by T. A. White
“It looked like you were having a nightmare so I woke you,” he said.
“Ah.”
“Sorry about the method.” He gestured to a stool lying on its side. It looked like he’d thrown it against the bars. “Lucius discourages us from entering the cells. Thinks it invites thoughts of escape.”
“Thanks,” Tate said not quite understanding what response he wanted.
“Want to talk about it?”
“About what?”
“The nightmare.”
“Now why would I do a thing like that,” Tate said as she lowered herself so she was sitting with her back against a wall. “I’d have to be an idiot to give my enemy the key to what scares me.”
“Are we enemies?” he asked.
“We’re certainly not allies.”
He propped one foot against the bars. “Are you sure?”
“If I’d run would you have chased me down at your master’s command?”
He thought about it for a moment, his face still expressionless. “Yes.”
“That is why we aren’t allies,” Tate said, resting her head against the wall. Her head was pounding and being in the small cell was bringing back memories of a different cell. She should have trusted her gut about going underground. Nothing good ever came from being surrounded on all sides by earth.
With the wide-open cavern of the Night Market, Tate could trick herself into believing she was above ground. In this small cell she did not have that same luxury, and her sense of unease was growing.
“You never would have made it out if you had run,” Blade said. “He had men posted all through the market for just that possibility. They wouldn’t have limited themselves to just a tap on the head either. Besides, Lucius isn’t your enemy.”
Tate assumed Lucius was the finely dressed gentleman of before. “Yet here I am in a cell. Doesn’t make me think of him as a friend.”
“You made him wait.” Blade held up a hand when Tate would have interrupted. “He’s just evening the score.”
“What right does he have to summon me anyway?” Tate muttered. “I’m not some pet.”
“You sailed with Jost, correct?” he asked. She nodded hesitantly, not quite sure where he was going with this. “What would he have done had one of his men refused his summons? Made an example of him right? Lucius is making it easy on you by simply having you wait here. He could have done much worse.”
“That’s where your argument falls apart.” Tate stood and crossed to the bars folding her hands around them. “We worked for Jost. Of course we would answer a summons. I’ve never met this guy before. I owe him nothing.”
“You’re a thief aren’t you? All thieves can be called to him.”
“I’m not a thief,” Tate said, outraged. “Why does everyone keep assuming that?”
Blade opened his hands wide as if to say, what can you do? Tate jerked the bars once before resting her forehead against them. She could do this. Being here wasn’t so bad. If she thought about it, her quarters on ship weren’t much bigger than this.
Blade let her think in silence for a moment.
After several minutes had passed with her leaning against the bars trying to force herself not to think about being trapped down here for years, he said, “You never answered my question.”
She lifted her head and asked tiredly, “What question?”
“What did you dream about?”
“Why do you care?” she asked.
“You interest me.”
Lucky her. Her voice was bleak as she said, “War. I dreamt of war.”
After that, there wasn’t much more to say. Each left the other to their thoughts. Tate didn’t ask why he was still here, and he didn’t ask for details. Eventually Tate sat down. Boredom set in before long, and she was reduced to counting the pockmarks in the wall, where previous prisoners had left their mark.
She’d reached number 239 when a man entered and whispered in Blade’s ear.
He nodded and stood, reaching for a key hanging from his neck. “Time to go.”
Oh goody. Tate pushed to her feet and backed away at Blade’s urging. He probably didn’t want her trying to rush the door in an attempt to escape. There wasn’t much chance of that. She didn’t want to be wandering the tunnels down here for days on end, and running around willy-nilly was the perfect way for that to happen. No. She’d wait and see what they wanted. Perhaps she’d get lucky and all they’d want is a face to face. A kind of welcome to the city. If not, she’d watch for her first chance at escape.
She turned to face the wall when Blade twirled his finger at her. It was odd being treated as a threat. Most assumed because she was little and female that she wasn’t dangerous. They usually ended up regretting that.
Rough hands grabbed her wrists and pulled them behind her back where cool metal slid around them, binding them there. Probably not a welcoming committee then. She was turned to face Blade who still stood by the door. Not taking any chances that one.
Blade led the way through a series of tunnels. Tate didn’t bother keeping track of the twists and turns. She was already hopelessly lost and knowing the way back to her cell wouldn’t help.
They came to a halt in front of a metal door. It was the only door Tate had seen since the one leading into the underground. That reason alone would have peeked her curiosity, but the design etched into its metal held her attention in a way a simple door would not have. Figures were etched onto the top third of the door. One figure spanned the space of Tate’s hand from fingertips to palm.
Other designs were scratched into the metal beneath the others. These had come later. Tate could tell because the tint of metal was different in these grooves as compared to the ones on top. The hands that had done the bottom carvings were shakier and much more uneven than those on top.
Distantly she felt the manacles on her wrists being released as she became engrossed in the design. She stepped forward to run her fingers along the smooth edges of the characters. They were cool to the touch and smooth.
It was a word. Or words. Tate would have bet anything on it. Her eyes struggled with the shapes. It was so familiar. Its meaning teased her but remained just out of reach.
She grew excited as her fingers traced the etchings faster, the meaning behind them coalescing at the back of her brain. Her lips were forming the words as the door opened with a silent whoosh. Just like that the meaning disappeared.
Her hand was still raised as she made an inarticulate sound of protest. A clue, something she recognized, once again snatched from her grasp just as she was beginning to understand it.
She found herself unable to take a step forward, sure that if she did her past would be lost to her. A shove took the choice out of her hands.
“Move it. We haven’t got all day.” She stumbled forward, almost tripping from her momentum. The unnamed guard went to shove her again. Tate erupted, grabbing his arm and twisting it behind his back. She wrapped another arm around his throat, fitting his trachea into the crook of her elbow and leaping to put her feet to the small of his back. Slowly, she straightened her legs forcing him to arch backwards to keep his neck from being broken.
A sharp prick to her neck restored a small measure of clarity. Enough for her to realize she was growling, a low vicious rumbling pouring out of her chest. Blade was holding a blade to her throat. He pressed forward enough for it to prick her skin, a bead of blood welling up to slide down her neck. He really was appropriately named.
When Tate stopped growling, he withdrew the blade to rest lightly against her skin.
“Release him.” His voice brooked no argument.
Tate’s hold on the guard tightened briefly as Blade stared her down. With a huff she released his neck, pushing against his back with her feet. He flew forward while she launched into the opposite direction. As soon as her back touched the ground she was rolling to her feet and crouched defensively, her arms held akimbo as if they held claws that could slash her enemies. For a moment all s
he could see were scales and black claws. She clenched her hands into fists and the moment was gone, claws and scales replaced by human flesh.
Damn dragon. Its aggression spilled out at the worst of times.
It was difficult not to snarl as nastily as any dog. She managed to keep any sound from leaving her, but her lips curled to show nonexistent fangs.
Blade made no move against her, letting her work through the rage. He gestured another guard back when he tried to approach. Gradually, Tate relaxed muscle by muscle. It was a hard fought battle not to rush blindly in, growling and snapping like some dumb beast.
Eventually, Tate stood upright, her arms hanging limply by her sides. She cursed her loss of control. She hadn’t had an incident like this since her third month at sea. She’d thought she was past this. The dragon tamed.
Tate scrubbed her face and pulled her mental defenses tight around her. No need for anyone to know how much her loss of control bothered her.
Now that the haze of rage had passed she was able to notice things she had been too preoccupied to pay attention to before, like the fact that she and Blade weren’t the only ones in the room. No. Tate’s outburst had an audience. It was a hell of a way to make a first impression.
Excluding Blade and the guard there were five other men in the room. One was the finely dressed man from earlier. Lucius, if Tate remembered correctly. He was the only person sitting and regarded the room with his head resting on one hand. When she had tried to break the guard’s neck, everyone else had made some move to stop her except him. He had just watched in amusement.
Two of the other four kept their eyes trained on Tate as if afraid she’d attack at any moment. They were obviously guards of some sort. A man with blond hair and a friendly sort of face had resumed his seat and bent over to say something to Lucius. A faint smile was Lucius’ response. The blond faced Tate with a look of expectation.
The last man in the group was exactly what Tate had assumed Umi’s informant would look like. Dressed in clothes that had seen better days, he kept fiddling with his sleeve cuffs. He cast a nervous glance towards a cage pushed to the side of the room.
That cage’s occupant was by far the most fascinating thing in the room. The creature, one Tate had never seen before, stretched slightly brushing against the bars. Little beads of light flew from the bars to attack the creature. It yelped, backing into the center of its cage and cringing. It didn’t have far to go. The poor thing had very little room and couldn’t even stand fully upright.
Its body was a cross between one of the large barbed-tail cats and a sunbear Tate had seen in a market place. A sleek tail complete with deadly sharp barbs whipped unhappily. Blue eyes surrounded by a golden ring of fur regarded Tate from a narrow face with a flat nose. Tufts of fur stuck out from ears that sat atop his head and his fur had small black rosettes on its arms that shifted into brown, black, and gold stripes along his back. It had the sleek body of a cat but the more human movements of the sun bear.
When the shifty man started for the cage, the creature hissed, showing an impressive row of fangs. Definitely a meat eater. The shifty man took a metal rod from his belt and touched it to the cage’s bars. A spark ran down it and onto the bar. An arc of light detached from the metal and zapped the creature forcing it to cower onto the floor yowling.
It hurtithurtsithurtsstopstoppleasestop, a voice in Tate’s head screamed.
She blinked. Normally the only voice she heard was the dragon’s, but this one was different. It touched a cord in Tate creating a sense of empathy it. She watched its pain and fought not to turn away.
She was on the verge of stopping the torture when Lucius’ voice did it for her. “That’s enough. Either kill the beast or leave it alone. I’m tired of listening to it screech.”
“Why did you even bring it, Sam?” the blond asked.
“I thought the Night Lord would want to see one of the creatures that have been terrorizing the tunnels. Maybe you can find some use for the thing.”
“For a price, of course,” the blond said sarcastically.
“It seems only fair that I be paid some sort of finders fee for my trouble.” The man ran a hand down the front of his shirt. “Of course, if you aren’t interested, I can see if the Red Lady would take him off my hands. I hear she’s paying top price for any who bring her a creature. She uses their skin as clothes.”
“Is that what they say?” The blond looked a little grim as he shared a meaningful glance with Lucius. It looked a little odd on a face that until now had shown nothing but a wry humor at the night’s events.
“Yes. This one in particular should catch her eye with the strange patterns on its fur.”
Lucius lounged indolently back in his chair. “It’s a wonder that you thought to bring it to me at all if the Red Lady would, as you say, pay you handsomely for it. Yes, it does make me question why you would bring it here.” He pinned the man with his eyes. “I’d heard you do most of your business with her these days.”
“As I said, I thought you might be interested to know what had been killing your men.” The sly man couldn’t quite meet Lucius eyes.
“I know what has been killing my people.” He pointed one finger at the cage. “And that is not it. The beast responsible has many more legs and a much uglier face. So I ask again, why have you brought it here?”
Tate jerked slightly when a voice slid into her mind. To kill. Won’t succeed. Must kill talking man. Have to have tohavetohaveto.
She shifted uneasily, unsure. Once again, the voice didn’t sound like her dragon’s. She was pretty sure she knew where the voice was coming from too. The creature’s agitation rolled off it in waves, and Tate couldn’t get over the absurd idea that it was the creature’s thoughts she was hearing.
The conversation between Lucius and the sly man continued as she slowly moved to the cage. Blade moved with her but seemed content to let her do as she pleased as long as she didn’t try to escape or harm the others. Worked for her. She had a puzzle to figure out.
The creature focused on Lucius with rapt attention. If Tate’s theory was right, and it was entirely possible that the voice was just one of many in her head, Lucius was its target.
“Hello,” Tate whispered softly.
She waited until the beast looked at her. Amber eyes met hers with an intelligence she hadn’t expected to see. This was no animal. Or not entirely. She didn’t know what that made him, but he wasn’t some creature incapable of understanding. Knowledge of self radiated from his eyes as did a helpless anger.
Tate could relate. She knew what it was to feel so enraged at the circumstances around you but unable to do anything to change them.
She needed to give it a name, even if it was a name only she knew. Calling it ‘the creature’ and ‘it’ wasn’t very flattering for either of them. She could always call him Spot after the rosettes on his fur but that made him sound like a pet she’d picked up at market. One that could rip off her limbs and beat her with them. No, Spot wouldn’t due.
Oh, she knew. Night. Night was the perfect name for him.
“Can you speak?” she asked.
The creature didn’t answer, regarding her with wary suspicion. Tate sighed. Guess not. At sea, she’d heard of a group of people who didn’t use sound to speak and instead used hand gestures to communicate. Unfortunately, she didn’t know the hand language and doubted the creature did either
Can you speak? She thought at him. She didn’t know what crazy urge possessed her to try mind speaking with him. As far as she knew the ability to speak mind-to-mind was rare, existing mostly in stories told on lonely nights at sea.
No response. Tate caught herself holding her breath in anticipation and laughed silently at her foolishness. Of course he couldn’t speak mind-to-mind with her. Just like she really hadn’t heard him earlier. It was just another example of the decay that infested her brain. Couldn’t remember anything, and made up voices to keep her company.
Try again, a female voi
ce whispered from the crouched presence that occupied the back of her mind. She’d grown used to its company and for the most part ignored it except for those rare instances when it spoke to her, which thankfully wasn’t often.
She’d already made up her mind to ignore it this time too. The voice sighed. Stubborn. Scales slid against rock before it shouted. Try again, try again, tryagainTRYAGAINTRYAGAINTRYAGAIN. Each word louder than the last until it was a deafening roar that drowned the room out and left Tate’s head pounding in time to the words.
Enough, Tate shrieked in her head.
The creature, Night, jerked back in his cage and then inched closer. Tate eyed him. Did he really hear her, or was it coincidence?
Stubborn. The voice chortled. There was a flicker of movement originating from the tattoo. Tate could feel it shift and wiggle, almost as if it was trying to get comfortable on her arm.
Putting aside the dragon, Tate crouched until Night was at eye level with her.
Can you hear me? She thought uncertainly at him.
Louder, the female voice said.
Tate rolled her eyes. This was ridiculous.
Can you hear me?
Push the thought from your mind, the female advised.
Beads of sweat popped up on her forehead as she struggled to do just that. Can…you…hear me?
It was much harder to think at something than she would have thought. It felt kind of like giving oneself an aneurysm. If he didn’t answer this time, that was it. Tate wasn’t wasting any more of her time on this pointless exercise. She didn’t even know why she’d tried in the first place. He wasn’t going to answer. Speaking mind-to-mind was impossible.
Yes.
Oh, Great Gods. It worked. Tate couldn’t believe it. Unless she was imagining a response. Urg. She needed to try again.
What should she ask him? There were so many questions.
Before she could pose him a question, he interrupted. Help me. He grabbed the bars and shook them, yelping from the shock but refusing to let go. Help me. Please.
Let go of the bars before they kill you, Tate thought sharply.
