“That’s possible. It’s missing its mandible plates and all the feathers on its body.” The poacher blanched in disgust, his saffron crest wavering.
“I think it’s female. Look at the mounds on its chest,” the slave auctioneer commented.
Cygne sat in disbelief on the cold cage floor as she listened to the exchange. It was hard to focus, with the room still spinning.
“When will she go up for sale?”
“We’ll auction her first, before the patrons have spent their entire purse. I think that’s your best option, considering it’s so homely.”
Hearing them discuss auctioning her off quickly roused Cygne from her shocked stupor. She was used to being mocked, but being abducted and sold was an entirely different matter. Her panic returned as the gravity of the situation struck. The burst of adrenalin made her lightheaded.
“Or you could let me go,” Cygne entreated, then coughed since her throat was so dry.
“Clearly, she’s not too dense to speak. That’s good. It means she can take orders,” the auctioneer noted, ignoring her plea. “Well, move her in with the other chattel.”
Cygne’s cage was wheeled into a room lined with other pens. The moment they entered, the Braccio unfortunate enough to cross the poacher’s path began begging for their freedom.
“Please. My clutch will starve if you don’t return me,” a piteous red female cried as they deposited Cygne’s cage nearby.
“Shut your bony plate,” the auctioneer barked as he violently kicked the female’s cage, making the poor thing fall.
“That wasn’t necessary,” Cygne growled as she violently rattled the bars of her cramped prison.
The poacher and auctioneer’s eyes widened at the sudden shift in her demeanor. Cygne knew pain and despair. She’d lived with them her whole life, like they were her closest friends. But seeing others being tormented angered her like nothing else. It physically pained her to see the suffering reflected in the red female’s eyes. No one should be subjected to that.
“You’ve already stolen her from her clutch. You don’t need to heap abuse on top of it,” Cygne spat.
The auctioneer grabbed a glowing staff and struck Cygne’s cage. A jolt shot up Cygne’s spine as electricity arced through the bars.
“You will learn your place,” the auctioneer bellowed as he continued to stun her.
Every muscle in Cygne’s body seized, her wings extended, tangling in the bars. Cygne wanted to cry in agony, but her jaw was locked. The male just laughed, his menacing eyes flashing.
The red female screamed in horror, till the auctioneer threatened her with the glowing staff. She clamped her mouth shut and cowered on the metal floor.
“Everyone will keep quiet,” the auctioneer threatened, then left the room with the poacher.
Cygne took deep, heaving breaths as she tried to calm the twitching that still wracked her muscles. She wanted to get off the dirty cage floor, but couldn’t summon the energy.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered to the red female quietly whimpering nearby.
Cygne’s outburst only served to traumatize the female further, her crimson feathers trembling. Red wouldn’t even look at Cygne when she apologized, but she couldn’t blame her. Seeing the others here somehow made everything more real, and too horrific to comprehend.
Though dimly lit with artificial light, it was enough to see the room was very large. Four fully grown gellu trees could easily fit inside, and still there’d be space to move around. She avoided counting the cages, instead looking at the upper canopies stocked with goods. No doubt they’d also be sold at the upcoming auction.
“Here,” a Braccio uttered as she dropped two pouches inside Cygne’s cage.
“What is this?”
“Food. Water,” the female replied tersely, then moved on.
Cygne didn’t know when she’d eaten last, and ravenously tore into the first pouch. She shoveled the meal cake into her mouth, ignoring how bland and gritty it was. She chased the meager feast with greedy sips of water, till the liquid too was gone. Then Cygne noticed Red hadn’t touched her food. Instead, the female sat rocking in her cage.
“You should eat,” Cygne encouraged.
“You should be quiet,” the male on her other side hissed. “Or do you want to be punished again?” He mumbled something else uncomplimentary under his breath, but Cygne couldn’t make out what it was.
Cygne ignored the surly male. He was in the same predicament as the rest of them, so she was willing to forgive his sour disposition.
“Please,” Cygne called to the female handing out the rations when she passed by again. “If you have hatchlings, then you know they need their mater.” The comment made the sober-faced female delivering the food pause. “Her clutch won’t survive without her.” Cygne pointed to Red. Cygne had a feeling Red wouldn’t survive without her clutch either.
“Why do you care?” the female asked, looking from Red to Cygne.
“The question is, why don’t you?”
The crest atop the female’s head bristled as she furrowed her brow. But the female quickly left without saying another word.
I tried. Cygne sighed as she hugged her knees to her chest.
Time wore on, and soon Cygne found herself desperate to empty her bladder. She nearly cried in relief when someone came into the warehouse. But rather than let her out to do her business, Cygne’s cage was wheeled out of the vast room, followed by a handful of others.
“I need to relieve myself.”
“It will have to wait till you’re off the auction block. Now don’t struggle.”
The male opened Cygne’s cage and quickly snagged her by the throat. Her eyes bulged; he was squeezing too tight. Another Braccio tore off her cape, then manacled her wrists and wings. Cygne gasped for breath when the guard finally released her.
“I won’t sell for much if I make water in the middle of the auction,” Cygne choked out, undeterred by their ill treatment.
“I doubt anyone will be shocked from the look of you,” the guard sneered, and shoved her toward another door.
These people were heartless. It was pointless to attempt to reason with them or beg for mercy. If they weren’t willing to show kindness to any of the other normal Braccio, they certainly weren’t going to bother with a mutant like her.
The guard tugged Cygne’s chain, pulling hard on her arms. When they exited the warehouse, she squinted in the blinding daylight. As they walked between buildings, the noise grew louder. Tremors wracked Cygne, her fear growing the closer they came to the deafening roar. Her eyes widened seeing the crowd gathered in front of a stage. She’d never seen so many Braccio in her whole life. There had to be at least a hundred or more people here.
“Move it,” the male rumbled.
Cygne tripped as she was pulled up the stairs. The moment she was front and center, the crowd grew so quiet you could hear a leaf drop. She panned the stunned expressions of the crowd.
“What is that?” someone yelled.
“Get it off the stage,” another jeered.
“It’s colorless. Is it dead?”
The floodgates opened, and everyone started to yell insults.
Cygne felt like a cornered beast as she scowled at the crowd, bile rising in her throat. She did her best to insulate herself from this kind of torment, and she’d grown good at ignoring the occasional barb. Being at the mercy of these cruel people sent old feelings surging to the forefront.
The sight and sounds of all the people merged with a memory as a hatchling. The youth of the flock again surrounded her, goaded on by her siblings. They struck out with claws, catching her skin, making her bleed. They mocked her newly molted feathers, which had come in pale instead bright shades of ocher. Oh how she’d prayed for a bit of color when she shed her fuzz and the new quills emerged, but no.
The anger burned in her veins like a living, breathing thing. Cygne grasped a rock, and viciously lashed out at the other youth, ignoring the pain of their
attack. When the red haze lifted, Voti lay on the ground, his mandible crushed. The other hatchlings who hadn’t fled stood staring in horror at what she’d done. Cygne should’ve felt vindicated. But instead, she felt like the monster they all called her.
Mater patched her up, for the millionth time, wearing a disappointed scowl. She’d kept the flock from banishing her, though just barely. It was the last time Cygne raised her fist in anger. It was far better just to fly away. But she couldn’t do that here on the auction block. Cygne couldn’t even wrap her wings around her and hide, with the way they restrained her pinions to ground her. She was forced to stand and take their jibes.
“Enough,” the auctioneer boomed. “We’ll start the bidding at seventy pecunia.”
The crowd grew quiet. No one dared make a peep, lest it be mistaken for a bid.
“Can I get thirty-five pecunia for the unusual female,” the auctioneer tried again.
“You’d have to pay me to take it,” a voice called out, making everyone laugh.
Cygne should’ve been happy that no one wanted to buy her, but it stung. They couldn’t even bear to have her as a slave.
Don’t cry.
Her chin quivered. That was the one rule; never let them see her cry. Cygne stood tall, chin up.
“Forget it.” The saffron-crested poacher threw his hands up in disgust.
“Fine. Next,” the auctioneer bellowed.
The guard yanked Cygne off the stage and handed her chain to the trio of slave poachers.
“What a waste of space in the hold.” The saffron poacher roughly removed Cygne’s restraints, yanking feathers from her wings in the process. “Go!” He waved.
“Maybe you could return me, when you go back to the valley,” Cygne begged.
She had a feeling the poachers would be out hunting slaves again. This hadn’t sounded like their first foray in the despicable trade.
“We’re not going back there! Now get out of my sight.”
Cygne cried out when the male shoved her, and she fell in the dirt, scraping up her palms, and tearing the hem of her dirty gown. The poachers and patrons laughed before turning their attention back to the auction. She pulled herself off the ground, and pushed her way through the throng of bodies, toward the back of the auction block.
“Hey.” A hand snagged Cygne’s arm.
Cygne turned to see the female who’d passed out the rations. The female realized she was touching Cygne, and quickly released her arm, like it was a burning coal.
“Here.” The female shoved Cygne’s cloak toward her.
“Thank you.” Cygne took her cape with a nod of appreciation.
“Go to the tavern in the large hollow suppa. Tell the dame Veeta sent you.” The female pointed down the cart path.
Cygne nodded in appreciation, then turned to leave. Until Veeta stopped her, Cygne had no idea what she was going to do, now that she was stranded in the big city. Being let go was a mixed blessing. She paused, remembering those who weren’t so fortunate.
“Do you think you can help Red?”
“I wish I could.” Veeta shook her head, then disappeared into the crowd.
Cygne pulled on her cape, tugged up the hood, then turned her eyes toward the daunting metropolis. She’d never been to a city. Cygne had no clue where in the wide world Coutil was, but it was obviously far from home. She couldn’t even see the mountains that sheltered her valley.
It was difficult avoiding the bustling vehicles, and Braccio who whipped overhead, as she followed the broad cart path. The unusual sights were so distracting. Most of the barrows were too large to be contained by the giant trees scattered here and there. The metal structures looked like they could house a dozen clutches or more. Cygne couldn’t imagine being piled on top of everyone. She’d have to fly for quite a while to find a bit of solitude. Coutil was nothing like her small community, lacking the emerald abundance she was so used to. And though it was humming with activity and painted in an array of colors, it felt lifeless and cold.
She pulled her cloak tighter and turned her attention toward a gargantuan suppa tree down the path. There was a cluster of ocatus berries on the tavern sign, announcing the fermented beverage they sold within. Cygne pushed through the door and wandered toward the serving board. It took a moment to capture the Braccio server’s attention, since she was so much smaller than the gregarious bunch throwing back tankards of brew.
“Veeta suggested I come here,” she told the server when he paused in front of her.
“The barrow dame is in the back room.” He gestured.
Cygne had to weave through the boisterous crowd. A male snagged her cape, and she turned to see what he wanted.
“Oh. No.” He recoiled when he saw Cygne’s face, and instantly released her.
Cygne didn’t know what kind of place this was, where males got inebriated so early in the day, and felt they could grab females. She found the back room and knocked on the door.
“Come in,” a female voice hollered, so she entered.
“Veeta from the auction sent me.”
“Is that so? And why’s that?” the barrow dame, who’s feathers were dyed an unnatural shade of fuchsia, inquired, without bothering to look up from her ledger.
“I’m far from home, and need some place to stay.”
The dyed female glanced up, then burst out laughing. “Veeta must be joking,” she trilled. “Take off that cape.”
Cygne did, but the female only laughed harder. Cygne wanted to leave, but she had nowhere to go.
“I know I’m ugly, but I’m not stupid, a hard worker, and I can hunt better than anyone in my clutch.” Cygne held her head high.
“Do you have any idea what this barrow is?”
“A tavern,” Cygne replied in confusion.
“Yes,” the female chuckled. “But we also provide company for lonely males. That’s how the females here earn their keep.”
“You mean—” Cygne’s eyes widened.
“I do.”
She never fathomed there was a place where males would go for the sole purpose of rutting on a female. Maybe Veeta wasn’t being so helpful. Her panic returned. Cygne didn’t want to starve or risk sleeping in the elements, but there was no way she could do what the dame suggested.
“My patrons aren’t picky, but I have a feeling they’d draw the line with you,” the barrow dame laughed seeing Cygne’s reaction.
Cygne’s brow furrowed at the harsh comment, but forged on. There was no place else for her to go, and she doubted anyone else would be kinder.
“I could serve meals or clean instead,” she offered.
“I don’t even want you to be seen in here. You’ll turn everyone’s stomach, and I’ll lose business,” the female replied with a shiver of disgust.
“Please.” Cygne bowed low as she groveled. “I know you have no reason to take pity on me, but please. I will stay hidden. No one will ever know I’m here.”
The fuchsia female tilted her head as she considered Cygne.
“I’m probably going to regret this, but Veeta doesn’t send lost hatchlings my way every day. Go back to the scullery and tell the coctor to put you to work.”
“Thank you. Thank you,” Cygne trilled as she rushed out.
“But stay out of sight,” the dame hollered after her.
Cygne found the coctor in the sprawling scullery up to his wings dismembering a meaty vacca.
“I’m here to help.” She grabbed the hindquarters, making it easier for the old Braccio to remove the beast’s loin.
“Much appreciated,” he grunted.
The old male paused when he glanced at Cygne, shook his head, then resumed cutting.
“That’s why I’m working back here, out of sight,” Cygne replied, knowing exactly what the coctor was thinking.
“Well, I don’t really care, as long as you can keep up.” He nodded toward the piles of dishes. “It’s about time the dame gets me some help.”
Cygne smiled; her first in a w
hile. If hard work was all it took to stay on the gruff coctor’s good side, she’d do well. Cygne passed a cleaver to the male when he reached the vacca’s sternum. He nodded, appearing slightly surprised.
“I’m a decent hunter. I’ve field dressed an animal or two.” Cygne shrugged.
The male chuckled, making her frown.
“What?” she asked.
“I’m just imagining a small thing like you trying to take down a full-grown bull like this.” The coctor severed the thick legbone with a hearty thwack.
“Oh,” Cygne snickered. “I know I don’t have claws, like you do, to capture then sever its life vessel. But a sling and a knife work just as well.”
“I guess it would.”
“My name’s Cygne.”
“Focario,” the coctor replied.
Cygne helped Focario finish his task, then cleaned up the blood. Feeling more at ease, she removed the cloak that hid her from view, before moving on to clean the piles of tankards and platters. There seemed to be no end to the dishes coming from the dining hall, but she was happy for the work. It sure beat the alternative.
“Cygne,” Focario captured her attention. “That’s enough for the night.” He set a platter of food down on the counter for her. “I didn’t realize how late it was.” The dining hall had grown quiet, and it was dark outside the window. “Thank you.” She gestured with a wet hand toward the platter.
“You earned it. I’m usually up for hours finishing in here.” Focario didn’t smile, but he did look impressed. The expression made her beam.
“I’ll just take care of the last pile here. Then it won’t be so difficult tomorrow.”
“Suit yourself. I’m heading to bed,” the old male replied, then left the scullery.
Cygne sat at the prep table and ate. Focario had given her a mix of the dishes he prepared throughout the evening. Some of them were things she’d never tasted, like the yellow mashed tubers, but they were delicious.
Energy renewed, Cygne got back to work. She liked keeping her hands busy. It kept her mind from wandering and agonizing over what her future would hold. But as Cygne considered her surroundings, she realized she felt hopeful. This was drastically different than her day had begun, and so much better than she’d imagined things would go. The barrow dame had taken a chance on her, and Focario, a male of few words, was easy going despite his rough exterior.
Ruffled Feathers Page 2
