When she reached the top, she swiped her sleeve across her brow. Despite the relative coolness of winter and the twilight air, the hard work was enough to make anyone sweat. Even with her hair tied up in the back, her neck and collar were soaked.
She hiked up her skirt’s waistband and pulled the cart toward the grottoes. No dragon anywhere on Starlight would ever sweat, even if one did lift a claw to do anything more than point at her and complain. The scaly beasts had no pores in their armor. They were impervious, proving the chants of the other slave girls as they played with spinners before bedtime.
A dragon can’t huggle.
A dragon can’t snuggle.
A dragon’s scales are hard and cold.
The dragons make us struggle.
Koren smiled. The words were silly, but the song made the younger kids laugh. They didn’t have much else to laugh about, especially during the other three quarters of the year when hot winds from the swamp brought mosquitoes and the diseases they carried. Only the very few kindlier dragons would put up with the frailties of the younger humans, giving them cooler tasks like fetching water from the forest stream. The grouchier dragons would send ill humans to the Separators. There they would be transferred to an Assignment in another grotto or to a human herd in the Traders’ cattle camp, where they would have to fend for themselves and fight for food among the dozens of other children.
Yes, the cattle children were the true paupers in the land. Earlier that day, after climbing to the top of the fence surrounding the camp, she had dropped a quarter of a loaf of nut bread to a small boy on the other side. The boy looked both ways, scooped up the bread, and tore it in half.
“Thank you,” he had whispered. Then, as he gobbled down one half, he ran to a little girl in the distance. When he reached her, he gave her the other half and pointed at Koren, still hanging on to the top of the fence.
Even now, the boy’s whispered voice continued to bathe her mind in sweet comfort. Thank you. Those simple words would be a soothing balm every time sad memories scratched a new wound in her soul.
When she passed under the arch of Arxad’s grotto, her home now for more than a year, she hurried to the back of the cart and pushed it from behind. She might already be late, and Arxad wouldn’t be happy if his sweetener wasn’t ready in time for his evening meal.
Now on the entry tunnel’s smoother terrain, familiar after such a long Assignment, she jogged quickly. Ahead, a lantern light illuminated the kitchen area. Madam Orley and the other girls had probably finished preparing and serving the meal. Madam had killed four sheep earlier in the day, and butchering them had been quite a chore for her and the girls. Now that the girls had left to take their exams, Madam Orley would be working alone, tired, as could be expected, and probably unwilling to listen to excuses about stinging bees.
Koren wheeled the cart to a stop next to a table with an oak surface and four granite legs. Madam stood on the other side, her hands flat on the table as she propped her stocky body. A weary smile dressed her face. She was obviously tired, but not cross.
Koren picked up a sticky comb the size of her hand and set it on the table. “Will this one be enough for Arxad? I can put the others in jars.”
Beneath the light of a lantern hanging from the high ceiling, Madam Orley looked at her, two circlets of gray hair hanging out of her white bandanna and dangling in front of her eyes. With every feature in her wrinkled face sagging, she sighed. “It will be enough.” Her voice sounded as tired as she looked. “But you had better hurry. I served the lambs a moment ago, and he is waiting for the sauce to be sweetened. Then you can come back and store the other combs.”
Koren grabbed a metal pot hanging from one of many hooks that held cooking utensils on the stone wall and put the honeycomb inside. Kneeling, she inserted the pot into a shelf above the fireplace. With the spit for roasting the lambs still in the fireplace’s main compartment, the shelf they used for keeping food warm would have to do. There was no time to move the spit and then wash her hands. All she needed was to warm the comb a little bit.
When enough honey pooled, she pulled out the pot and marched farther into the tunnel. The dining area was in the next chamber. It, too, was well-lit, making it easy for Koren to follow the glow.
She paused near an opening to the right and peered inside. Unlike humans, who shared a community table, each dragon perched on his haunches in front of an individual stone pedestal, Arxad near the left side of the rectangular room, Fellina at the opposite wall on the right. Xenith, their female youngling, perched behind her table near the wall across from the entry door. The room was small compared to the main living quarters, allowing them to speak without shouting, but the cramped space made it difficult for a servant to maneuver around the tables while carrying heavy serving platters and filled goblets.
All three seemed to be in a good mood, each one tearing meat from various portions of the roasted lamb and slurping macko berry wine. With their noisy chewing, their growling conversations were muffled, but Koren’s experienced ears picked up every word. They spoke in their own language, of course, but she and the other slaves had heard it so often, translating it wasn’t a problem.
“The Separators are promoting three humans,” Arxad said. “I will have to prepare them for the ceremony.”
Koren held her breath. They were talking about Promotions, a topic they always avoided when she was nearby. Maybe they would let some information slip. She had often dreamed of being one of the promoted humans. It was the only way out of the hotter regions.
Fellina stopped chewing. “Will these duties never end?”
“I will not be long.” Arxad looked at Xenith. “And you already know what I will say if you complain that you should be allowed to go. The book of the law forbids it. Someday you will be old enough to see what we do with promoted humans.”
Xenith crunched a bone and spoke loudly while grinding it. “Good. I hope Koren gets promoted someday. I think she is—”
“Quiet!” Fellina scolded. “A human is in the kitchen.”
The room fell silent. Koren counted to ten, hoping that was enough time for the dragons to believe she had not heard their conversation. Taking a breath, she marched in, gave the three dragons a quick bow, and hurried with the pot to Arxad’s table.
“You are late,” Arxad growled in the human tongue.
“Yes, I am.” Koren poured some of the honey into a bowl of herbs and drippings from the lamb. Using a spoon from the table, she mixed the concoction into a thick sauce. “If you care to hear the reason for my tardiness, I will tell you.”
“I want to hear it,” Xenith said. “Koren’s stories are always amusing.”
Arxad gave Koren a nod. “Very well. Amuse us.”
“One moment.” Koren poured the sauce over the remainder of Arxad’s lamb, set the pot down on the floor, and wiped her hands on her apron. “I am ready.”
Giving the dragons a theatrical grimace as she turned slowly in place, she bent her body into a skulking pose, raised her hands as if ready to claw an enemy, and narrowed her eyes. The dragons loved a good show, so she would give them one. Maybe someday she could earn the elusive Promotion.
“The hives are filled with bees,” she said in a breathy, overly dramatic voice. “Since you are protected by your impenetrable scales, you dragons cannot fathom the torture we humans suffer when the needle-sharp barbs prick our skin. The sting is worse than a spear piercing a dragon’s underbelly. Venom courses through our bloodstreams. Our bodies swell like rotting cadavers. Our throats constrict, and we gasp for just a swallow of air.”
She wrapped her fingers around her throat. Sticking out her tongue and gagging, she staggered from one table to another. Finally, she collapsed in a heap and peeked at the dragons. Xenith gawked at her, mesmerized. After a few seconds, Koren spoke in a groaning lament. “Though we beg for death to come and end the torture, the dark predator stalks slowly, laughing at us as we strain to breathe. Then, just as we realize we wa
nt to live after all, he thrusts his jagged sword into our chests, deflating our lungs and the last gasping prayer for precious life.”
She rose to her feet and posed as she had at the beginning, again using a dramatic voice. “In order to avoid the stings, I wore a robe I constructed out of acorn caps. The hard surface made me feel like a powerful dragon—brave, strong, and invulnerable to the pesky bees. Armed with nothing but a sharp stick, I attacked the hive, and although the wicked bees swarmed around my body, buzzing and driving their stingers into my robe, I managed to pull out the finest honeycombs in the land, dripping with gooey, delicious honey.”
She lifted a finger and lowered her voice to a raspy whisper. “But, after I loaded the combs into my cart, a hundred squirrels attacked me.” Raising her hands, she ran around the area enclosed by the tables, acting out her story. “I fought them off, stripping each one from my acorn robe and throwing them into the river until I was finally rid of the furry rats.”
Koren halted in front of Xenith, panting. “I took off my robe and hurried back to my cart, but my escape had already delayed me too much. I knew I would be late, though I strained with all my might to run up the hill with a cart dragging me back.”
Her draconic mouth hanging open, Xenith turned to Arxad. “Father, she risked her life to get your honey. I could almost see the squirrels and the bees. Have you ever heard such a story of courage?”
Arxad chuckled. “No, I cannot say that I have. It was quite a tale indeed.”
The male dragon eyed Koren. His pulsing red pupils told her what she needed to know. Although he realized the story was really a tall tale, he was pleased.
“You may wash and retire to your quarters,” he said. “Your entertainment has earned an early rest.”
Koren smiled and bowed. “I trust that my service to you will continue to demonstrate the loyalty due you and your household.”
“You see,” Xenith said. “If any human deserves Promotion, Koren does.”
Arxad glared at her. “You speak that which you do not understand. The Separators know about Koren and her talents, so it is up to us to be silent and trust their judgment.” He glanced at Fellina briefly before turning to Koren with a kindly smile. “Go to your quarters now. Madam Orley will clean up in here.”
Koren bowed again and walked out of the room, her back straight and her head high. When she reached the tunnel and its concealing shadows, she leaned against the wall. Her heart thumped. Her legs trembled. The Separators know about me! Maybe Promotion was more than just a dream. Maybe she would finally be able to go to the mountain spas and the cooler climate.
Closing her eyes, she wrapped her arms around herself. There she could serve the King Dragon and be with the other promoted humans. The tasks were so much easier there, a few hours of food preparation and cleaning, and the rest of the day could be spent wandering in the hills, picking flowers, singing prayers, or just sitting in the green grass doing nothing at all.
Koren looked back toward the kitchen. At least that’s what Madam Orley and the other women always said. The men, of course, told different, though equally wonderful stories. They focused on the ease of lighter outdoor labors, certainly easier than slaving with pickaxes in the deep pheterone mines. And they could enjoy hunting, fishing, and tending bountiful gardens. It was truly Paradise.
After taking a final peek into the dining chamber, Koren scooted toward her sleeping quarters. She passed through the enormous living room, empty now except for the thick mats the dragons used for resting and recreation. They would return here after dinner to talk and play their usual games, most involving quizzes and brain teasers. Once in a while Arxad would bounce with Xenith on the mats and wrestle with her, though such episodes had grown infrequent since she had, as the dragons put it, “come of age.”
When Koren reached the far end of the living room, she turned left into another corridor, barely illuminated by widely spaced lanterns. Its lower ceiling made it much harder for dragons to enter, which was a blessing. The girls could talk about the day and complain about their labors without worrying about an eavesdropper listening in. Madam Orley would often tell stories about their origins, starting with the humans’ version and telling how dragons kidnapped a group of families from an alien planet called Darksphere. Starlight had begun to lose pheterone, a gas in the air necessary for dragon survival, so one hundred years ago they sent an explorer dragon to Darksphere in search of an alternative place to live.
The new planet had even less pheterone in its atmosphere than did Starlight, but the dragon noticed how nimbly the creatures there used their hands and tools. He stole a group away and enslaved them, forcing them to procreate so they could grow in numbers and dig the deep mines that would release the gas from beneath Starlight’s crust and thereby replenish the atmosphere.
Ever since, humans have used picks and drills to dig deep holes in pheterone mines, and dragons have grown stronger because of the replenished atmosphere.
The dragon version of the legend, of course, differed in two details. Indeed, a dragon did go to Darksphere to search for a habitable planet, but he found that humans there were brutally treated by slave-driving mountain bears and often used as a food source. He rescued all he could carry on his back, and in exchange for their safety, humans have worked for dragon survival all these years. The labor was still forced and often torturous, but it was better than being eaten by bears.
Koren trembled. The thought of a huge bear gnawing on her limbs curdled her stomach. At least the dragons never did that. Of course, some of the meaner boys would swear they had seen a dragon eat a human, but they were just trying to scare the girls.
She continued down the corridor until it widened into a dead-end chamber about half the size of the dragons’ dining area, barely adequate for Madam Orley and the three girls. Their thick mats lay side by side against the adjacent wall, and a desk sat against the opposite wall. The girls took turns at the rickety pinewood desk, studying their evening lessons—mathematics, geography, politics, theater, and history. With their labors requiring mainly physical exertion, the lessons often seemed meaningless. From time to time, however, a human would be chosen as an accountant or an engineer, so the dragons trained all the younger slaves, hoping they could identify the most intellectually talented humans for further education.
Koren sat on the desk’s stool and touched the history book, open to their latest lesson on heroic dragons of the past. The dragon in the drawing, barely visible in the room’s dimmed lantern, was a gigantic red beast named Magnar. With wings larger than most, he was the very dragon who once flew to the alien world and brought back the first humans. Now, older than anyone in the world, he presided over the Separators. The few living humans who had ever seen him said he was still as powerful as ever.
Koren, of course, had been in the Separators’ Basilica, but only when it was time for a new Assignment. The dragons always made her drink a syrupy potion before taking her there, and that kept her in a daze throughout the process. Only the faintest images remained—a fire, a book on a pedestal, and dragons shouting in their gruff language, sounding like bidders at the Traders’ auction. It was all so strange.
Koren closed the book sharply. These stories often didn’t match those told by Madam Orley or the poems sung by Tamminy, the dragon bard. Who could tell what was true and what wasn’t? Maybe Magnar? If he was that old, surely he would know every story in this world’s human history.
She stooped and poured water from a pitcher to a basin they kept near a corner. With the lantern hanging close by, her reflection in the basin looked pale as it wiggled within the ripples. Still, her red hair was obvious, the same red hair that gave her such an advantage over most of the other slaves. The dragons considered it a sign of great intelligence and talent, and her green eyes added to the effect.
“A pair of emeralds shining under a cap of fiery brilliance,” the Trader had called out again and again as he paraded her in the courtyard. “She will be a troph
y slave for the noblest dragon in the land.”
Koren remembered trying to look intelligent that day, though it was hard to keep from glaring at the Trader, a human male who kissed up to the dragons in a nauseating manner. He would be quick to betray any of his kind who tried to escape to the wilderness or anyone who dared to speak against dragon authority. He wasn’t a Trader; he was a traitor.
After washing her hands and splashing her face, she dried off with a hand towel from a shelf built into the wall. A full bath could wait until tomorrow.
Sitting on her mat, she crossed her legs and leaned against the wall. Soon, Natalla would come in. Since she was only twelve, the youngest of Madam’s orphans, her exams were easier than those of her fourteen-year-old sister, Petra, enabling her to finish early.
Koren looked at the weak flame in the wall-mounted lantern. It illuminated another built-in shelf that held their meager clothes—a thin nightgown for each slave and a single pair of boots in case any of them had to venture into the swamp. They were too big for Natalla and too small for Madam, so Koren and Petra were always chosen to wade out among the serpents to harvest the swamp grains.
She pulled a nightgown from the shelf, sat again on her mat, and straightened her long skirt over her legs. She had shorts on underneath, but it made sense to wear both. The skirt’s warm material always felt good during the cool months.
Sighing, she gazed at the lantern again. Now was a good time to make up a prayer song. She had listened to the girls singing anti-dragon chants all day. As usual, they were funny, especially the one Natalla loved.
Dragon, dragon, stinky breath,
Bryan Davis Page 5
