Just Breathe

“Noh, stahp! Cuhhhm bak! u’el dahee!” it screeched as I ran down the great white hallway. I made it twenty strides this time before I collapsed, gasping for breath. “Sdayt hur’nd puht’hur bak’n kwaruhnteen.”

This was wrong. I’ve run for leagues, sun up to sun down, and never lost breath. What have these demons done to me?

Two of the bigger ones approached me and I waved my arms futilely, trying to stave them off as the black ring in my vision grew. Then there was a distant pinch on my arm, and the darkness sped up, engulfing my vision. I wouldn’t win this time, but I seared their faces into my memory.

*****

I watched through my clear wall as the female in charge sent her followers running this way and that much like a great honbee queen, though this one was draped in a long white coat of some strange material rather than black and yellow fur. I felt the material I now wore; it was smooth and I liked running my fingers over it. But the stench was awful. Unnatural.

The air was the stalest I’ve ever breathed, like my room at home in winter. Like then, there were four things I could do here: eat, sleep, exercise and plan. Turning my attention back to the scene in front of me, I stared at the leader. I was sure she was a female after observing these creatures for many days; she had the breasts for feeding young, though, clearly, hers had never been used. They weren’t so different from my species as I’d first thought. There were other females and males among those wandering outside my room; the males usually distinct with their wider shoulders, narrower waists and flat chests.

No. They were not so different from us as I’d first thought.

When I’d first seen these creatures, I’d been hunting a three-horn close to one of the dragon’s nests. All dragon nests were shaped like giant eggs. And they were all said to be impenetrable.

I’d just slipped within range of the three horn, arrow knocked and aimed at the three-horn’s hottest point in its stomach, when it stopped it’s grazing and looked to the east, its ears and nose twitching. I stilled to not draw the attention of whatever my prey had noticed. There were many beasts that would eat me even as I ate them. Moving only my eyes, I followed the direction the three-horn was looking, but saw nothing. One thing I learned the hard way was you never ignore the instincts of a three-horn, so when it bolted in the opposite direction I knew I had to get out of there as well.

About to whistle for Sor, my warg, I smelled wood smoke and saw it’s inky tendrils as it drifted over the treetops. Breathing deep and slow, I cooled my core temperature and closed my second eyelids looking for heat in that direction. It blazed in a wide berth, flickering beyond the treeline. That’s when I remembered the nest. I’d always been fascinated by dragons, the great beasts my grandfather told stories of that were even bigger than the massive ophants, breathing gouts of fire longer than the height of many men. I couldn’t hold back either the excitement at the chance to witness such a creature in action or the arrogance that I could easily evade or defeat it. Slowly releasing the tension on my bow, but keeping it knocked I stalked toward the egg’s valley.

Sure enough, great gouts of fire scorched the earth around the egg. However, it wasn’t dragons who breathed it, but much smaller creatures with bright yellow and wrinkled skin, two arms and legs, and a hundred black eyes. And the fire roared from their hands, not their mouths. These were not dragons, but witches. Beings my mother warned me about.

Removing their war garb inside the nest had done nothing to improve my opinion of them. They’d used sorcery to lock me behind this invisible wall. They’d used sorcery to suffocate me. They’d used sorcery to force me to sleep. But I was learning from them. Oh, yes.

There was a tap on my wall, a familiar face on the other side, smiling. The young male moved his open hand back and forth saying, “Hi.” He pointed at the dish in his hand and continued, “Eye’v brawt you suhmthinuh eat. Hoep you lie’k it.”

I stared as he placed the dish in a clear drawer built into the wall, shutting its lid, and pushed it in until the drawer was on my side. When I didn’t move, he motioned toward it with both hands, eyebrows up and eyes wide with a crooked, if hopeful, smile. I liked staring at them. It seemed to make them nervous.

Slowly, I unfurled my limbs and stood from the bed, ghosting over to the drawer. Last time they’d brought me food, it had been disgustingly overcooked and the spices were bland. As I looked at this meal, I sighed. At least it wasn’t over cooked, but it looked like pale mush in one corner and the yellow and violet seeds of an earocorn in another but it lacked meat. I opened the lid and and closed my eyes as the scent of home washed over me. My mother cooking dinner over the woodstove, something my father had told me she’d been excited about when they’d found the old cabin.

I knew what the mush was now.

“Potato mash.”

“Wuht?” The young man asked. I looked at him, eyebrows raised in question. I was annoyed at myself for having spoken. I’d wanted to give them nothing they did not take. They’d come in several times in slightly different war garb and took my blood, poked and prodded me. Needing information, enough to get me out, I didn’t struggle in my bindings, didn’t give them a reason to make me sleep. They even tried to get me to communicate, talking at me in their clunky language. That was fine. The more I listened the more I understood. “D’you jest say ‘potato mash’? D’you meen masht potatows?”

I clenched my jaw shut.

He forced a short laugh. “Ohhkay. Ennyway. It wuhs my mother’s resipy. She luhvd masht potatows.”

Even as I dipped my fingers in the mash bringing scoops to my lips, I was offended by the lack of utensils given and just wanted my server to leave. Though, these ‘masht potatows’ were smoother than potato mash from home, it did taste very similar to mother’s potato mash.

Instead he said, “Look,” and pulled out a chain from around his neck, the pendant dangling at the bottom was the most intricate piece of metal work I’d ever seen in a shape my mother once told me was a heart. Which was strange because it looked nothing like a real heart. It appeared the piece was not just for show, but, amazingly, could open as well. Inside was a masterful, miniature painting of a smiling woman with mousy brown hair and pale violet grey eyes, though my mother always said her eyes were plain grey, not violet. “This is my mother. Wuhsn’t she prity?”

My dish crashed, forgotten, to the floor as I got within a hairsbreadth from the invisible wall. My whole body tense, I maintained just enough control to utter, “You. Take. Me. Go.” I spoke slowly, carefully arranging my mouth to form his words. To make myself clear, I pointed at him, myself and the exit door I’d tried to escape through multiple times.

He stared at me dumbfounded. Realizing we were being watched, I bent and scooped up what I could from the floor onto the plate and placed it in the drawer, pushing it to his side to keep them from making me sleep. I needed to talk to this man who had just told me the impossible. We have the same mother. I shouldn’t have bothered. He just took my food and left, and when I woke up in the morning what had been left on the floor and smeared on the wall was gone.

I didn’t see my supposed brother for several days, but as I stared up at the ceiling one night, counting the faint hot spots from the dim light, he walked in. He bore the war garb with the clear wall which allowed his face to be visible. These creatures produced a little more heat than my kind. Much like mother. Maybe it wasn’t entirely impossible that he was my brother after all. Moving to get up, I opened my second eyelid as it would be useless once my own body was warmed up as well.

“Puht this on,” he said quietly, tossing me one of the war garbs I’d first seen. “You are going to take me to her.”

“No.” I wasn’t going to wear the robes of witches.

“You have to,” he said urgently, eyes flicking toward the clear wall. That wasn’t the entrance to my room but it seemed he didn’t want to be seen. “If you go out there,” he gestured to the open wall, “you won’t be able to breathe. I’ve ree’rigd this for a neyetrohgin breathing or’guhnism.” I looked at him blankly. “You. I made this for you.” My lips curled in distaste. He sighed. “You want out?” He pointed toward the entrance.

I was stunned he’d be willing to help me, when all the others just wanted to watch me or take from me. Could this be a trap? What would they gain from giving me a chance to escape? If they wanted to kill me, although it made me grit my teeth to admit it, it would have been easy for them. When I just stood there, he growled and moved to leave.

Snatching at the witches garb in his hands I made to put it on, thankful that I was a little smaller than the average female of my tribe since that made me only slightly taller than the males here. It fit, although I had needed help with the strange fastenings. Being on the other side of the hundred eyes was strange, things seemed to be in sharper focus but not like I was looking at hundreds of images.

He opened the door and stepped into the much smaller room leading between my room and the hallway I’d tried to escape through several times. With a tentative step I joined him. And nothing. I could still breathe. I grinned. Then he started removing the garb and hanging it up. As I moved to do the same, he stopped me and shook his head. I nodded slowly. I’d follow his lead. For now.

I mapped the halls in my head as we went, just in case, but we met no one he wasn’t able to distract as I walked by, waiting around a corner ahead. As we reached another door with more suits like mine hanging nearby, he moved to put one on. Finally, picking up a pack and slinging the straps over his shoulders, he handed me my own leather one that they’d taken from me. We passed through the checkpoints smoothly as he flashed a shiny card with his picture on it. We stepped outside the egg and I saw the familiar charred earth around the dragon’s nest.

Pulling off the helmet, I took a deep breath of fresh night air. Before I could remove the rest, a loud horn blared just overhead, making me clap my hands over my ears. A hand gripped my arm and I flung it off, turning to see my brother frantically waving an arm before running toward the treeline. I whistled for Sor, lifting my so-called brother and tossing him facedown in front of the saddle.

I decided I’d take him to mother after all. I wanted answers.