Hexbane

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Now, I work for them. I use the term "work" loosely. There is no pay, no vacation, and no sick days. Most days, I’m lucky to get food.

“Hurry with that floor, you ugly Phasomertos.” The red glow of dragon eyes was all I could see before I took a blow to my shoulders. It’s never the face. They like their slaves to look pretty.

“Yes, Dragaiae,” I seethed through my teeth.

CRACK!

Another blow, this time, buckling my callused, scarred elbows. It takes everything I have not to rip off her smug face. This specific dragon’s power is gone. I am thankful for that.

Phasomertos. Such an endearing term the dragons call humans. It means: wicked, depraved, and disgusting mortals. The dragons don’t even look very different from us. Sure, they have creepy eyes, superpowers, and unnaturally long lives. Several have a strange texture to their skin similar to scales that I’m sure has played a part in their mythical comparisons. Some even say they are the descendants of the big, fire-breathing dragons in old folklore. They are human-looking enough for their disgust of us to be wildly arbitrary. They are also far more cruel and vile than any human I’d ever seen.

There’s no use in getting more lashings. I can’t hurt the nasty beast, at least not yet. I began to scrub vigorously, enough to satisfy the creature before she trudges off down the marble hall. Her age shows in her lack of light-footed agility like the younger dragons. Time has also taken her supernatural abilities.

The shackles I wear around my neck and wrists clank as I channel my rage into unbridled efficiency. I need to buy time to disappear before the coronation banquet. The foul creatures plan to officially crown the ultimate monster. This monster is also the son of this manor’s owner. It must be tonight.

I quickly finish the remainder of my chores in record time and slip silently down the hall in the scantily-clad work uniform that was bestowed upon me. The mix of cheap metal and delicate fabric is like a greek goddess; but resembles one of those adult Halloween costumes I remember seeing as a kid before my mother dragged me back to the bunnies and princesses section of a seasonal holiday store.

There is something I don’t quite understand about the monsters. If dragons hate humans as much as they seem to, why do they want to see so much of us?

I slip through the final corridor to the service wing. The servant quarters here are quite clean in comparison to other dragon households. The head of this manor is royalty and likes to show she has the best of the best; slaves included.

I keep my eyes low and my movements slow and defeated as to not raise suspicion. I don’t trust some of these other servant girls. The weak will out you to avoid a single strike or to obtain an extra crumb of bread.

As soon as I get into my room, I immediately shake off the façade and begin tying my long, straight, black hair up, and quickly rub a handmade salve on my sore feet. We aren’t allowed shoes as a way to keep us from running; not that bare feet keep us here. Fear is what keeps us here. No runner has ever gotten far.

I pull up the loose, stone slab next to my straw bed and pull out the stolen scarf and the cold metal keys that lead to the Underworld. All the types of dragons have one united weakness we know so far: claustrophobia. Even if they knew we went underground, they wouldn’t follow. . . but we’d also never be allowed to emerge again. We’d seal our own tomb. The big, rusted, iron gate is not for the dragons but for the traitorous human spies looking to avoid their nightly beating by revealing our whereabouts.

I wrap the scarf around my chains to quiet their friction and make my way with excited haste to the old tunnels in the basement.

Tonight is the night all of these beasts will pay.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

All eyes are on Phillip in the catacombs beneath the Valley. His face looks charred something terrible, but these were not burns; it’s frostbite. He’s been screaming in agony for nearly an hour as our medical staff treats his blackened skin as best they can on this cold, wet stone. We need to move him.

“Lyra, get him talking, we don’t have time for this!” A male voice booms impatiently over the heads of the army I’ve created. My aquamarine eyes dart to the man who dared challenge my authority. Up there, I’m a dragon’s property. Down here:

I am King.

I stood slowly with regal precision and left Phillip’s side, sauntering toward the loud-mouth. I could see his resolve crumble as he fumbled an apology, clumsily correcting his word choices. Smart man.

“M- My Lady, is there any way we can help Phillip communicate now? I fear we will run out of time before the Demon King arrives!”

The demon king is very much on his way. I could cut the tension with a knife as the chamber falls quiet. The dripping of dirty water all around us rang out in haunting symphony. The Dragai will have their new ruler tonight; and rumors have spread from the coast colonies that he will bring all of mankind to a living hell on earth. We are the resistance who will cut off his head before he gets the chance.

I look back to Phillip who begins waving his hands around strangely. Someone else is quicker to decipher his movements and brings forward an old chalkboard and chalk. Things like this are hard to come by in the Valley these days. It took these monsters only 20 years to emerge from Hell and change the entire structure of humanity as we knew it. The human race fell so quickly we were nearly eradicated. The survivors are enslaved while we dream of the rumors of an underground colony who escaped this life. I was only eight when I was ripped from my mother’s arms.

My long lashes flutter away the tears trying to surface. That is the second time I’ve thought of her today. I must keep it together if I’m to bring the Valley colony down tonight. Maybe then I’ll find where they have taken her; or if she’s even still alive. So close.

Phillip is writing. His violent tremors weren’t enough to disguise the one word he wrote on the board:

"Water."

“Water?! I don’t understand. How is something as simple as water the Grey Dragons’ weakness?! They can manipulate ice!” The nurse closest to Phillip tried to hide the shrill panic in her voice. I tried not to match her energy. I needed to be strong if I am going to lead this little army of emaciated slaves into battle.

Phillip went limp. DAMN IT. What does "water" mean? How did Phillip find out about this? However he did it, the Grey tried to kill him for it. Phillip was frozen alive.

There is no time to question it. I crane my neck and raise my voice to the rotten stone cathedral ceilings of these forgotten tunnels to use the echoing acoustics to my advantage.

“The Grey do have a weakness! It is WATER!” I bellow with a faked confidence I hoped no one would see through. The murmurs immediately erupt. The questions are sure to come, but I need to cut them all off at the start. “Generals! Meet me immediately in the next hall! We must quickly incorporate water into our attack.”

We’re doomed.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Night has come. I’m buzzing with anticipation. I was carrying large platters of food that us humans would kill for on any other occasion; but tonight, the smell turned my stomach. The anxiety is nearly too much.

I look around the corner into the banquet hall. It is brimming with dragons. I’ve never seen so many in one place. They are all too spread out. I really hope they begin clustering together by kind when the coronation begins. We don’t have weapons to kill all the types yet, but we have enough to destroy the bigger clans while the weaker vermin scatter like rats. Phillip’s manor was the last domino we needed to crumble the foundation of power in the Valley.

My skin feels cold and my whole body is vibrating uncontrollably. If this works we are all free. We will kill them all and begin our war to drive dragons back into Hell from where they came. The timing must be perfect tonight.

I pull the silky, sheer veil back over my face and proceed into the hall with a tray. It is imperative that I don’t touch any of the dragons. That is a crime none survive.

The chains I wear tonight are thin and glittering, almost as if they are jewelry. The master of the manor made sure even her slaves looked perfect tonight. My hair smells of lilacs as it tumbles down to my hips, shining like a placid lake. My olive skin is glistening with pearl oils that only the most presentable girls were given. We are the ones who will be seen tonight.

I slid the tray onto a table so delicately I may as well have been a ghost. The only one to notice me was a slender female with long, bouncing, golden curls. She looked at me with her creepy reptilian eyes that glowed a powerful amber.

Great.

These ones manipulate fire. They are extraordinarily unpredictable with a fierce temper. This was the last kind you wanted to notice you.

I bowed my head graciously and turned on my heels to leave.

“Phasomertos,” she seethed.

Shit.

It was time to grovel. We aren’t ready yet. We must wait for the Dragon King. “Yes Dragaiae?” I said in my silkiest voice as I knelt dramatically before her. It was enough for other dragons around us both to take notice of me. Dragons have rough or squeaky voices. They become alarmingly alert when a human speaks softly. She says nothing.

“Dragaiae, please, may I serve you?” I lull again.

Dragaiae is the equivalent of calling a female dragon a goddess. Dragons are dangerously egotistical. The rebellion has learned a great deal about them in just a few short years. We use every trick to stay alive.

Blondie smirks and before she can issue her (most likely) long list of impossible commands, my master’s voice rings out over the hall.

“Dragai!” Her abrasive voice makes me wince as I use the distraction to run quickly away from the Amber dragon. We’ve been able to distinguish their abilities by their eye colors. For claiming to be such an advanced species, the color-coding is genetically embarrassing for them.

I wait for two Cyans to take their seats so I don’t accidentally touch one. Darting back to the kitchen with the other staff, I can hear parts of the speech.

“. . . and with the colonies’ blessings, it has been the greatest honor to announce my very own son as the Vasille du Dragai!! King of Dragons!”

The hall bursts with roaring cheers and the sound is utterly terrifying. I look over at one of my fellow rebels as her brown eyes peek through her veil. She’s frozen in place, petrified. This dragon king needs to hurry onto the stage.

Time for another tray. My heart is pounding out of my chest. The time is now. I slip out waiting for this infamous Leader of Demons to enter the hall.

“Tonight, our new king will choose his bride! I ask those vying to approach!” The master croaks. Blondie bounces up like a giddy teenager. I wonder how long she’d bathe me in fire if I told her how human she looked just then.

They all line up in front of the platform before I hear a scream that makes my blood run cold. Time seems to stop as I see a young slave being dragged by her hair onto the stage.

“This vile Phasomertos touched me!” The terrifyingly large Emerald dragon bellowed. The hall exploded with energy. I couldn’t hear any of it. All I could see was sweet little Emily’s teary and terrified blue eyes. Emily is only 10.

One thing I know is she touched a dragon. Emily is being sentenced to death.

My feet were moving before I understood what was happening. My muscles moved of their own accord as I weaved unconsciously in and out of riled dragons, making my way toward the stage.

Thud!

Emily was struck hard to the ground. My jaw clenched painfully tight as I saw red. Emily lifted her little head up to look sorrowfully at her abuser who then kicked her. Hard.

I’m going to rip him limb from limb. I’m going to take joy in watching the life leave his disgusting, green, dragon eyes. They will all pay. I will save you, Emily.

I made it to the steps and lunged onto the stage, diving on top of Emily before another blow could be delivered. The stomp knocked the wind from my lungs. Her quivering body beneath me filled me with so much rage I could not contain it. When I caught my breath, venom poured from my mouth with fiery hatred. Vile words cloaked in silky, unwavering precision reached every ear in this room. The hall falls to a deadly silence.

I’m dead.

I rise to my feet with all the royal elegance I could muster. Shoulders back, I mask my fear with a piercing gaze and confront the Emerald Dragon face to face. He stared, stunned at words I will not live long enough to ever utter again. Emily is scooped up by other servants while all eyes were on me and my unforgivable disobedience.

I hope the resistance will lead the charge without my signal. I turn my back to the Emerald Dragon and face the crowd of hostile creatures. I stand tall and majestic as I tip my nose to the lot. I will not die on my knees. I will not beg for mercy. I will be a martyr for this cause.

I wait for what feels like an eternity. Where is my death? Why have I not been struck down? Why is there no sound?

That was when I felt it. A cold, looming presence that would bring the devil himself to his knees. I could feel his energy reverberating off my back and I begin to shiver. I forget to breathe entirely.

With my pulse slamming in my ears, I turn and look at the massive dragon standing behind me. His tousled, black hair fell all around his head. My eyes followed his perfectly chiseled jaw line up to his soft but prominent cheek bones. His thick lashes give way to his ethereal eyes. Two shimmering opals stared through me.

Those were eyes I’d never seen. Oh no. What kind of dragon is this?! I try to stifle the tremble as I imagine an unimaginable death the Dragon King is about to deliver. The anticipation is torture.

He finally breaks his stillness and reaches for my veil. I was motionless as he lifted it from my face and glared down at me. I watch as his chest expands and I hear the growl of his voice erupt in the silence.

The entire hall detonates with a crazed frenzy while I try and comprehend his four simple words.

“I choose this one.”