Dragon's Capture Page 11

  Three remain. Things are happening so fast that they’re only now taking their attention from Visidion.

  A glimmer of hope alights deep in my core. A chance, small, but it’s there.

  The closest one of them turns, time is moving in slow motion, he turns, and I’m kicking at his knee in the same, stop-action motion. Before my boot reaches his knee pain blossoms like a delicate flower in my left side. Shockingly cold and numb until the petals open and my nervous system explodes. Convulsing, with one foot on the ground and the other swinging through air, I lose my balance.

  When I land on my back, the air is knocked out of me as a fresh bout of numbing pain starts in my right thigh. My head bounces off the metal floor, more than once, as I struggle to take control of my body, but I’m betrayed. Control has been taken away. It’s too hard to think.

  Through my uncontrollably blinking eyes, the last thing I see is three Zzlo standing over me, dark rifles pointing down. They fire as one.

  14

  Visidion

  Dim awareness of something heavy. A weight that is too much, more than I want to deal with. Easier to stay here in the darkness, let that heavy, awful weight be someone else’s problem.

  Rosalind.

  Yes, Rosalind. Perfect, my treasure.

  Where is she?

  Hmm, have to find her.

  Have to reach Rosalind.

  Danger!

  Danger?

  That damn weight intrudes again. It’s like it’s calling to me, pulling me in.

  What was I thinking?

  Thinking, hard to hold a thought.

  Everything is…

  “ROSALIND!” I scream, leaping to my feet as I grab control of my body and slash my tail.

  Clanking sounds, loud in my ears. Scrambling, dragging, metal on metal.

  Eyesight is blurry, can’t bring anything into focus.

  My arms are heavy, pulled down, by… something.

  “ROSALIND!”

  “Stop it,” a strange voice growls. It sounds like two rocks rubbing together.

  “WHERE IS SHE!” I yell, turning blindly toward the voice.

  “There, sit, shut up,” the voice grumbles.

  Rushing forward, towards the sound, the sound of metal dragging on metal, then suddenly my feet stop but I’m still intent on going forward. Falling. I land hard, smashing my face against the cold steel of the floor. The air is pushed out of my lungs.

  “Hah!” a different voice laughs.

  “Stupid,” the gravel voice says.

  I get to my knees. Fumbling, still unable to focus my eyes, I feel my way down my legs to my ankles, the point where something stopped my forward progress. Cold metal meets my fingertips. Tracing its circle around my leg, I find the point where a heavy chain connects me to something.

  “Where is she?” I hiss.

  “Quiet, no trouble,” gravel voice says.

  I blink rapidly until my vision clears enough to make out blurry shapes.

  “Answer me,” I say, listening to figure out which one of the blobs is the speaker.

  “There,” a blob says and motions to my left.

  I grab for him but my fingers come up short of being able to reach him.

  “Hah!” the other one laughs again. “You he get, Cenar.”

  “You, shut up,” Cenar says. “There.”

  He motions again to my left. Unable to grab the source of my frustration, I place my hands on the metal floor and feel my way to the left. Chains clank as I move. Muscles hurt, every fiber of my body is in pain, but it doesn’t matter. Rosalind is all.

  My fingers touch something soft and cool. Leaning down, close, I see her face. Her perfect, beautiful face. I move a hand in front of her mouth, and a puff of air warms my palm. Dropping to the floor next to her, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. She’s alive. My treasure is alive.

  I lie there for a long time. There’s no way to mark the passage of time, but I lie there until my eyesight clears at last and it hurts less to breathe. Rosalind doesn’t move, but I’m content resting my head next to her chest. The steady beat of her heart in my ear, her soft breath passing over my face, these things help me find my center. Knowing she’s alive is enough. I give my body time to recover while she rests and recovers too.

  As time passes, occasional thoughts form and then disperse. I let them go. All concerns are pushed aside as I bask in certainty that she’s here with me. I’ll deal with what comes next when I must. Until then, I’m going to rest. I know we’re captured. I’m certain we’ve already been taken off world, so there is no rush.

  Ragnar and Ladon will have to care for the Tribe. I know they’ll lead them well. Rosalind and I will meet whatever comes our way. Her steady heartbeat pulsing in my ear makes a smile spread across my face. While I never could have imagined being where we are, I’m happy we’re together. My treasure and I, free from the responsibilities that kept us apart. There is nothing in our way now. What was before doesn’t matter any longer.

  My vision clears at last. Every muscle hurts still, but it’s a steady, throbbing pain that I quickly become used to. There is a soft vibration through the floor, the ship’s thrusters engaging. Soon I’ll deal with that. Right now I’m happy to enjoy the moment. The rise and fall of her chest and the sound of her life lulls me to a restful state. A certainty fills me. No matter what we have to face, we’ll conquer it. Together, nothing in the universe can stop us for long. This is a temporary setback.

  Chains rattle, pulling me out of my thoughts. I take my first real look at our surroundings. It’s what I expected, a metal box of a room. Heavy chains connect Rosalind and me to the walls. There are others with us, none of them human or Zmaj. The one across from us looks like a rock that has taken on a vaguely bipedal shape. Massive, at least twice my size, he has rocky outcroppings protruding from his arms, legs, and chest. His mouth is a hard line, and nothing in his face looks any more expressive than a stone. He has dark, black eyes that stare at me with an air of resentment. This must be Cenar, guessing by his location and associating the voice I heard earlier with his appearance. He glares at me, his mouth opening and closing with a clacking sound of two rocks smacking together.

  Left of him is a thin, gangly creature, covered with matted brown fur. It has a long snout for a face, sharp teeth, and beady, bloodshot yellow eyes. Two pointed ears, one of which looks like it was bitten half off, judging by its jagged edge. There’s a furtiveness to the way it moves. The rotting, dirty rags it wears add to its overall air of decay. Its thin arms extend longer than it seems they should to hands with sharp, dirty claws that could easily tear through flesh.

  Twisting my head to the limit, I find two more aliens. The first is small, even smaller than Rosalind, with deep blue skin and dark green eyes. Bright red hair with streaks of yellow decorate its head, sticking up in different directions. It is bipedal, shaped a lot like Rosalind, but half her size. Its head is between its legs, hunched over, staring at the floor in front of it.

  The last one is lying on its back. A huge belly protrudes so high that I can’t see its face. Yellowish skin with blue striations and black swirls is exposed where its clothing pulls up over its distended stomach. Each of its legs look as big as my chest, and its feet are as big as my head. It doesn’t have any footwear, but it doesn’t need any—its feet look hardened and have long, green-yellow toenails that come to sharp points.

  Only Cenar, the rocky creature, seems to be paying any attention. Staring at me with those black eyes, mouth opening and closing with soft clacks. When I meet its gaze, its mouth drops open, then we stare at each other for a long moment.

  “You,” Cenar says.

  “What?” I ask.

  It shakes its head, its mouth hanging open then snapping shut with a louder clack than before. It rolls its shoulders, and even that simple motion is accompanied by an echo of rocks sliding against each other.

  “Trouble,” Cenar says.

  “Yes, ha!” the higher
-pitched, fur-covered thing adds. “Trouble, you are, much trouble.”

  Cenar looks over, then back at me, shakes his head once more, then goes still.

  “What trouble?” I ask.

  “Make mad,” Cenar answers.

  “Ha! Mad, yes, mad,” the other thing adds.

  Rosalind’s breathing shifts and her heart rate picks up. Sitting up to give her all my attention, I touch her face with the palm of my hand, smoothing her hair away from her eyes. Perfect. Tingles run from my fingers deep into my chest, her skin so soft it thrills me to touch it. Her eyes flutter then spring open. She sits straight up, eyes wide, mouth open.

  “Visidion!” she cries out.

  I take her into my arms where she struggles for an instant and then collapses against my chest, holding me tight. A perfect, beautiful moment, that couldn’t have been any better if I’d planned it in full. She inhales deeply before pulling back and looking me up and down.

  “You’re okay?” she asks.

  “I’ll be fine,” I say, ignoring the deep aches.

  Pursing her perfect lips, she nods and turns her attention around the room.

  “Mmm, female it is, is pretty, yes,” the fur thing says.

  Rosalind looks at it, arches an eyebrow, and then shakes her head.

  “How does that thing speak Zmaj?” she asks.

  “I don’t know,” I respond.

  “Zmaj? What Zmaj is?” it asks.

  “The language you’re speaking,” Rosalind says.

  “No speak, no,” it shakes its head emphatically. “Translators it is.”

  She touches a hand to her ear. A small trickle of dried blood is on her cheek. I hadn’t thought anything of it in the mix of her other wounds and the beating I was sure she’d taken after they’d dropped me, but obviously it means something to her.

  “Interesting,” she says. “How long was I out?”

  “I’m not sure,” I answer.

  “Cycles, many,” the fur creature says.

  Cenar’s mouth clacks several times, loud, pulling Rosalind’s gaze to him. He shrugs, shifts, each movement loud and obnoxious.

  “Seven sun cycles,” Cenar adds, after all his noisy motions and clacking.

  “Damn,” Rosalind exhales, locking her eyes on to mine. “How screwed are we?”

  An urge to lie rises from deep within me and I almost do. My mouth opens, the words are right there, but when they come out the truth is there with them. No matter how much I want to protect her, I can never go so far as to lie.

  “Bad,” I say.

  “We’re off the planet, aren’t we,” she says, not asking.

  I nod agreement. She shakes her head again then grabs the shackle around her leg. The effort it takes her is obvious as she hefts the chain closer to her. Each link is as big as her fist. She examines it closely, her brow furrowing as she does. She drops it with a dissatisfied grunt.

  “No escape,” Cenar adds, helpfully.

  “Escape you won’t,” fur creature says.

  “What is your name?” Rosalind asks, looking at the fur creature.

  “Mesto, I am,” it answers.

  “Rosalind,” she says, then points at me. “This is Visidion.”

  “Cenar,” Cenar says, pointing at himself.

  “Well, we’re all well and truly screwed. If we work together, we have our best chance of survival,” Rosalind says.

  Cenar and Mesto exchange a look making it clear they know something we don’t.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  Cenar shrugs, rocks grinding, then closes his eyes and leans back against the wall.

  “You don’t know,” Mesto says. “Bad place, we go.”

  “What bad place?” I ask.

  “Krik,” Cenar answers, not opening his eyes.

  “No,” I exhale.

  “Krik?” Rosalind asks, looking at me. “That isn’t where that Prince Astirian was from is it?”

  Mouth dry, I nod.

  “They can’t have survived the War of Twelve—surely they were destroyed!”

  Cenar grunts, the deep rumble of it echoing off the steel walls and bouncing back to us over and over. It is the sound of despair, echoing.

  “Dead, no,” Mesto says. “No dead. Arenas. Many fighters, many many.”

  “How do you know that’s where we’re being taken?” I ask.

  “Trouble,” Cenar says. “Always troublemakers go Krik.”

  “Because you’re big, and apparently they think she can fight,” a new voice says. It’s the blue creature, looking up for the first time I’m aware of.

  “You are?” Rosalind asks.

  “Not your friend,” it answers.

  “You have something better to do?” Rosalind counters, arching an eyebrow.

  The blue creature stares at her, frowning. The tips of two small tusks stick out of the corners of its mouth.

  “You, I like,” it says. “I am K’sara.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Rosalind says.

  “It is nice for now, not so if we meet in the arena,” K’sara says.

  “Cross that bridge when we get there,” Rosalind responds.

  “Right,” K’sara nods.

  “What do we know about Krik?” Rosalind asks.

  “Fighters bring the best price, but if you’re good enough you can live well,” K’sara says. “It’s all about winning matches. The more you win, the more valuable you become, until you lose,” K’sara says.

  “Hah! Well live, die well,” Mesto adds.

  “What about escaping before we get there?” Rosalind asks.

  “Escape where? We’re in space,” K’sara says.

  “Why don’t all you noisemakers shut up,” the last creature in the room says without bothering to sit up.

  “Hah,” Mesto says.

  “Todd,” Cenar says. “Shut it.”

  “You’ll be first on my list, Cenar,” Todd says.

  “List?” Rosalind asks.

  “Oh yes,” Todd says.

  “What list?” I ask.

  “The list of who I’m going to kill first,” Todd responds. “Now shut up and let me rest.”

  “Wouldn’t it be smarter if we come together?” Rosalind asks.

  “Smarter for who? You, tiny female?” Todd asks. “I don’t need anyone. This is my fate. I will embrace it.”

  Silence falls across the room as everyone contemplates his words. Rosalind scoots close to me, lying her head on my chest. I stroke her soft hair, lean against the wall, and close my eyes, letting my body heal. Soon enough I’ll be put to the test. I won’t be found wanting.

  15

  Rosalind

  We have no way to mark the passage of time. On the generation ship there was artificial day and night, built into the ship itself. One of the many things our ancestors considered in the design. Human bodies run on cycles of awake and asleep triggered by the external cues of day and night. In our small room there is no consideration of that. The only break in the monotony is when food shows up. A small section of the door to the room slides up, a bucket is shoved in, and then the section slams shut.

  Those of us chained further from the door depend on Cenar to reach the bucket then share it around with us. When the first bucket shows up, my stomach grumbles loudly. I don’t know when I last ate, but it’s been a long time. Cenar grabs the bucket and pulls it to him. He scoops out a thick gruel with his hands and shovels it into his mouth. He licks his fingers clean each time before dipping them back into the bucket. A disgusting habit, and if I wasn’t so damn hungry, I’d skip eating because of it.

  I close my eyes and do my best to ignore the sounds of his eating. When he takes his fill, he passes it to Mesto, who has no such concerns, taking to it with a gusto that is loud and sloppy. Mesto passes it to K’sara and so it goes until at last Todd slides it to me. Closing my eyes and forcing my hand to move through an effort of will, I eat the slop. It’s bad but not terrible. It’s tasteless, mostly. What taste it does have is similar
to dirt and ash mixed together to form a paste. When I finish it, I hand it to Visidion.

  Once we finish eating, there is nothing left to do but to stare despondently around the small space at each other or to sleep. As time passes, I make small talk with our cellmates, learning what I can about them. Todd is the hardest to engage with. Of all of us, he seems the most resigned to his fate, embracing it with no interest in taking control of it. It might be a stretch to say we become friends or allies even, but there is a definite connection that I actively work to develop. I don’t have a plan but the one thing I’m certain of is that if we’re to escape we’ll need help. With that end in mind, I work to build trust among the captives.

  Assuming we all end up in the same place. Assuming there is a chance to get free. Assuming, assuming, assuming, lots of assumings because I have no data to work with. It doesn’t matter, because I know what I’m doing right now is the right thing. Focusing on the now keeps despair at bay. Counting the meals and assuming that they feed us three times a day, two weeks pass by my estimation. Long, boring days, but I make a lot of progress in that time. Even Todd is opening up, if only a little.

  The vibration of the ship’s engines changes, going from a constant background thrumming to a violent shaking of the floor. All of us sit up, taking notice, except Todd who sighs loudly as his only response.

  “What it is?” Mesto asks.

  “We’re slowing down,” I answer, recognizing the feel of the thrusters reversing from my training as a fighter pilot.

  “Ha!” Mesto says. “Krik, here we are!”

  “So,” I say, pulling the room’s attention to me. “Are we in agreement?”

  “Agree?” Cenar asks, the grinding sound of his body as he shifts positions almost drowning out his words.

  “Yes, agree. We work together and find a way to gain our freedom back,” I remind them all of the things we’ve talked about during the last two weeks.