Row

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Hewn from wood and carved into their serpentine shape, the grotesque beasts appeared like demons in the mist, oars slicing through the water like powerful limbs, splashing in time with the crack of a whip. But it's what the dragons carried within them that truly brought the nightmare to our shores.

I blinked, water splashing into my eyes, but dared not let go of the oar in front of me. The dragon groaned as the river pulled against her, dragging her backward against the current. I chanced a look through the oarport, the river’s raging waters rising to meet the hull as she sailed north. Rain splattered in sheets, stinging and driven sideways by the gale that howled above us. A good storm. We must be getting closer.

The air above my head cracked and I flinched. Though the cruel leather cords didn’t touch my skin, I recalled its sting, felt the tug of healed scars across my back, my arms, my neck.

“Row, damn you!” Ogre screamed, whip raised in one hand and cudgel in the other. “Row like your lives depend on it, you miserable shits!”

Grunting, I pulled harder in time with my oar mates, both seasoned veterans, longer at the oar even than myself. Griffin sat beside me, sweat pouring from his brow, neck muscles straining, and jaw clenched hard. He took up most of the bench, a large man even by Etari standards. The griffin tattoo bulged with his enormous arm, crouching and leaping with every stroke. Beside him on the outer bench, Fang snarled, baring his filed teeth at the oar like the animal he was. The chains around our wrists and ankles clattered, clinking together their dreadful melody.

For what felt like ages, we rowed against the storm, arms burning, backs breaking, until time lost all meaning. Wind and waves battered against the hull, striking her sides like hammer blows that rocked us on our benches. For every stroke the dragon surged forward, the current and the wind shoved her back, stoking Ogre’s fury. The crack of his whip accentuated his curses, his voice growing shrill with every fuming cry as he paced the length of the galley. River water pooled around our bleeding ankles, cold and stinging, reminding us of the price of failure.

Blinking back the mix of sweat, rain, and river water, I concentrated hard on the wood grain of the oar, rubbed smooth by my own calloused hands. How long I’d been chained here, I couldn’t quite recall. Long enough to forget much apart from the whip’s touch, the sea’s spray and the cruelty fate had dealt me.

Griffin nudged my arm with his elbow, nearly knocking me against the hull, then nodded towards the oarport. “Looks like you’re home, Mouse.”

I didn’t bother looking. I could feel it in the waves, in the pull of the current. I could hear it in the rain and smell it in the wind. That sweet, faint scent I swore I’d forgotten so long ago.

Eldorin. Home.

Or at least what was left of it.

I grit my teeth and rowed harder, fueled by anguish and loathing born of a past I’d have sooner forgotten if only to survive. Memories of home brought nothing but despair now, digging up old wounds that never really healed right in the first place. Because when the dragons swam north into the valley, they came with fire, and they consumed everything I ever loved.

***

Grunting, I tore into the heel of bread like a man half-starved. We’d reached port two hours after the storm finally passed, the raging wind coming to its inevitable end like the dying breath of some great giant. The rowing became easier then, smooth, and we sailed into Eldorin unscathed. But many weren’t so lucky.

I glanced towards the empty seat in front of me, the oar stained red. Bloat wasn’t the only slave tossed overboard that day, nor was he the first. In the many years chained to the bench, I’d seen my share of death. The dragon took much and gave little in return, ruthlessly weeding out the strong from the weak, and claiming anyone who failed to adapt.

Like Kip.

I sighed and continued chewing, the bland taste somewhat comforting now. It’s only a nightmare. One day, you’ll have to wake up. Kip’s final words echoed in my head again and again, a mantra now. At night, I heard them from his dead lips, a gurgled whisper coming from the depths below. Only a nightmare. He had that much right, but I feared the only way to wake up from it was to join him in the cold, wet dark below.

“How long?” Griffin whispered behind the chunks of bread in his mouth. He had one eye on the door ahead, keeping watch.

I shrugged, took another bite, and chewed thoughtfully. Too long. What life I had before the dragon seemed like the true dream, one I longed to remember but could never truly grasp. If I could sleep a little longer, a little deeper, maybe then…

Griffin chuckled, reading me plainly. “I s’pose it doesn’t matter now, does it? But it’s nice to dream, yes?” He sighed and split his remaining loaf in two, handing one piece to me and the other to Fang. “Ten years, now. Ten bloody years at this life, always rowing, always going nowhere.”

Fang scoffed. “Twelve for me. And before that, three on one of their dreadnaughts. If you think this little slice of hell is bad, try rowing a ship three times as big.”

“Just once, I’d like to stretch my legs, my back.”

“You will, big man,” Fang replied. He shook the chains that bound us to the oars. “On the day you can’t row no more and they shove you into the sea.”

The door slammed open, silencing us immediately as Ogre stormed inside. The familiar clank of chains rattled as a thin figure shuffled along. Bloat’s replacement, it seemed. I watched him from the corner of my eye, unimpressed by what trailed behind the massive bulk of Ogre’s form. Thin and pale, the Eldorin-born appeared more suited to pulling papers than an oar, with arms like twigs and his back slightly hunched. Pasty blonde hair clung to his long face, and his rags hung off him like they were made for a man two times his size. Perhaps they were, I reckoned. No one passed through the galley in their Soul’s Day garb.

Sharp blue eyes darted from one side of the galley to the other, taking it all in with a heavy dose of fear and dread. I knew that look. I’d worn that look. The expression of shock and horror that accompanied the newly thralled. Souls, did I look like that when they first chained me, too? I shook my head wearily, surprised by how jaded I’d become, and focused instead on the bread in my hands.

“Here we are,” Ogre snapped, shoving the twig down onto the bench in front of me. The vile overseer patted his new toy’s shoulders almost affectionately, then linked his shackles to the oar chains. “Nice and comfy, eh? Anything else you might want, your lordship?” He cackled, then spat at the newcomer's feet. “Welcome to the Sea Wight.”

Still cackling, Ogre heaved his bulk down the galley and slammed the door shut behind him, the snick of the lock and the jingle of keys sealing our fates for the night.

Still wearing that stupid shocked expression, the newcomer gawked about, trying and failing to catch a sympathetic eye. I could hear his panicked breathing, see the stutter of his shoulders as he choked back waves of anguish. Curious, I lifted my gaze only slightly and looked right up into his startled blue eyes.

Damn.

He sniffed, wiped his nose on the back of his chained hand, and turned further on his bench to look at me better. “You’re Eldorin-born, yes?”

I nodded, swallowing back the exasperated sigh building in my chest. Chatty slaves never lasted long on the dragon. Though the oars created a type of kinship, it didn’t come through words. It came through the mingling of blood and sweat, through the straining of muscles, and the battle against currents.

He smiled weakly. “A small comfort to have one’s own countrymen at his back, eh?” He sniffed again, then chuckled to himself. “I’m Pe-”

“I’m gonna stop you right there, pretty boy,” Fang interrupted. He sneered at the newcomer and shook his head with disgust. “Names mean shit here. Fact is, you don’t have one no more. So why don’t you turn around, shut your gob, and get ready to pull, eh?”

“Fang,” Griffin chided, “manners.”

“Am I wrong?” Fang looked pointedly at the other slaves surrounding us. “Anyone? No? Didn’t think so.”

Griffin shrugged, unwilling to pick a fight with the old Hrothgaran he knew he couldn’t win. “They call me Griffin. That’s Fang.” He gestured towards me. “He’s Mouse.”

The newcomer looked back at me, confused. “Mouse?”

Griffin nodded and looked at me fondly. “He was smaller before. Like you. A boy when they first chained him to our bench. Not so much anymore, huh? Oh, and he don’t talk much. Quiet as a mouse.”

He nodded, looked me over once again, then gave Griff a weak smile. “I suppose I’ll have to earn my new name then.”

“Assuming you last that long,” Fang grunted. He bared his pointed teeth in a gruesome smile, then ripped into the chunk of bread. The newcomer watched him for a moment more, a look of longing mixed with the terror in his pale eyes, then sighed and turned around once more.

I sighed, feeling the pull of guilt tugging at my chest. All these years and I still have a heart. Souls be damned.

Gently, I tapped the twig on the shoulder and held the chunk of bread towards him. When he hesitated, I put on my best reassuring smile and nodded. Just take it, damn you! He smiled back and took the offering. “Thank you.”

I nodded again, then let my gaze drift to his skinny arms and skeletal frame. You need it more than I do.

My conscience satisfied, I leaned against the hull and closed my eyes, letting the sway of the ship drift me off into a fitful sleep.

The dreams came soon enough. Kneeling at the river’s edge, I gazed down into the crystal waters and grimaced. Kip’s face hovered just beneath the surface, bloated and pale, his face scrunched with accusation and pain. “You left me!” he shouted, voice distorted and garbled.

I shook my head. “You died. You left me!”

A hand stretched from the watery tomb, slowly at first, drifting gently towards the surface. Trembling, I reached towards it, longing for my friend’s touch, for even the slightest chance of something familiar, something of home and the life I lived before. Inches apart, our hands hovered out of reach, until suddenly he lunged from the depths and grabbed my arm, hauling me down to join him in the depths below.

Gasping, I choked and fought back against my dead friend’s embrace, the rattling chains reminding me where I truly was. I breathed a sigh of relief and thumped my head back against the hull. Only then did I notice the pale eyes watching me intently. Only this time, he stood over me, shackles held firmly in his trembling grasp. Unchained. Souls, he wasn’t chained to the oar bench! I stared at him blankly, frozen beneath his frightful gaze, like a wight emerging from the shadows, skeleton thin and ghastly pale.

Slowly, he knelt in front of me and pressed a small, cold bit of metal into my open palm. Trembling, I flicked my gaze down. A key. Souls be damned, he had a key! Pressing a finger to his lips, he nodded at the galley door before tiptoeing his way around his oar mates and into the shadows.

Still shaking, I stared down at the key, bathed silver in the moonlight cascading through the oarport. I held my breath, then pressed it into the lock and twisted.

It was time to wake up.