by Lisa Daniels
“Anya,” she said. No last name. Serfs didn't carry last names. Giving her name to him made her feel naked somehow. That name was special. It belonged to her. It was about the only thing that did in these plantations. An honor bestowed to her for making it past ten years of age.
“I'm Kalgrin,” he said. The night air continued to whip around them, and she huddled deeper into the crevice of his talons, using them as a windbreak.
Kalgrin. She committed the name of her savior to mind. She allowed her mind to dare now, to absorb the fact that Kalgrin actually wanted to help.
“Are there places where humans are free?” Her heart twitched at the prospect. “Places where we don't have to worry about wyrms?”
“Yes,” Kalgrin answered. “There are. There are also places where wyrms have a hard time doing things. Such as the town we're going to, because drakes run it.”
“Are there many drakes?”
“Not as many as wyrms.” He let out a sigh at this, which drifted away in the wind. “Or believe me, the world would be a much better place now.”
Huh. How strange. Dragons... helping humans. The concept sounded so alien to her ear. Dragons hated humans. That was what she'd been brought up to believe.
And this Kalgrin... he didn't. He'd scooped her up, smelly and all, with the intention of taking her home and bathing her.
It seemed laughable, and she might have done so had she not been terrified about the fate of her family. She didn't know how to express that to Kalgrin, though, so she remained silent instead.
His strong, melodic voice cut through the darkness, penetrating Anya’s brain. He spoke of something else, but her mind now wandered, no longer paying attention. She examined her filth-caked arms under the stars and moon, realizing she must look like some kind of primeval sludge monster. Not something you wanted to touch. She didn't even want to be in her own skin right now.
When Kalgrin fell silent again, Anya asked the next burning question in her mind. “Why were you lurking in the woods?” It did seem a little suspicious to her somehow that he happened to be there. Especially if he could fly around wherever he wanted. Imagine having wings like this. The places she might go, the hills and forests her eyes would see.
Imagine having such power at her fingertips. A stab of jealously hit her stomach.
This Kalgrin probably didn't realize how lucky he was. To not be a soft, weak human, to have the awesome power of his form and flight. To be able to do anything he wanted. No wonder humans were so easily enslaved, if everything around them possessed more strength, more freedom. It was the way of nature – for the strong to suppress the weak.
A depressing thought, but it made sense.
“Oh, that’s easy,” he replied. A long, red tail whipped in front of her, making her mind jump in surprise. Red? He was red. She struggled to see the color of his scales, encased inside them, but the glint of moonlight there... red like the color of blood. She shivered. “I was planning to make it to the plantation owner’s house and murder him.”
The statement confused Anya. For a moment, she remained utterly speechless. “What?”
“Once he’s dead,” the drake continued, acting as if he didn’t expect her to be stunned, “or just before, the rest of my kind will arrive here to take the rest of you out, and place you in better homes. Unfortunately,” the dragon iterated, “it seems you were being chased for some reason. There's too much attention right now, too many eyes watching the ground and the skies.” He didn’t seem irritated at having to cancel, however.
Slowly, surely, it began to sink in. A drake had saved her. Some type of dragon she had no clue existed. A drake that had every intention of walking into the plantation and murdering the wyrms there. That realization hurt. If she hadn't said anything… if she hadn't tried to prise some life out of the humans… would they be free right now?
No. There's no way I could have predicted something like this. I never even knew he existed. I had no reason to think anything would change. After all, nothing had changed for the first eighteen years of my life. Nothing at all.
Still, a tightness squeezed around her heart.
“I’ll need to quickly intercept the launch point and tell the others to go to the plantation another time, but it’s not a problem.”
All the words sunk in, accumulating to one, incredible idea. He really did help humans. He really fucking did.
Incredible. And just like that, some of the tension leached out of her muscles. She no longer held that fear of being dropped, of being taken someplace awful as he did nefarious things to her.
Still wasn't safe yet, though. And she still didn't understand this drake's purpose in doing something that so obviously benefited humans, and crippled fellow dragons.
Best not to complain about that yet. Although... “I still have to ask. Wyrms see us as dirt beneath their toes. What stops you from thinking the same?”
He let out a long, dry chuckle, only too happy to explain.
“For a drake, the measure of our kind is not in how we treat our equals, but in how we treat our inferiors,” he responded. “Wyrms, unfortunately, don’t really see you as sentient beings. Drakes do. We have human forms for a reason.” The dragon paused for a moment, then wrinkled his nose. “You really smell, though. Sorry.”
“I had to go through a privy to escape,” Anya replied, slightly wry. He dipped, rolling her out of the section of talons that shielded her. The wind was really cold. It dried the stuff on her, which made her partially worry that she'd never be able to get it off.
“Your turn, little human. May I ask why you needed to escape? You must have done something pretty bad for those wyrms to decide they'd prefer you dead.”
A sense of betrayal seethed. “I was sold out by another human. For encouraging people not to be weak.”
The dragon made a tch sound. “Yeah, that’ll do it. Don’t like our serfs thinking for themselves and all that. Another human sold you out?” He fell silent a moment. “Poor wretch.”
“You're calling him poor? He sold me for some extra meals! My family...” the phrase choked in her throat. “My family might be dead because of him. He doesn't deserve to be called human.”
“A novel concept,” Kalgrin said. “To think that someone doesn't deserve to be one, when for all intents and purposes, you are the lowest of the low.”
“There's always lower.” Anya's words came out a whisper, whisked away by the wind, but he heard. “We're already low enough. We don't need to be the animals they think we are.”
Kalgrin let out a barking laugh. “Truer words have never been spoken.” He sped up, his wings thumping on either side of the air. “And don't worry about your family for now. I intend to return. We'll find out what happened to them then.”
It was the best he could offer. She couldn't persuade him to bring her back, not when the wyrms likely still searched for her, and bristled with anger. She didn't know the fate of her family, but it was pointless to imagine. To fret over it. She did, anyway, and raised her hands to her lips, intending to bite them in anxiety, before stopping.
Yeah. Maybe not.
How far did Kalgrin need to fly? Far away from her masters, for sure. Far away from her life, which already seemed so distant, though just this afternoon, she'd been hacking away with that accursed scythe, plotting murder in her soul.
Needing a distraction from the dark cesspit of her thoughts, she again peered out at the world above and below her. She didn’t see much of the stars from inside Kalgrin’s talons. The world below her was dark, lit only in small patches by lights. Hard to see anything now as night strengthened its grip. Clouds began to flit over the moon, obscuring the stars bright enough for them to see.
Exhaustion snapped at her soul. All that fear, worry, and potential grief, along with the bone-breaking work of a long harvest, caught up with her. The tears had long since dried on her dirty face. Not knowing what else to do, she closed her eyes and tried to sleep. She tossed and turned in Kalgrin's ta
lons, finding them uncomfortable.
She didn’t enjoy the dreams that came with her fitful sleep. Dreams of her whole family slaughtered, sightless eyes facing the ceiling, their hut trashed, as the wyrms continued looking for her. She dreamed of herself as the dissenter, the one who dared envision a different future from the one they held. She saw the traitor as well, some nameless plantation worker with his sly, mean little eyes, prepared to fuck over the lives of everyone else for the sake of it. The wyrms with their sinuous, wingless bodies looming above the tiny human village, jaws snapping in the dark, eyes a bloody red as they searched.
These nightmares felt disturbingly close to real life for Anya.
Something else appeared in her dreams as well. Other voices, not ones she recognized. Arms holding her, saying they needed to pick another time.
Another time? Another time for what? Still, it made for a better dream than before. And she swore she no longer felt the rough talons encasing her body, or the wind whistling through the small gaps, or the cold seeping into her bones.
She jerked herself fully awake when loud, clopping noises rent the air. To her surprise, she found herself in the arms of someone who walked along a cobbled street. Tall stone and wooden houses leaned on either side, and a horse-drawn carriage clattered past. A man sat in the driver's seat, his face tainted by shadow, though gaslights illuminated the entire street. She even saw stone walls around the houses that reached five times as high as she suspected Kalgrin to stand. Perhaps they protected the people inside. Or prevented them from escaping.
Wait. She was in someone's arms? Kalgrin in his human form? She strained to look, cheeks flushed slightly at the notion. One arm looped in the crook of her legs, below her knees. The other supported her just under her armpits, and her head rested against the cushion of his shoulder.
She didn't get a great view of him – just a glance of chin at first. Then he adjusted his head to face Anya for a moment. She caught clever gray eyes, a straight, angular face that gave him a thin jawline, and a charming smile that displayed pristine, sharp canines. She blinked in surprise.
He's handsome! And then there was her, a thing yanked straight out of a bog.
Oh no. He was carrying her. Her with all the filth upon her body.
“Good early morning, my little mud monster,” Kalgrin said, grinning with those brilliant teeth. “Welcome to Tarn. My house is over there.”
They approached a small house up a slope, made out of reddish stone, visible from the street lights that decorated the lanes.
“Were you talking with people earlier?”
“Oh? Yes. I had to call the attack off, remember? Since I rescued you.”
Right. She did remember.
“You look worried.”
“I...” Anya flushed, glad he couldn't see it in the thin light. The gas lamps didn't cover everything. “I'm... dirty.”
“And?”
“And? Obviously I'm spreading my filth to you as well.”
“It doesn't matter. But we are giving you a bath. And a bunch of buckets, I think.”
The kindly expression, the attractiveness of his features left her dumbfounded and embarrassed of the state she was in. Even though keeping herself ugly was the best survival tactic anyone like her could ever have – and she couldn't really help accumulating all this mess in her bid to escape – she never expected someone to carry her in his arms. He did wrinkle his nose at her scent, but otherwise didn’t seem completely repulsed. If anything, he acted cheerful of the fact he cradled a mud monster to his chest.
He must be insane.
“I’m afraid I don’t have any clothes for women at my place, so please excuse me for that.” He gently put her down, making sure she didn't fall onto her knees. He grabbed out of his pant pocket a key, and turned it in the lock. The door clicked open and he walked into his house, declaring he’d get the bucket of water filled up and ready for her to scrub.
Walking into the place, it didn’t strike Anya as belonging to someone wealthy. She saw cracked stone walls, then Kalgrin turned on lights to illuminate the place, revealing a small sitting room with three armchairs, a straw mat, a hearth, and a desk with papers on it – not that Anya could read such things. She saw a bottle of ink and a quill, and a picture on the wall of a simplistic rendition of a mountain with fencing around it. She nodded at it, before being led to a small washroom.
“It’s not much, but I don’t see the point of having a big home when I spend most of my time outside,” Kalgrin said. He gave Anya a wink, before handing her clothes, a scrubbing brush, and pointing to a small copper tap. “We can get a limited amount of hot water from this a day, about half a tubful.” He indicated an iron-rimmed wooden bucket which went above Anya’s knees. “Use this for your initial rinsing, finish with the bath. Take your time, use soap if you want some extra freshness, and I’ll get you something to eat. Bread and butter okay?”
“It’s fine,” she said with a smile, though feeling awkward all the same. With the door closed in the small washroom, she observed the strange seat in the corner which, when opened, showed water swilling at the bottom. Oh. She’d heard about these. It was like a privy, right? You sat on it, did your business, and yanked the chain afterwards, washing the smell away.
Far more sophisticated than what she was used to. Less chance of using it as an emergency escape.
Truthfully, even though Kalgrin left her to her own devices to clean up, Anya hadn't done a proper cleaning for a long time. She knew how to, but her memories clung like cobwebs in her mind, needing a good dusting.
No one should know what she looked like under all that grime. It made people want to do bad things. She trembled at the thought, and worried for one frantic moment that it might change Kalgrin's attitude towards her. She hesitated for far too long by the bathtub, before filling the bucket up with cold water.
Cleaning up took a while. The first bucket of water fast became murky, and she needed about two more cold buckets until she’d scrubbed herself down and daubed herself in soap.
She then used cold water twice more, not bothering with Kalgrin's hot water, though she still didn't quite feel clean. Then, because the idea of hot water was a novelty to her, she eventually conceded and ran the bath, allowing the water to turn hot. She watched the steam curl up from the copper. Tested the water a few times, mixed it with cold, then dipped herself in with a sigh.
Oh, wow. I've... mmm. What an amazing experience. She tilted her head back in bliss and allowed herself to soak up this bliss for a little longer. Then she scrubbed at her arm again.
She saw her skin perfectly now, and her brown hair, trailing in the water like algae.
Strange. She’d only been truly clean in her childhood, back when her mother was concerned about them catching illness through bad hygiene. Anya didn’t know much about diseases, only that diseases were attracted to dirt and bad hygiene. Kendra knew a thing or two about it, though she said it was all down to common sense. In fact, the only thing Kendra insisted on having her children do each day was to make sure their hands were washed, and any wounds they accumulated cleaned out and covered, to make sure infection didn't set in.
Anya knew her mother had likely saved their lives on more than one occasion like that, since she'd seen even fit, strong people die from infections.
Eventually, with a reluctant sigh, since the water turned from hot to warm, Anya splashed herself out. She used the towel in the washroom to dry herself out and marveled when no specks of dirt revealed themselves, but a lot of her skin flaked off. Underneath all those layers of dirt, when she looked at herself in the mirror by the sink, was a brown-eyed, dark-haired woman with an oval face, a smattering of freckles across her face, and a shy smile. Her teeth were stained a little yellow, which now made her scratch at them. She used to chew mint to freshen her breath and use dock paste to help clean them out, but she didn’t really get many opportunities to look after herself on the plantation.
Being able to tidy up at any
point amounted to a reward of sorts. So, this is the face that men want, Anya thought, not quite sure how or why. Mother said they'd have surely taken me if I didn't act like an urchin. With her breasts unbound, they slumped just in front of her chest. She had wide, child-bearing hips, as her mother liked to say. Another thing men find attractive. Anya wasn’t the tallest person around, which annoyed her – most of the other serfs reached loftier proportions. Even the kids managed to surpass her early.
Being clean, though, felt good. Smelling the fresh soap, with a hint of something fruity, not that Anya knew what type of fruit it represented, pleased her. She looked at her dirty clothes, unwilling to touch them again. She wrapped a towel around herself and left the bathroom. Then, taking a deep breath, Anya walked into the living room and asked if Kalgrin had anything for her to wear, like a large shirt she could use as a gown. Her heart fluttered awkwardly the whole while, as if she expected Kalgrin to morph into that hand-grabbing beast her mother claimed all men were.
He turned in his seat to regard her, having been ruffling his light brown hair, and his jaw actually dropped.
“Well, fuck me,” he said. “Look who was hiding underneath all that dirt.”
For some reason, the compliment made Anya blush, but also feel self-aware of the notion she only had a towel separating her from Kalgrin’s gray-eyed gaze.
“Well, it’s not like you can see much of me underneath several layers of shit, is it?”
“No,” he said, smiling. “That is indeed true. You know, I’m surprised you…” then he stopped, “no, that’s rude of me, I’m sorry for that.”
“You're surprised that I what?”
He licked his lips, drumming the side of his armchair. “I’m surprised you weren’t a captive in the wyrm’s house. They like to take the pretty ones.”
“I know,” Anya said, not offended at all. He only echoed what her mother and most of the other adults said. “I did everything I could to make myself ugly. And it worked. Did I look remotely attractive to you earlier?”