tea.
“I’ve never felt like this,” she said. “I feel so sick with myself.”
Ibb shrugged, a strange clanking of metal going back and forth. “You have to learn to live with your actions,” he told her. “Good and bad aren’t that easy. Sometimes no matter how hard you try, it isn’t enough.”
Krea began to cough again.
“You should sleep — stay on the cot in here. If you need me, I shall be working in my office across the hall.”
“All night?” Krea asked. Her brows furrowed in curiosity. “Don’t you have to sleep, too?”
“I am no longer flesh and blood, so the answer would be: no,” he said, as he clanked toward the door.
“I wish I didn’t sleep.”
Ibb turned in the doorway, “If you can’t sleep, you can’t dream.”
Chapter Nine: The Thief
Krea woke at the sound of Ibb’s heavy footsteps moving steadily toward her. She saw that he carried a tray with a cup and a pot of tea. The workshop was made of carved woods, and painted brass flowers. Small handcrafted bells hung from the ceiling. A large grandfather clock stood in the middle.
It was decor from another place and time, and wherever that was, Krea had always wanted to visit. Krea got up from her bed and met Ibb at the table. He passed her the cup. Krea was delighted to see that it was delicately painted with yellow flowers. On a matching plate was placed a large, cold jellied eel.
“Forgive me, since I no longer eat, I have no kitchen, and I did not have the time to gather anything finer,” he told her.
Krea did not mind, going into town was always a rare treat and jellied eel was a treasured pleasure. Ibb watched her eat in silence. She could not read the expression on his face, since he was not human, but the slight tapping of his foot made him seem anxious.
“What aren’t you telling me?” Krea asked when she’d finished eating.
In response, the massive machine man lifted the teapot, “More tea, lass?”
Krea raised an eyebrow. “That bad, eh?”
Ibb poured the tea, and nodded. The movement of his mechanical head sounded like her father’s hammer forging iron on his anvil. Krea smiled.
“While you were asleep I had created a plan to get you to safety, but something has come up which will make it far more difficult.”
Krea sank back into the overstuffed chair and grasped her tea.
“You are no longer protected by Ametza. The shaman knows this. They are looking for you.” Ibb clasped his hands, “If this was the only problem we faced, it could be overcome.”
Krea leaned forward, “What does that mean?”
Ibb stood up, walked to his office, and then back again. He held in his hands a new pair of gloves, a boy’s shirt, trousers, a bulky jacket, boots, a broad black hat, a pair of black-glass goggles, and a leather pouch. It was standard apprentice garb.
“It means I cannot go with you.” he said. Krea lowered eyes to hide her sorrow. He snorted when he saw her look. “But that does not mean I won’t try my best to help you. If you dress in this —” he held up the bundle of clothes “— people will mistake you for a boy. If I come with you, they’ll know who you are no matter how you’re dressed. Besides, there is much I do not know.”
“Know?” Krea repeated.
“About your condition,” Ibb told her. “There is much that troubles me.”
“I cannot return, can I?” she guessed, looking up into his mechanical eyes.
“No, you can never return to this city,” he said, clanking mournfully as he shook his head. “In fact, to be safe, I would avoid any place that Ametza can see.”
“Where do I go?” Krea asked, shocked. More questions came to her in a rush. “How do I get there? What about my father and Angus?”
“You must go north, into the mountains,” Ibb told her. “My driver will find you and take you.”
They heard screams outside, the sound of running feet.
“There has been a robbery; the amulet of the crown princess has been stolen. That fire was set to create a distraction.”
Krea remembered the man with the wild eyes. “Did anyone see his face?”
“Yes, actually,” Ibb replied. “The man had shoulder-length black hair, black eyes and —”
“That’s the man who stopped me!”
Ibb leaned back, “Does he know what is happening to you?”
“Yes!” she said. “I saw it in his eyes.”
“Normally, I would say a feeling such as that is something that to be ignored, but from my limited dealings with wyverns, or any of Ophidian’s children, I know they can connect with the essence of another in a way we cannot.”
“You are saying my feeling is correct?”
“I am saying this man most likely knows something, and that he is very dangerous. If I were you, I would not look for him.”
Krea gave him a fuming look. She was surprised that Ibb didn’t remember that the best way to get her to do something was to tell her that she couldn’t.
“I know that expression!” he said with a snort. Shaking his head so that it clanked, he told her, “I can’t make your decisions for you. What you must do is change immediately, go to the docks, and when night falls my driver will come for you. Take these shillings in case you need them.”
Krea opened her mouth to protest but before she could speak, someone pounded on the outside door. “Open up, you clanker! We got questions
for you!”
“Just a moment!” Ibb called. He turned back to Krea, gesturing her toward the back door, saying in a low voice, “Go!”
The front door burst open just as Krea ducked behind the back stairs — and before she could reach the door.
Quickly, Krea hid under the stairs. She heard men rushing in and stamping about the room. At first she shook in fear, but then she felt rage. How were these men acting so horribly to Ibb? He’d done nothing wrong! They were being mean just because he was different.
Her anger threatened to engulf her, she wanted to rush out and beat on the intruders. Never before had she felt this way. She gripped her hands tightly together to control herself. They stung horribly, like they’d turned into burning nettles. She heard a sound as something fell to the ground in front of her. She moved her foot, and kicked something: it rolled away from her. Startled, she kicked it again. It slid away from her, further into the dark corner under the stairs. After a moment, she reached for it, searching. She found it. It was thin and long.
Her stomach lurched in protest as she brought it up to her face. It smelled awful. Vomit rose in her throat and the back of her month. She inched closer to the light shining through the wooden planks and finally confirmed her worst fears: It was her finger.
Chapter
Ten: The Docks
Krea vomited as quietly as possible. Pain seared all of her limbs. It felt as if her blood flowed like the molten metal her father created in his forge. She clutched her finger in one hand and the side of a floorboard in another. Her eyes burned and nostrils seared as undigested eel projected onto the floor. It felt as if her internal organs had detached from each other and had begun to slide out of her throat and mouth.
“What is that, it smells awful!” A man screamed.
“Something I’ve been working on. Gentlemen, let us move this conversation outside, or soon the fumes will become toxic for your lungs,” Ibb replied.
“Fine, but your house will be inspected whether you like it or not. By order of the Crown Prince, all legal scoffers such as yourself must be searched,” a gruff voice returned, adding piously: “It’s nothing personal.”
She heard the men leave. After waiting until all was quiet, she peeked out from behind the stairs. Heart racing, still clutching the finger, she rushed out the back door to the docks.
The lower docks were seedy, unkempt, rundown, and haunted by groups of people moving in small, tight knots. Krea made her way past, her head and eyes covered with hat and glasses. No one looked her way. She made her way toward the market.
The market was filled with men and women who worshipped many different gods – and many who didn’t worship any god at all. The traders at their stalls sold tea, coffee, jellied eels, trotters, and other street food. The smell of the food nauseated her. The people didn’t smell much better. She focused on moving forward.
Ibb said she should go toward the mountains but she had to meet his driver here. First, Krea thought, I have to clear my head. She went to a stall, gave the woman a half-penny, got a glass of ice-water, and gratefully drank it.
She moved on. Behind her, the crowd parted oddly. She turned and caught a glimpse of a shadow flitting further into darkness: Krea was being followed. She knew who it was: the man who had grabbed her, the thief. The one who had stolen the Crown Prince’s amulet. Her breath came faster as she recalled Ibb’s warning.
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