by B C Penling
“Ain’t you hungry, Pretty?” he asked. He placed a bowl of live insects on the floor.
Lana didn’t answer. She sat there, staring into his hazy blue, and likely blind, eye.
“Enjoys it, Pretty.” It rose to full stature, which was not nearly as tall as the other Warisai she had seen. His spine was twisted in a helix and his stumpy, useless wings hung limply from his shoulders. He hobbled, due to uneven legs, to a heavy door which he exited and locked with a loud clank.
Her wrists were heavy with steel handcuffs and a thick chain bound her to the stone wall. She was lying on a bed of musty straw that kept her off the cold stone floor. There were no windows to allow in fresh air to combat the putrid stench of body rot and mildew. There was only a small, barred opening on the door to provide any concept of environmental depth.
The cell door unlatched and swung open, its rusty hinges creaked and scratched together. The hunchback Warisai reentered the room.
“You no likes insects, Pretty?” he hissed gruffly.
Lana drew her knees tighter to her chest and stared at him from behind them.
“What is’t you elfies like to eats?” he asked curiously. “You are n’t cannibals, are yous?”
Lana shook her head with a disgusted frown. Her stomach churned at the thought of eating her own kind, her own flesh.
“Are you veggies?” he asked.
She didn’t want to talk to the creature.
“You elfies likes meats?”
She shook her head again, knowing not to trust any sort of meat served in Warisai territory. The only ones who would know what it came from was the Warisai and there was no way she would trust them to tell the truth about the origin.
“Yous are veggies then. I tell some’un fur yous, Pretty.” He grinned and turned to leave, shuffling slowly with his awkward waddle.
“Fresh ones,” she croaked, suddenly aware of how dry her throat was.
He turned and faced her again.
“Fresh?” he asked confused.
“Not wilted, old or rotten,” she said quietly.
“Ah,” he perked up excitedly. “I gets you.” He hobbled over to her, to the dislike of Lana. He crouched down, decreasing his stature by half, and looked at her with his good eye.
“Pretty things, elfies are,” he said. After a prolonged, unnerving stare, he added, “Never cares much for elfie meat. They’s too pretty to eat.”
He slowly picked up the bowl of insects, keeping his eye transfixed on Lana. He sighed and smiled crookedly before standing up and leaving her cell. The lock clanked noisily back into place and she hoped it would get stuck like that.
She hugged her legs and buried her face into her knees. She closed her eyes, failing to keep tears at bay. She sobbed. Her heart longed to be with Zen.
I wish you were with me!
I am.
She looked up and found herself surrounded by lavender wildflowers in a field of green. The plains stretched to the horizon and grew steeply into mountains. She turned around and saw Zen’s smiling face. She sprang up and ran to him.
I’m so glad to see you!
She slammed into his front leg and hugged him tightly. His tough scales were rough against her face but she welcomed the feeling.
And I, you. His eyes surveyed her lovingly. Are you all right?
Not as much as I could be. I’m stuck in a cell, alone. I’m frightened. I need you with me.
I will be soon enough, I promise.
You can’t fly, though. Thalassinus broke your wing.
I can once again. Zen’s smile stretched across his face. It was the fun-loving, adventurous smile that she cherished. He straightened up and spread his wings proudly.
Let’s go.
He didn’t have to tell her twice. She was all smiles when she climbed onto his back, seating herself between his spikes, admiring his beautiful wings. She felt his mane in her hands, smooth, thick.
The wind rushed past her face as he leapt into the sky. The ground grew distant with each beat of his wings; lavender below them and cerulean above them. An emerald forest stretched out beyond the gorgeous, pristine fields.
Zen turned his head to look at Lana, his eyes were alit with happiness. I was healed by…
His mouth went agape and a horrid screech issued from it. Zen faded from around her in a swirl of red. The fresh air grew heavy and stagnant. Lana opened her eyes to see the ugly Warisai stepping over the threshold.
“I will bring some veggies, Pretty. Riders goes to fetch some, far to the mountains.” The hunchback turned to leave.
“What do you want with me?” she asked. “Why am I held here?”
He turned around and sincerely said, “I not sure, Pretty. Elfie too pretty to cooks and eats, I say, and too pretty to be kept in darkness.”
Lana was surprised. “You seem nicer than the others.”
The hunchback cocked his head and gave her a peculiar look.
“That makes you better than them,” Lana added. Do Warisai understand the meaning of nice?
He perked up a bit but shrugged. “The others treat me bad. Different from ‘ems. They says I’s unfit for battles. They keeps me here to tend prisoners but not many of ‘ems.”
“Why do they treat you badly?”
"I not like to fight." He then pointed to the hunch on his back, his grotesquely bent spine. “I’s smaller, too, weaker, bent and twisted. Call me Turtleback, they do. But I thinks turtles are prettier than my back.”
“I still don’t understand why they’re like that. They should treat you better.”
“Is their nature to be cruel,” he replied. “It’s normal.”
“But, it’s not your nature?”
He rocked back and forth a little, a glimmer of sadness in his eye. “I just does what is said.”
“Perhaps the day will come when you no longer have to.”
He shook his head. “I prisoner, like yous. If I try to leaves or I disobey, they kill me, or punish me ‘til I wishes for dead.”
“I’m sorry,” Lana said.
Turtleback cocked his head and raised one brow. “What is sorry?” he asked curiously.
“It’s when you feel bad for someone else. Empathy or sympathy,” Lana replied lamely.
The hunchback’s eyes flashed about the room as if he were hastily looking for something. He nodded slightly then turned to leave.
“Wait,” Lana said quickly. The hunchback stopped with his hand on the door. “What’s your name?”
“Turtleback I is called by others, I said,” he replied.
“That’s what other Warisai call you but what is your real name?” Lana asked.
He nodded understandingly. “Jus’ Turtleback. Been known as it for long time. Old name not used. Only Turtleback now.” He sighed, turned around and took a couple short steps toward Lana. “You have one, Pretty?” he asked curiously.
“Lana,” she replied.
“Pretty name for pretty elfie,” he said. “I think I still calls you Pretty.” He grinned and exited the cell. A moment passed before the deadbolt slid into place and locked the door.
She leaned against the wall and buried her face in her knees again. She pondered her position and wondered how long before her end drew near. Perhaps it already had and she didn’t know it. She was in the lair of her greatest adversary now; the threat had seized her. She was, as far as she knew, alone in the dungeon excluding Turtleback. If there were others being held in the dungeon, she couldn't hear them.
She wanted to be anywhere but there. Even surrounded by every unfriendly wyvern that dwelled in Bledsoe Keep. In the deepest chambers she would feel more comfortable under their unfriendly eyes. Although she had someone in the dungeon that was kind to her, she had a presentiment that it would get worse.
Hoping that her feeling was wrong, she closed her eyes and welcomed more dreams with Zen.
CHAPTER 24
LOW AND BELOW
He could still smell her when he opened his eyes. It w
as a pleasant dream, so real and full of life. His heart hurt when he looked for her in the cavern, knowing she wasn’t there. He found himself on his belly with his limbs stretched out. In the corner sat the man on a short, three-legged stool.
“Good morning, friend.” When the man smiled, his moustache pushed up his cheeks.
“Mmm, not,” Zen tried to protest but became aware of how nauseous he felt.
“You made a friend with your actions,” he continued, oblivious of Zen’s feeble attempt to protest. “Arley visits each day, barely leaves. Every day he pets you on the nose. You’ll have a hard time leaving him when the time comes.”
“I can,” Zen mumbled. “Easily enough.”
“No, you can’t,” the man replied. “You don’t know the dedication of the dwarf. He probably won’t let you leave without him. If you asked me, you should allow him to come along with us.”
“I didn’t ask you,” Zen said drowsily. “And there is no us.”
The man chuckled.
“Not meant to be funny,” Zen said, rolling his eyes.
“There is an us whether you like it or not,” the man said. “In time you’ll realize that you have an ally that has a lot of diplomatic pull. I’ve been around for a long time. If you think you can waltz into Dansrivan all by yourself and save Lana, you’re mistaken. You need an army of many races to unite against these foes or else Dagan will forget what it’s like to be free. We’re under siege and have been for a while. With your determination and my experience, we could persuade nations to follow us. Your friend in Meridsani will fight with you and that allows for many options. The population of Ouris and Port Adoline, as examples.”
“You can’t speak for him,” Zen said.
“No, but I know the kind of person he is,” the man said. “I was with him and his father, Barator, in the Fae Wars. I know his bearing and know he’ll fight. He’s kept his people battle ready, unlike others on Ancienta and Genetricis. His kingdom and Magnerians are the only ones left to fight the Warisai. We’re limited on time. Please, don’t fight me on this or else you’ll be the reason why this world will fall to the beasts.”
“Sure,” Zen grumbled, “blame the crippled dragon. As if I didn’t feel bad enough as it is, I need an old man to remind me of my personal failings like all the other wyverns I lived with.”
The man chuckled again.
Zen glared at him. Amusing? Not in the slightest.
“What’s so funny about that?” Zen growled.
“You’re not a crippled dragon.”
Zen eyed the man sideways. Clearly he was senile. How he didn’t notice Zen’s condition was remarkable.
“You might want to look at yourself before eyeballing me like I’m crazy,” the man said seriously.
Zen sighed. His head didn’t hurt but it felt like someone had loaded it with rocks. He lazily looked over his shoulder and saw his wing. His wing… His beautiful wing… His healed wing…
“How’d they?” Zen began. “They fixed it?” He then realized that, despite his heavy head, his body was void of pain. “I’m…”
“Not a crippled dragon,” the man grinned. “Their healers are the best of Dagan. Oh, and speaking of healers, here they come to give you your tonic and herbs. If your head doesn’t feel right, it’s probably because of that.”
Two dwarf women walked into the cave carrying leather satchels. One crouched to the right of his snout and placed her hand on his cheek. She kissed his scaly face and said, “Thank you, dragon.”
“This is Arley’s aunt, Merni. She’s been caring for you and helped fix you,” the man said. “She’s a very skilled healer and she’s also indebted to you for saving her nephew.”
“If she fixed me, then I’m indebted to her,” Zen replied. Then it hit him. She fixed him. “How well am I fixed? Can I fly again?”
“In time,” Merni said. “First you need medicine and rest. Open mouth. I put medicine inside.”
Zen opened his mouth and the second healer, whose name was Flana, pulled his lip away from the side of his mouth. Merni then packed his gum line with thick, muddy moss that also glowed faintly. Flana released his lip and patted the top of his snout and told him to close it. As soon as his lips closed, a bitter and metallic flavor filled his mouth. He grimaced and his whole body shuddered.
“Augh, it tastes like rancid fish and thistle,” Zen coughed.
“Do not spit it out,” Merni said. “Taste is bad but it helps heal.”
“I was afraid of that,” he replied.
“Close your eyes now, dragon,” Merni said. “Sleep now and tomorrow you can wake.”
Now that she mentioned it, Zen was suddenly and undeniably tired. His eyelids were heavier than before and hard to keep open. He had just enough time to think there was some sort of sleep inducing herb mixed into the muddy concoction before his mind drifted off and enveloped itself into a state of dreamland.
It felt like only moments before Zen opened his eyes again. A disgusting taste lingered thickly in his mouth and he imagined his breath could cause the prime carrion-seeking beasts to gag. He swallowed and instantly wished he hadn’t. He lifted his head and shook his head, staving off a full-body shudder of disgust.
“Nasty,” Zen scowled.
He licked the roof of his dry mouth. His thirst felt unquenchable, biting at his insides. He felt as if he could drink an entire lake. He looked around for any amount of water to help rinse the disgusting taste from his mouth. There wasn’t a cup, a bucket, or even a single drop of water inside the cave. There was nothing at all in the cave, except for him. Whatever seat the man had sat on was gone. There were no bags or rugs or wound dressings anywhere.
He took in a deep breath and rose to his feet. For the first time in a long time, pain was absent from his body; from head to tail, from spike to talon, from wingtip to wingtip…
He moved his right wing painlessly. A smile curved across his face and his eyes lit up. He extended it slightly and flapped gently. He went through a variety of motions, just shy of full extension, and felt a wave of exhilaration wash over him. His excitement told him to find the closest air current and ride it sunrest to save Lana.
He exited the cave and entered a large oval foyer that was illuminated by plants and a few lamps that had glowing moths fluttering around them. Several small caves adjoined the quiet chamber.
No water.
He walked to the opening of the chamber where it joined another larger chamber. Four tiers of caves rose to the ceiling that was blanketed by luminous cocoons. Moths floated all around the room, fluttering in and out of the smaller chambers. It was there where he saw an overjoyed Arley sitting on a bench beside the archway. He rose to his feet suddenly, grinning at him.
“Where am I?” Zen asked in a hushed voiced, looking around.
“House of Healers,” Arley replied. He walked backwards and motioned for Zen to follow, stopping in the center of the larger cave. “Come. Try.” He held out his arms and moved them up and down.
Zen got the hint immediately and followed. He was slightly nervous, standing there in front of Arley. What if he wasn’t completely healed? What if he couldn’t spread both wings fully?
Dwarfs appeared at the opening of a few caves. He recognized Flana and Merni to be two of them. They were dressed in their healer garb. The other dwarfs didn’t appear to be healers so Zen assumed they were patients like he was.
“Do,” Arley said. His eyes held an anxious excitement.
Zen stood square and slowly, cautiously, he opened his wings. Both wings moved simultaneously until they were fully extended from his sides. He moved them up and down in a slow, precise flapping movement. Not even the slightest amount of pain.
“Good,” Arley said. His grin pushed the boundaries of his beard and moustache. “I am happy.”
“Me, too,” Zen said, elated. “I hope I can fly again.”
“Try,” Arley replied.
Zen beat his wings a bit harder. He felt sure he could fly again
.
“You look like a hatchling.”
Zen stopped and looked at the man who was grinning slightly.
“I feel like a hatchling. I have my wings back. I’m healed.”
“Yes, completely. They did well. They even remembered that dragons and wyverns have hollow bones so you shouldn’t feel much different than before.”
“How’d they fix me so well? Not even the healers of Eyzin could fix me this quick.” Zen’s heart sank suddenly and dread swallowed his excitement. Had he been asleep for months, or even years? Was it too late to rescue Lana? Was she lost for good?
“Relax,” the man said. “I know what you’re thinking.”
“No. No, you don’t,” Zen replied worriedly.
“You aren’t too late to save her. You’ve only been here about a week.”
“Well, I guess you did know what I was thinking,” Zen replied. “How’d they fix me in such a short time? That’s impossible.”
“Without magic,” the man said immediately. “Earthen Magic is what they call it, TereiMak in their language. Or Magic of the Earth, Mak U Tere.”
“I’ve never heard of it,” Zen said. “It was never in any of the history lessons.”
“You won’t hear of it,” the man said. “It is similar magic to what Magnen used to make this world. However similar, it is not the same since only Magnen can create things from nothing. The dwarfs can simply repair things that are already made, like your wings, spikes and talons.”
Zen looked down at this toes, contemplating his talons. He thought they felt heavier than they used to be. They were the same curvature, length, sharpness and color. However normal they looked, he knew that some weren’t the same as they used to be.
“When the hillside landed on you it damaged a lot of them,” the man said. “They fixed a few of your spikes as well. They’re even stronger now.”
“Am I protected by this earthen magic?” Zen asked skeptically.
“No,” the man replied. “You’re made of alvenite.”
