Dragonoak

by Sam Farren

  Thick, hot tears streamed down my face, and I cried as I never had before. I'd used up every last memory I had of Claire, and it hadn't changed anything. I hadn't been taken away. I hadn't even been unchained.

  Katja would check on me, occasionally. My body was sparking with power, and light rushed through me, directionless, above and beyond my control. It burst from my pores as though each one was a wound in and of itself, and I think it pleased Katja to see me burning so brightly because of her. I wondered if I was burning myself from the inside, as a phoenix would. If so, I hoped my bones turned to ash along with all else. I had no desire to be reborn into these chains.

  Sometimes, she would be crying. She'd stand over me, arms wrapped around herself as she rocked back and forth on the spot, and other times, she'd pace across the room, frantic, as though she'd come home and found me like this.

  More often than not, she'd stand over me without a hint of remorse, sighing. Whatever she was waiting for me to do wasn't happening quickly enough for her liking.

  “Do you have any idea what it's like to be around you?” Katja asked, kneeling by my side. I fought to keep my eyes on her, and let her move me when she bundled a fist in my hair. “I've long since known that you feel something around me, something of our connection. From what I've been able to discern, it's akin to sickness, isn't it? Would that I were able to feel the same around you, Rowan.

  “When I see you, I feel nothing. As though I'm looking at a stranger,” she said, trailing her fingers across my cheek. “As though there's supposed to be a gap where I'm looking, as though some emptiness is supposed to fill the air, and yet there you are. I always thought you were rather quaint, Rowan. Endearing in short bursts, even. But the moment I'm away from you, it all fades. In the beginning, I had to go to great lengths to convince myself that you had been real. Though I supposed it makes this all easier. Goodness. How can a person have such an effect on others? I wonder if anyone else experiences such an unsettling sensation around you. I wonder if it was the same for Claire.”

  If she was trying to provoke me, she succeeded. Her fingers stopped trailing across my cheek, dipped down to the metal chain around my throat, and without blinking, I turned my head to the side, caught her hand in my mouth, and bit it as hard as I could. I bit it until the skin split and she cried out, striking me around the head, tugging her hand free and scrambling back.

  “You—you beast,” she shrieked, pulling her bloodied hand to her chest and clutching it as it healed over. “I am warning you, Rowan. I've been more than fair; do not continue to test my patience.”

  She didn't check up on me, after that.

  I laid on my side for hours or days, watching blood trickle from my wrist, light rush from my skin. Katja had thrown old clothes and towels at me, and I'd mopped the floor with them until they were all bright red. My body didn't know what to do with itself. The blood flowed endlessly, until the light no longer stopped at my wrist.

  It rushed into the blood itself, turning it white, until it was no longer flowing out of me. I watched the light grow with a mixture of awe and apathy, each one heightened by exhaustion, seeing the light twist and change, blending into something new.

  I watched the light become a part of me. It was as Katja had said: bones, muscle, flesh. The light weaved together, thatching itself together in layers, until it had created something solid, something whole. Once its work was done, the light faded somewhat, but didn't rush out of me entirely.

  The whole of my body burnt, and so did the hand that had formed itself out of nothing.

  I stared at it. The fingers twitched, curling towards the palm.

  My stomach turned, but I couldn't let that stop me. I had a hand free of chains; a hand that would move as I commanded it to. Slowly, I pushed myself back into a sitting position, and slipped my hand behind myself. Working my new fingers made me sick to my stomach, but there was nothing left within me to throw up. I found the chains around my wrist and tried to loosen them.

  It was all to no avail. They were bound by a lock the size of my fist, and I'd made too much noise in trying to free myself.

  Katja was back in the room.

  “Rowan! Rowan, we've done it. Oh, I knew it could be done! I knew even you could do it. Look at you! It works, doesn't it? Just like the old one did?” Katja asked, hands clasped together. I stared blankly up at her, and her shoulders rose as she said, “Don't you have an ounce of gratitude inside of you? Well? What do you say?”

  I slipped my hand behind my back, not wanting her to see it.

  “What...?”

  “You could start with thank you. Goodness. Were you raised in the barn on that farm of yours? I showed you that you can do this, Rowan. I gave you your hand back.”

  She hadn't give me anything. It was still there, lying on the table, and I would never say another kind word to her; let alone one of gratitude.

  Katja didn't wait for me to say anything. She slipped away with a smile, but she didn't disappear into her own room. She made for Akela's bedroom, and I kept my eyes fixed on the door all the while, not daring to anticipate what was to come.

  She wasn't gone for long. She returned with an axe she could barely carry slung over her shoulder, and I held out a hand, pleading, “No, no. No more, Katja.”

  Katja blinked, glancing at the axe as though she didn't understand what had made me react in such a way. She tested its weight in her hands, and I knew it wouldn't be like the time the axewoman had stood over me in the forest. Katja didn't know what she was doing. She wasn't strong enough to make a clean cut; she'd have to raise the axe over and over, hacking through bone, making new ruts in my skin with every strike.

  “Rowan. Dear. Be rational. Everything's fine, isn't it? You're stronger for what you've been through, and I've no doubt that once you can properly control your powers, a hoard of dragons won't be able to stop you. Now...”

  Stepping forward, she lifted the axe and stared down at my legs. I could move them away, but what then? She'd swing at me, not caring where she struck.

  “I'm sorry, I'm sorry!” I heard myself call. “I'm sorry, I—thank you, thank you, Katja, I know what I'm doing, you can stop this now...”

  She wasn't listening to me. She never would.

  Reaching out, I swallowed the lump in my throat and pushed everything she'd done to me into her.

  The axe struck the floor before she did, and she crumpled in on herself as the dragon had.

  I held my breath and she didn't move.

  It was over. She was dead.

  I didn't waste any time.

  If I could get the axe, then I could hack my way free of the chains. I stretched out as far as I could, stretched until my shoulder threatened to pull from the joint, but it was still inches away from my feet. Metal cut into my wrist and I was sure I kept seeing Katja move from the corner of my eye, necromancy finally becoming her.

  Her glassy eyes were wide-open and empty, and I felt the swarm of death fester within her. I'd done it. Finally, I'd done what everyone had silently been afraid of: I'd taken a life, the life of another person, and all it had taken was a single look, a fleeting thought.

  My throat was still raw and my head pounded every time I thought of calling out. It'd take days to gather my strength, and what then? What would the pirates think if they rushed up and found me like this, covered in my own blood and vomit, scars on display? Worse still, what if Katja had been right. What if Akela returned, loyalty to Queen Kidira unwavering...

  “Gods,” I managed to hiss, “No, no, no.”

  I brought my fist down, striking the floorboards, and knocked the death out of Katja.

  “You,” she breathed, scrambling back across the floor, “You had the temerity to murder me, and—”

  Praising necromancy had been all well and good, until I'd used it on Katja. Now she was as horrified by the concept as everyone else had ever been.

  “Leave,” I said. “Leave, or... again.”

  Katja was burning with
righteous indignation, but she wasn't foolish enough – brave enough – to take my threat lightly. She stormed back into her bedroom and stayed there, no matter how much noise I made in trying to break the chains free. Not that it made a difference: all I succeeding in doing was bruising my body, no closer to escaping after hours.

  The two of us weren't alone, divided by a single wall, for long. Boots striking the steps up to the front door was the first real sound I'd heard beyond the apartment in days, and the whistling accompanying the click of the lock was unmistakeable.

  Akela was home.

  “Kouris!” she called out. “Good afternoon! I am running two days late, I am knowing this, but work was good. Hah, you will not be believing what—”

  The words dried up in Akela's throat. Her axe was in her hand the moment she saw me, and I wanted to cry out for her to help me, for her to cut through the chains, but Katja burst from her room, flying into Akela's arms with no regard for the blade.

  “Kouris,” Akela said, gripping her shoulders. “What is happening? What is... Northwood, why is she like that?”

  “I had no choice!” Katja wailed. “Rowan, she, she killed me, Akela. I-I did all I could to stop her, b-but she wouldn't. Over and over again, I...”

  Settling her jaw, Akela turned my way, and stared darkly at me.

  “Shh, shh. You are needing to calm yourself. Already, you are being put through too much,” she said to Katja, wrapping one arm around her. “You are going back to your room, yes, and I am dealing with this one. Soon, it is all over. Do not worry.”

  CHAPTER V

  The stove began to heat up, and with Akela towering over me, I had no choice but to press my back against it. She was boiling water, and though I'd heard her tell Katja that she was making tea, I was waiting for her to pour it down the back of my shirt. I murmured her name, sweat making my hair damp, but she only grunted, lifting a boot to subdue me into silence.

  Akela lifted the pan and I screwed my eyes shut, tensing as she poured the water into a cup, and breathed so rapidly I thought I might pass out. The spoon chimed against the side of the cup as she stirred the tea, taking it into Katja's room and returning no more than a minute later.

  “Akela...” I whispered, watching her pull the door all but an inch closed. Turning her head sharply towards me, she set her jaw and dragged a chair over, placing it in the centre of the room.

  She straddled the seat, arms folded across the backrest, and stared at a spot above my head so intently that I didn't dare to speak again. Anger resonated from her, more palpable than the heat rising from the stove, and I knew that she was planning her next move. I knew what she was capable of, had seen her take an axe to a man's face to hide the evidence, and it was worse than facing Katja. Akela had always been my friend, and she'd never belittled or chided me. She'd never given me a reason to avoid her, and yet there she was, full of rage, figuring out a suitable way to deal with me.

  Minutes passed and eventually, Akela exhaled heavily and rose from the chair. I pushed myself back with my feet, gripped the chains and tried to tear them free of the stove for the dozenth futile time, but Akela turned from me. Without a word, she headed back into Katja's room, returning seconds later.

  With a blanket draped over her shoulder, Akela knelt in front of me. My mind reeled with what she planned to do with it – whether she wanted to blind me to what she was doing, or bind me, that I might be thrown in the ocean – and when I shook and sobbed, Akela brought a finger to her lips.

  She opened her other hand, showing me the small, silver key pressed to her palm.

  She was helping me. She was helping me. Akela reached for the lock and I thrashed my legs out, not knowing how to stop myself. She recoiled instantly and held her hands where I could see them, and once I forced myself to be still, she slowly held the key out to me, pinched between her finger and a thumb.

  I reached out with an unsteady hand, dropped the key and watched it skid across the floor. Akela didn't move a muscle, didn't take her eyes off me, and I stretched out, fighting against the chains to reach the key. I didn't make the same mistake twice. I held it firmly, slipped my hand behind my back, and got it into the lock on the third try. The lock clicked open and I pulled it from the chains, pulled the chains from my wrists and clung to the burning stove, clawing my way to my feet without taking my eyes off Akela's.

  After so long chained there, after all I'd been through, my legs wouldn't support me. I looked to Akela for help and flinched when she held out a hand, but I knew there was no getting out of this, not without her. Closing my eyes, I grabbed hold of her arm, and as gently as she could, Akela wrapped the blanket around me. I wanted to ask her why she was doing that, but when my eyes fluttered open, I saw how much my skin was truly glowing, what with her hand clasping my arm.

  “Northwood. I am lifting you, now, and we are leaving,” Akela whispered, “Please, you are not needing to be afraid of me. I promise.”

  I nodded, terrified that I'd lash out against her, but Akela picked me up so swiftly that I wasn't given time to panic. I felt like nothing in her arms, weightless with all the blood I'd lost, and Mahon came to me in scraps of sound. My eyes still couldn't focus properly and I'd pulled the blanket over my head, desperate to hide myself, afraid that another soul would see me.

  The apartment door swung shut behind us and Akela's boots pounded against the stairs, pattered through the streets, and people swarmed around us without seeing us, their voices rising to drown each other's out, a buzz and a blur, rushing through me like rocks being ground against one another; fading, fading, until the sound of the sea returned to me, telling me that I was free.

  I was safe.

  “Akela,” I said. “How did... ?”

  “How am I knowing that you are needing to be helped?” she asked bluntly. “I am returning home, Northwood, and there is a hand on my table. You are in chains, covered in blood and vomit and I am not knowing what else, and Kouris, she is saying that somehow, you are to blame. She is... she is not well, Northwood. But she is sleeping now. The tea, yes, it is very strong.”

  “I-I'm sorry. I thought you were going to—”

  “Do not apologise, Northwood. I am supposed to be back two days ago. If only I am not running late...” Akela said, pier creaking as she hoisted us off the beach.

  The beat of the sun stopped pressing down upon me and I shifted from Akela's arms to the familiar comfort of the sofa.

  “Bloody hell,” Reis breathed, and I saw them push theirself to their feet. I tried to focus on them, but all the colours in the world were wrong, and the only reprieve was behind my eyelids. “What the hell's happened here?”

  Reis grabbed their cane and hopped over to the sofa, not taking the time to strap their leg back on. I hadn't told my body to, but every muscle tensed as they approached, and I curled in on myself, trying to disappear into the corner of the sofa.

  “Careful,” Akela said, “I am not thinking that touching her is such a good idea.”

  “Look at you,” Reis murmured. The blood on my glowing skin told enough of a tale, and the scars I'd hidden for so long showed through what scraps of my shirt remained. “I'm gonna sit on the edge of the sofa, nice and slowly. That alright, kid? Gods. I've sailed with a lot of types, but never a necromancer. You wanna tell me how we can start fixing this up?”

  I pressed myself to the arm of the sofa as if held there by chains, not knowing what to say, not knowing where to start. Reis was perched on the far end of the sofa, just as they'd said, and didn't try inching their way over to me. They simply held my gaze, infinitely patient, not afraid of what they were seeing.

  “How's it feel?” they tried when words didn't come to me.

  “Like... like knots,” was the best I could do.

  “Akela, there should be a stash of bitterwillow in my room. Reckon it's atop the crate left of the anchor. Fetch it for us, would you.”

  Akela moved in silent compliance, and I glanced around the hut, telling myself th
at I was home, I was home, that Katja couldn't hurt me here, but everything within my body and mind alike were screaming. Having found the bitterwillow quickly enough, Akela handed it to Reis, who carefully placed it on the sofa between us. Holding their gaze, I reached blindly for it, pulled it back and bit off as much as I could at once.

  I hadn't used it for over a decade, but the effects were instantaneous. The pain faded in a way that my powers didn't allow for, and enough strength returned to allow me to ask for water. Reis gestured for Akela to bring it over, and I took it without flinching, gasping down my first mouthfuls in six days. Water rushed from the corners of my mouth, soaking the sofa.

  “Now, feel like telling me which bastard did this to you, kid?” Reis asked. “All this pissing about with Gavern means I ain't in the mood to be as forgiving as usual.”

  “... Katja,” I said, hearing how ridiculous it sounded. Reis would never believe me.

  None of them would. Not even Akela, who'd walked in on it.

  “Katja? Kouris Katja?” Reis said, dropping their head against the backrest of the sofa. “Gods. Alright. Rowan, let Akela give you a hand to your room. You've dealt with enough shit already.”

  Akela held out a hand and I gripped her wrist, pulled myself up and walked to my room as well as I could without leaning on her. My legs were working again, though my feet didn't seem to know how to face forward, and each step served to remind me of the tangled web of scars scored across my body.

  I fell on the bed, curled up so I was facing the wall, and mumbled, “Please don't say anything about... about the hand.”

  “Of course,” Akela said softly, lingering in the doorway. I dreaded the thought of her saying something more, and when my shoulders hunched up around my ears, I think she saw enough to fall silent. She left without another word, door closing quietly behind her.