by Stella Cassy
I felt shame rage hot and prickly inside my stomach at the selfish thought. None of them would ever know what I had become because none of them had lived through the Pax invasion. I looked at the back of my new owner through the prism of old memories. Maybe I deserved to have this collar around my neck.
“Deveron,” the older Drakon said. “Get them inside.”
“Over here,” the younger Drakon said, gesturing for the five of us to follow him.
There was a square recess built into the side of the hovercraft. Deveron walked over to it and punched in a sequence of numbers. Immediately, the door of the hovercraft lifted up to reveal gleaming brown leather seats.
“Get in,” Deveron commanded.
I made my way to the door, but the other slaves overtook me quickly. The Nortian and Vence were the first ones in; their large bodies made it easy for them to maneuver into the hovercraft. The Ermits got in behind them, and, despite their small size and stature, they leapt into the hovercraft with surprising agility. I glanced at the raised step that I needed to make in order to pull myself into the craft and sighed. This was probably not going to go smoothly.
I tried to find something to reach for, but the door was made of smooth surfaces that were difficult to grip. I tried anyway and promptly landed on the mossy grass in front of the craft. I could hear snickering coming from the Vence, but I ignored it and pulled myself back to my feet. I tried once more and this time my hand slipped, and I knocked my forehead against the side of the opening.
“For Jupiter’s sake,” an impatient growl came from just behind me.
I glanced behind to see the looming form of the older Drakon. I felt my heart stall a little as he wrapped his Herculean arm around my waist and hoisted me onto the hovercraft without the slightest bit of effort.
“Sit,” he commanded. “And fasten your seatbelt.”
I hurried to a window seat in the far corner of the craft and did just that. Moments later, the door closed on us and I saw both Drakons enter the hovercraft through separate entrances at its nose. I noticed that neither one fastened their seatbelts. As they prepared to take off, the loud growling scream of the engine burst to life and made me gasp.
I was used to travelling in large spaceships. These smaller vessels seemed painfully exposed. I could feel every vibration, every dip and bend and turn. I glanced out my window at the tight formation of clouds that we were passing. Had we really covered that much distance already?
As the hovercraft dipped to the side, I spied the sweeping rust planes of Minapolis. Clouds and whiplash winds shrouded the city and diluted its colors. It looked very ordinary from my vantage point. The further we flew, the more the scenery began to change. I could make out the ridges of mountain peaks and rolling hills that melded together in the kind of harmony that was lacking in the city.
The hovercraft approached a particularly tall mountain peak and I realized we were losing height the closer we got to it. We passed very close to the mountain’s charcoal blue summit and I was able to see the green pools of water that had stagnated in some of the crevices. Once we had cleared the mountain, I craned my neck down and spotted the huge fleet of spaceships docked against the mountain range. They varied in size and shape but even from my distance I noticed the similarities that united the fleet.
Most of the ships were sleek and aerodynamic, and their front decks were designed to mimic the snarling muzzle of a dragon. The nacelles were shaped like wings and some even boasted a series of outer guns and pods that resembled the spikes that coated dragon hide. The fleet looked impressive from the sky, but as we sunk lower, I saw the true beauty was in the power of the forces that surrounded the fleet.
The Drakons were a smaller group within the larger multiverse; the Hielsrane were smaller still. I recognized the war-like appearance of their ships with their protruding missile launchers and the decidedly aggressive snarling face that formed the mouths of several ships.
Sand flew up in a whirlwind around us as the hovercraft touched down between two massive spaceships. Before the dust had settled, the door beeped up and exposed us to the harsh terrain we had landed in.
“Come with me, the lot of you,” Deveron commanded. He was standing in front of the craft, clicking his talons together impatiently. “Ah… except you.”
He was looking right at me and I felt my legs turn to jelly. What were they going to do with me? I hadn’t been a purchase. I had been a ‘gift’.
“Ranel?” he asked, looking towards the older Dragon. “Do you have a use for her?”
Ranel turned to me. “She can stay on Dashel’s ship until I find something for her to do. Take her to one of the cells. I’ll confer with Dashel first. Take the rest of them to the Wyvern… the slave quarters have been readied.”
Once he had given his orders, he walked away. His strides were militant, his legs barely bent. I wondered if that was indicative of his personality.
“Malick,” Deveron called out to a Drakon with ice blue scales and eyes that resembled a cinder block. “Take this lot to the Wyvern and install them in the slave’s quarters.”
“What about this one?” Malick asked, giving me the once over. His eyes were filled with blatant curiosity and I saw him lick his lips.
“A new slave,” Deveron replied. “She belongs to your commander.”
“He won’t mind if I play with her for a while would he –
Deveron let out a low, menacing snarl that had me cringing back in fright. Malick however, looked amused. “I was only joking,” he laughed. “You lot… come with me.”
He gave me a parting glance before he led the other slaves down a different path. Deveron turned to me and gestured for me to follow him.
He led me into a large ship whose entrance walls were carved with an impressive motif of dragons. The further in we walked, I realized that the motifs were telling a story. I wondered if it was narrating the history of the draconic empires.
It was clear Deveron was taking me through the back channels of the ship; the passageways were narrow and dimly lit and they seemed to get smaller the further we walked. Finally, he stopped outside a thick black door that was framed with metal studs.
“Inside,” Deveron ordered me.
I wanted to ask him what they were planning on doing with me, but I was too scared to speak to him directly. The moment I walked in, the door slammed shut on me and the sound reverberated through the lonely room. It looked like a holding cell with no light and no character – just a dark hole that was meant to stamp out all light and all hope.
I was thirsty but there was no water in the room, so I slipped down to the ground, resting my arms on my knees. It seemed that most of my life consisted of waiting for the next horrible thing to happen. What would it be for me now? The best I could hope for was to be put to work in the kitchens. I would be out of sight of my fearsome new owners and I could sneak away little bits of food if I ever got too hungry.
Hunger had been my constant companion in my previous life as slave to Gor-et-Gore. He liked to keep his slaves underfed, for what reason, I couldn’t possibly say. I used to serve him his food at supper and he used to make me watch as he ate every mouthful. There were days I was so hungry, I used to lean in every time he opened his mouth to take a bite.
The room he ate in was large and circular. It reminded me of a harem, filled with gaudy cushions in mismatched prints and intricate wall hangings that hid the moon rock walls from view. The carpet was a fevered red that he often slid down into after a particularly long meal. The table where the food was laid was a thick block of sable wood and even after Gor-et-Gore had finished eating, it was still full of food.
I still remembered that night when Gor-et-Gore had caught me picking at the discarded food on his table. He had only pretended to leave so that he could watch me. He waited till I had a large piece of Craik meat in my mouth before storming into the room and shoving me onto my back. First he had made me spit out the meat and then he had turned his pincer like
claws on me. I still had the scars on both my arms.
I shook my head, trying to dislodge that memory from my brain. But I was hungry and whenever hunger pangs assaulted my stomach, I couldn’t help thinking of Gor-et-Gore. I hoped he had choked to death on Craik meat at some point after he had passed me into Winnow-Dell’s ownership.
I leaned against the cool wall of my cell and stared at the depressing grey steel that made up the ceiling. If I stood on my tiptoes and reached up with my hand outstretched, I could almost touch it. There were deep claw marks ingrained into the walls and I wondered if anger or desperation had caused them. I counted all the distinct scratches that marked the walls, but I gave up when I got to a hundred and thirteen.
I was tracing my finger along a particularly artistic indentation when I heard the latch to my door click open.
I was hoping it would be the younger dragon, Deveron, but it was the older one… Ranel. He didn’t enter the cell; it was much too small to allow his height anyway. His eyes were shrouded in shadow, but I could still make out the gaunt hardness of his features. In their shifter forms, most Drakon looked distinctly human but this one was different. His scales encroached onto his face; the textured scales coated his jaw and curved around his left eye like a frame.
“You’re in luck, it turns out we need a scullery maid,” he said gruffly. “But until the Wyvern’s repairs have been completed, you will be staying here on this ship.”
I gulped and nodded, wondering what the appropriate way to address him was.
“Come on,” he said, raising his voice.
I suppressed the cringe I could feel coming and moved towards him. He moved back only an inch to allow me to pass. My hand grazed his forearm and I felt the textured toughness of the scales on his skin. I was weak as I passed over the threshold and I stumbled over my own feet on the way out.
I saw the floor coming towards my face and my hands flashed out instinctively. I screamed as a searing bite of pain threaded through my hand. I looked down to see one of my fingers lying to one side in a decidedly broken position.
“Oh no,” I sobbed.
The fatigue of hunger combined with the bursting pain in my hand reduced me to a fragile mess, and before I could will myself into calm, I had started crying.
When I was brave enough to glance upwards, I saw that Ranel was looking at me with more than a little distaste, as though my tears were personally offending him. He met my eyes for only a moment before he sighed in frustration.
Then to my complete and utter shock, he bent down and lifted me off the ground and into his arms. I was so caught off guard that the tears dried on my cheeks and I just stared at him. He walked through the labyrinth of narrow passageways without a word.
“W— what are you going to do with me?” I stammered.
“The medical bay.”
“I… what?” I asked stupidly.
“Your finger is broken,” he replied gruffly. “It needs to be set.”
I blinked at him. I had never expected to find humanity in someone like him.
“I… thank you,” I said, after a long silence.
He didn’t look at me. He didn’t answer. Instead, he tried very hard to avoid my eyes altogether.
4
Ranel
Of course it was just like a human. They tripped over their own feet and were reduced to weeping messes at the sight of a small injury. That was one thing I understood about their kind. They hated pain. They did anything to avoid it. It was one of the reasons they made such good slaves. The promise of pain was all it took to keep them in line.
She was light as a hatchling in my arms. Her flesh was so soft I could have torn her apart in seconds using only my teeth. It was a wonder her kind had existed so long outside their puny planet.
Her eyes kept darting to my face every few seconds. I wondered if growling in her face would put a stop to it, but something stopped me from acting on the impulse. Was it the way her hand had absentmindedly curled over my shoulder? Was it because I didn’t want to displace the soft unkempt hair that spilled over her arm and tickled my neck?
I thought about Carissa and Tarion, Lehar and Lara, Dashel and Natalie. They had all fallen for human women. I had never understood why. They were weak creatures; insignificant, slight… slaves. And yet… there was something to be said about vulnerability.
Her eyes flitted to my face again. This time I turned just in time to catch her stolen glance. Her eyes widened and I saw a blossom of color burgeon on her cheeks like blood on fresh snow.
“What are you staring at, slave?” I growled, keeping my voice low and intimidating.
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. “Your eyes are green,” she blurted out.
The moment she said the words, I realized she hadn’t meant to speak at all. She dropped her gaze immediately and I saw a fresh blush of embarrassment flood her cheeks. Drakon never copped to weakness and it was weakness to allow others a glimpse into your mind. We were a proud people who hid our true emotions behind steel expressions. It was new and intriguing to see a creature whose inner thoughts and feelings were laid bare for all to see.
The medical bay was empty when I walked in. It was always left open should any Drakon need to use the supplies on board. We were resourceful and independent, which meant we preferred to tend to our own wounds. Of course humans were children and they were used relying on others to alleviate their pains and injuries.
The medical bay was made up of four large walls. One wall was almost completely hidden by large shelved cabinets that contained medicines, pills and healing remedies to treat everything from chilling scabs to deep cuts. A long steel table had been set against the second wall and it contained bandages and other medical utensils that were normally used in surgical procedures. There were three broad beds pushed up against the third wall for any Drakon who had suffered serious injury that required overnight assistance. The middle of the space was taken up by a center island, which contained a sink and drawers for various other miscellaneous items.
I set the woman-child on the flat slab of the center island and rummaged around for a brace to set her finger. The whole time I looked, I could feel her eyes on my back.
The braces we had on hand were made for Drakon, so they were much too large for her finger, but I improvised by breaking off a piece of wood with my teeth. I retrieved a small piece of thick gauzy material from the first aid kit in the supplies cabinet and placed both items down next to her.
“There. Set your finger in that. It’ll be fine in a few days,” I said.
She glanced down at the wood and gauze next to her. “I… I’ll try doing it,” she mumbled under her breath.
She reached out and picked up the piece of wood gingerly. She turned it over in her hand and then shot me a self-conscious glance.
I growled low with irritation. “You don’t know what to do, do you?”
“Actually I do, I’m not an idiot,” she said suddenly. A spark of anger danced in her eyes for a second before it was extinguished by fear. “I mean… I just… I don’t know if I can do it one-handed.”
“Drakons set limbs one handed all the time,” I scoffed.
“I am not a Drakon,” she said, and I noticed the ice in her tone.
She was more spirited than I had first assumed. Rather than irritate, it impressed.
I watched as she picked up the wood brace with her good hand and attempted to hold it against her broken finger. She winced from the pain and I saw her hand tremble. She tried to reach for the gauze when the brace fell between her legs and slipped down onto the floor.
I mashed my teeth together and walked towards her. I picked up the fallen brace and straightened up. “Give me your hand,” I commanded.
For a second, she didn’t move. She just sat there, staring at me with uncertainty. “What are you going to do?” she asked.
“What do you think?” I said impatiently.
I took her small hand into my palm and examined the break firs
t. It was a simple enough task, but I found myself getting distracted by the feel of her palm against mine. It was an intimacy I wasn’t accustomed to and it stirred something inside me that I thought had died a long time ago.
That realization made me suddenly furious. There was nothing special about this human so why did I feel the need to examine her face? Why did I feel the need to make sure her finger was set correctly? Why did I feel responsible for her?
My anger seeped into my fingers and I abandoned all attempts at being gentle. I saw her wince from the pain of my rough handling.
“It hurts?” I asked.
“I’ve had worse,” she replied. “I’ve almost died more times than I can count.”
“Tripped on a flat surface?” I asked.
I saw the same flicker of anger pass through her eyes, but she reined it in this time. “Sure, why not,” she said. “I suppose it doesn’t matter to you either way.”
“No,” I agreed. “It doesn’t matter to me.”
But that was a lie and it irked me to admit it, even if it was only to myself.
“Arh,” she said, in a soft voice as my claws rubbed against her broken finger.
“There,” I said, ignoring her. “It’s done. That finger should be fully functional in a few days.”
I pulled away the moment I was done and put several feet between us. She stared at her little cast. Her eyes were blanketed in an emotion I couldn’t recognize.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
I started walking toward the medical bay’s large sliding doors. “Come with me,” I said. “And try and keep up.”
I could hear her scurrying after me, her breaths coming in short, sharp bursts. If I concentrated really hard, I could even hear her heartbeat beat steadily against her rib cage.
I walked through Dashel’s monster of a ship, leaving the medical bay behind and entering the heart of Gyygnar. I noticed the girl’s eyes scan the area and I realized that everything from the contoured white walls to the domed glass ceiling must have been new to her. Our spaceships were different from every other species in the galaxy. While they boasted smaller, sleeker designs, our ships were built for strength rather than speed.