by Various
“Anything?” He was cold.
“Yes,” the girl said. “I love you.”
And then there was no more talking. I heard the sounds of kissing.
“No,” she murmured.
I heard Aton laugh and then I heard the sound of tearing fabric.
“NO!” she screamed.
But then there was only grunting and weeping. I sang to block out the horrible sounds.
The next day, the girl, half-naked, bloody, and ruined, was in my cell with me. She was terrified.
I did not know what to do to soothe her.
When I approached her, she screamed. I reached for her, to stroke her skin and calm her, but she moved so quickly to get away from me that my talon ran her through. She was dead.
I left her there for two days before I ate her. That was when I developed a taste for girls.
It became a pattern. Aton would woo a woman and use her. When he was done, he would beat her and throw her into the tower. And as for me, I had discovered the will to survive. I would try to soothe them with songs, but they took no comfort, thinking that I was weaving some elaborate trick, and in their wild scramble to escape, they ran into my talons or my teeth. After a while, I began to convince myself that I was doing the girls a favor by killing them and eating them. They were ruined after all. They had nowhere to go. They all wanted to die. They begged me to kill them. Mostly they died from fright. But I ate them all. I had become the monster that Aton had said I was. This went on for what seemed like years.
Until one day she came.
When she was thrown into the cell, I could tell that she was somehow different from those who came before her. And though her face was swollen, her eyes were clear and unafraid and her body did not seem so broken. Under the strange circumstances, I thought it best to introduce myself.
“I am the monster of this castle,” I said. “My name is Wen.”
“You are not the monster of this castle,” she said. “The monster’s name is Aton.”
“My brother Aton is the king,” I said.
“The king of Cruelty, perhaps. Or of Manipulation. But he does not have the heart of a king.”
I considered what she said. It had taken me all these years of bitterness to be able to recognize it. It was true. He was cruel. All his life he had been cruel, though it was shrouded and crouched beneath his charms.
“I want to escape from here,” she said.
“There is no escape,” I said.
“I think you can help me,” she said.
“There is no help here,” I said.
“If someone were to challenge the king, perhaps kill him, then we could all be free.”
“But who?”
“Perhaps a brother?”
“I have never been considered a true brother. And I am afraid of the one I have left.”
She moved about in the corner, examining the room. While she did that, I examined her. She was heavy and not svelte. Her dress was ripped, but she did not seem damaged in any other way. Finally, she spoke again.
“Call the guards, ask for milk and a brush. It has been a long day and I am tired and in need to prepare myself for bed,” she said.
Surprised at her request, I did as she asked and called the guards. Thinking it the last wish of a dying girl, they relented. When the items arrived, she turned and addressed me.
“My hands are useless. My fingers broken. Will you remove my dress with your talon?”
“I might harm you,” I said.
I had killed so many other girls before in that way.
“Well, it’s just that your skin is rough and your nails are sharp,” she said. “Scrub yourself and your talons with the milk and the brush and then I’m sure it will be fine.”
The request was so unusual that I complied. The milk was cool to my skin and the brush invigorating. I felt soft after it was done. I turned to her and carefully removed her dress with my talon, only to discover that there was another dress underneath the first.
“Shall I remove this one, too?” I asked.
“Oh no.” She yawned. “I’m too tired. You can remove it tomorrow. Sing me a song so I may sleep.”
I sang to her about the birds in the sky.
The next day she told me her name. Irinia. Where she was from. Dalew province. How many sheep her family owned. Twelve. How many sisters she had. Three. How she had agreed to come to the castle. Her father had traded her for gold since there were no more princesses.
“What was that song you sang?” she asked. “I’ve heard it before.”
“A tune of my own making,” I said.
“I’ve heard you sing before,” she said. “In the courtyard, at the feasts, at the dances, in the dark of night. No one could tell where the tunes were coming from. But the songs drifted in on the wind, kissing my frightened ears.”
Encouraged, I sang a new song. This one about the trees.
She ran her fingers across the spines of the books on my shelves.
“When I see a book, my heart races as though I’m in love,” Irinia said.
“It makes me sad that not every book is good,” I said. “Not every book can be loved.”
“But when I pull a book off a shelf, and examine it, turning it this way and that, inspecting the cover, flipping through the pages and glancing at the words as they flash by, a thought here and a sentence there and I know that there is potential between those pages for love. Even if in my opinion the book is bad, someone else may find it good. Isn’t that like love?”
“I wouldn’t know,” I said.
Curious about her tastes, I began listing some of my favorite titles for her. She treated it like a game and began to list titles back. When we named one we had both read, we shared our true feelings about it. Many books we loved equally. Others we argued about. It was a pleasant time, especially when we disagreed.
That night I called for a new bowl of milk and brushed myself soft again. And then I turned to her and removed her dress. Once again, there was another dress underneath the one I had peeled off.
“Shall I remove this one, too?”
“Oh, best not too,” she said. “There is a bit of a chill tonight and I will need the warmth.”
Every day went on like this for a month.
I was enjoying myself. I was glad that the tower was mostly dark so my strange form could not be seen. I felt like a man. She told me all about herself. And I, in turn, sang her all the songs that I’d written over the years. Eventually I let her borrow books that she had not read and in the afternoons we would sit together reading quietly.
But after a few weeks, I began to worry that there would not be enough dresses and that eventually the moment would come when I could stave off my hunger no longer and I would have to kill her.
That last night I scrubbed myself. My skin was softer than I ever remembered. The color had been slowly changing from its normal yellow-green to a more pinkish-olive tone. My talons were short and not sharp. My tiny wings barely fluttered.
As I did every night, I went to her and I removed her dress. This time there were no more dresses. She stood before me, naked. I knew the time we’d shared between us was up. I began to tremble as the monster in me bubbled up. I started to unhinge my jaw.
Instead of being frightened, Irinia jumped and threw her arms around me. I began to thrash and kick and snap, but she only held on tighter until finally she put her lips to mine. I was confused, but I began to calm and then my body knew what to do. We held on to each other for the whole night. In the morning when we awoke, the first thing I saw was her eyes.
They were brown and deep. They were filled with love.
“This is the face of a king,” she said.
“I’m no king. I am a monster,” I said.
She went to the silver bowl, now empty of milk, and showed me my reflection. I was a man. Except for a kiss-marked patch of yellow-green scales on my forehead.
“How did this happen?” I asked.
“Eve
ry girl in the land knows that a lady brought to court never returns, but eventually dies at the hand of the lindwurm,” she said. “I went to the witch in the woods and she told me to wear every dress I owned when I came to court, and when I went to the tower to get a brush and milk to find the true king.”
What happened next, we all know. Children sing it in folk songs or read it in books. As a man and not a lindwurm, I left the tower undetected. I challenged my brother, who resisted, and so I slew him. I married Irinia who became my partner in all things.
I wanted to change the symbol of the kingdom from the yellow flag with my former image, which flapped and mocked me. But Irinia convinced me to keep the dragon, because that was what brought her to me.
“You should not be ashamed of the dragon that lives within the man,” she said.
She touched my scaly scar, my one reminder of how a monster became king.
I insisted on one change: the dragon would have a scar.
For in that scar lived love.
Copyright (C) 2012 by Cecil Castellucci
Art copyright (C) 2012 by Sam Burley
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Begin Reading
1.
I have never seen the sky. Or the sun. Or the stars. Or the moons.
My great-great-great-great-grandparents along with the others on their crew came here on an exploratory colony mission, but they were left here long ago when Earth went silent. We will never get home. This is where we live. We have always lived on Mars.
I have never taken a breath of fresh air. There has been a storm raging for decades. There is a cloud cover that never goes away.
There are rules for living here. Recycle the water. Tend to the hydroponic plants. Breed the farm animals. Manage the air. Fix all parts of the habitats. Everyone follows the rules. Everyone works at living. Or else we all die.
We are few. We never number more than twenty-four. We cannot ever grow the colony to more than what we can fit into the habitats. Sometimes if there are too many of us, one of the older members of our community walks outside unsuited to make room. I have never seen them do it. They go at night, not long after a new babe is born and when almost everyone is asleep. We wake up and one of our members is missing and we know. I know that one day when I am old I might do it myself.
“We are the last humans, Nina,” my mother reminds me every time I put on the suit to go outside. The suit was not made for me, but it fits me perfectly. I must be built a lot like my great-great-great-great-grandmother, Lt. Commander Yu. According to our history, she was the tenth person to step on Mars.
“What’s the point?” I always ask. My mother just shakes her head. Everyone is all about survival of the species even though we cannot grow past what the colonists started with. But I feel differently. I hate this cramped life. This small space. This constant living on top of one another. I long to run. To be alone. To be away from these others clinging to the end of humanity. To not have to check my gear one million times before I step outside.
It would have been easier if more colonists had come. But they never did. I have learned about how my great-great-great-great-grandparents waited for the second wave of colonists and supply ships to come. But they never arrived. The storm came and everything about our world went dark. The radios only spout static now, although we are always listening. The sky is always covered with a never-ending haze.
“All systems go?” my mother asks.
“Yes,” I say, checking all the valves and the oxygen levels. I am good to go. My mother taps my helmet, giving me the all-clear signal. I step forward into the air lock along with Devon, my walking partner, and we wait for the depressurization and the sudden feeling of lightness. The suit never seems heavy when I step outside on my daily errands to check for any growth between the red rocks. We have been trying to infect the planet with life so that we can make it ours. But it is slow going. Sometimes there is moss.
I like to walk outside. I always keep my eyes out for scrap. Something that might be uncovered by the storm. Something that we missed that we can use. It was said that fifty years ago a rover rolled in. It had probably circled the whole planet. It wasn’t much, but it had samples and it had parts. The colony made good use of it. Once when we were young, a satellite fell near the habitat and there was something useful in it. If we find enough materials we might be able to build a new habitat and add six more people to our colony. We would finally be able to grow.
A few decades ago we expanded the habitat when we dismantled the tiny observatory that housed the telescope. I’m sure it was not an easy thing to do: we’d waited for so long for the sky to clear. But since the storm came, no one has seen the stars, and survival now is more important than looking up at some unknown future date. Now the telescope lays open to the elements.
I have seen pictures of the sky. I know that there are two moons that orbit our planet. I know that Earth would look like a little blue star in the sky. But I have never seen it. I never will.
We only go out during the day. At night it is too cold. This planet hates us.
“A planet cannot hate,” my father says. “It can only be.”
I disagree with him. Mars never wanted life. That’s why it never had it. Not even a single-celled organism. We try to live and thrive. But we are always near to failing.
At first, we tried to keep a sterile environment protocol, in order to not mess with any potential bacteria. But after Earth fell silent, my great-great-great-great-grandparents began to experiment, first inside the habitat. Now outside. We come from scientists after all. And even though most of the science is forgotten, we are survivors.
2.
Devon and I shuffle along the ridge looking for any hint of green. The walking is also part of our necessary exercise to keep our bones strong. He heads toward a cluster of rocks. I head toward the telescope. I stroke it with my gloved hand as if it is one of the goats we keep. The telescope is useless and discarded. Already picked clean for parts. I wonder what it would be like to look through it.
I turn my head up toward the covered sky. I wish I could see what lies above those dirty clouds.
I head down the hill. The gravity is not the same as inside the habitat, or maybe it’s the suit that always makes me so clumsy and so I fall. As I do I seem to fly in the air. I love the feeling when I trip, like I can fly, but then I hear the sound. A rip. It’s my suit.
It was the rock I landed on that did it. I feel a rush and know that I am losing air. I am going to die. I look toward my walking partner, Devon. Devon drops his bucket and springs toward me. I can’t see his face due to the solar visor that he has pulled down. I can only see a reflection of me. I seem calm when I see myself lying on the ground. I know that he’s probably distressed at the situation. We train for rips. We train for emergencies. The suits we wear are so old and threadbare that it is bound to happen. It has happened before and no one has survived for longer than four minutes. I place my hand on the rip as I was taught, trying in vain to hold it closed. Hoping that somehow my oxygen won’t run out. I feel weak. My knees buckle. I watch as my tank hits zero. I start to pass out as I feel Devon’s arms hook under mine and drag me toward safety.
3.
When I wake up inside the habitat there are five faces leaning over me. They are smiling. And then, when I cough, they begin to clap. I do not understand why I
am not dead.
“It’s a miracle,” my mother says, pressing her hand on my forehead.
“It’s finally happened,” my father says. “A child has adapted to Mars. Our founders’ work on breeding is paying off.”
“We must do some tests,” Boaz, the oldest of our colony, says. He knows more about the science that has been passed down than anyone. He will never step outside to sacrifice himself.
All my physicals show nothing different than anyone else. My heart is good. My lungs are good. My bones are good. My DNA shows small mutations but nothing that has never been seen before.
“We must send her outside,” Boaz says.
It frightens me to try to step outside the habitat without a suit. But my father will go with me. And there will be precautions.
“What if I can’t breathe?” I ask.
“We’ll know in the first second,” he says. “And we’ll close the air lock and come back in.”
My father suits up and puts on his helmet. We sit in the air lock, waiting for the light to turn green and the outer door to open.
The light turns and the door opens.
I am struck by wind. My eyes close from the particles that fly about me. I take a big gulp of air. First, I smell things I’ve never smelled before. It makes me gag. I start to cough. I clutch at my throat. My father takes this to mean that I am dying so he slams on the button to shut the air lock.
The air we can breathe fills the room. When the alarm sounds he takes off his helmet and then grabs my face, looking at me to see if I’m okay. I am still coughing.
“Are you okay? Are you okay? We’ve made a mistake! She can’t breathe out there.”
The inner door swings open and the others rush in. I cough and cough but put my hand up.
“I’m fine,” I say. “I could breathe. It was the dust that startled me.”
Everyone heaves a collective sigh of relief.
“We’ll try again tomorrow, Nina,” Boaz says.
I must admit that I can’t wait.
4.
