Dragonoak (11 page)

She was
there. She was there.

It
didn't matter that compared to all that had happened, my feelings
for her were but dust in the balance. Claire was with me, and I
wouldn't succumb to any of this.

“Hand...” someone was murmuring with my voice. “Need
my...”

They
were right. If only Katja would give me my hand back; I could hold
it to my wrist and join the parts together, just as I had on the
farm, when workers caught their fingers in the equipment. I'd make
myself whole again. Surely that would be enough. Surely that would
prove to Katja that I understood the importance of my
abilities.

“You don't need
anything
, Rowan. What you need to do
is think of layers: the bones, the muscles, the skin. It'll come to
you.”

Katja
left me to my agony, and Port Mahon ceased to be. The birds had
fallen out of the sky and the seas had stilled, leaving no reason
for the pirates to remain; there was no one else, no one other than
Katja, and I wouldn't call out to her.

I curled
around myself as much as the chains and stove permitted me to,
wrist pressed to my chest, gushing, gushing. It wasn't mine. This
wasn't me. It was all happening to someone else, and I was caught
within a nightmare of their life, no matter how my arm moved when I
willed it to. The body wasn't mine. It was just a shell, a shell
for the powers Katja couldn't wield, and she would scrape me away
from the inside until there was nothing left to disobey
her.

The fish
were dead again. They'd rushed up to the neck of the pitcher, water
tinted pink, and I had been gutted as they had, everything within
me rushing out. My hand laid on the table next to them, discarded
like the rotten end of a log, and I stared at it, willing it to
move. It was mine, or it had been. Surely I could make it move,
surely I could curl the fingers towards the palm.

But the
only movement I made was to shudder, teeth chattering
together.

My
vision dimmed with the encroaching night and didn't clear properly
once dawn was upon us. The table was a blur, everything else in the
apartment a distant memory, and at some point in the night, Claire
had come to me. I hadn't heard her open the door, hadn't seen her
step across the floor, and though I didn't know why she hadn't
carried me out, the only thing that mattered was that she'd been
there.

She'd
pressed to my back, hair brushing against my face. The feel of her
skin against mine had rushed through me, and I could only think of
how kind she'd been, how she'd taken me away from my old life; how
she had kissed me and not cared who'd seen; how she had been so
beautiful, and thought the same of me, no matter how twisted and
gnarled my body was.

Thick,
hot tears streamed down my face, and I cried as I never had before.
I'd used up every last memory I had of Claire, and it hadn't
changed anything. I hadn't been taken away. I hadn't even been
unchained.

Katja
would check on me, occasionally. My body was sparking with power,
and light rushed through me, directionless, above and beyond my
control. It burst from my pores as though each one was a wound in
and of itself, and I think it pleased Katja to see me burning so
brightly because of her. I wondered if I was burning myself from
the inside, as a phoenix would. If so, I hoped my bones turned to
ash along with all else. I had no desire to be reborn into these
chains.

Sometimes, she would be crying. She'd stand over me, arms
wrapped around herself as she rocked back and forth on the spot,
and other times, she'd pace across the room, frantic, as though
she'd come home and found me like this.

More
often than not, she'd stand over me without a hint of remorse,
sighing. Whatever she was waiting for me to do wasn't happening
quickly enough for her liking.

“Do you have any idea what it's like to be around you?” Katja
asked, kneeling by my side. I fought to keep my eyes on her, and
let her move me when she bundled a fist in my hair. “I've long
since known that you feel something around me, something of
our
connection
.
From what I've been able to discern, it's akin to sickness, isn't
it? Would that I were able to feel the same around you,
Rowan.

“When I see you, I feel
nothing
. As though I'm looking at a
stranger,” she said, trailing her fingers across my cheek. “As
though there's supposed to be a gap where I'm looking, as though
some emptiness is supposed to fill the air, and yet there you are.
I always thought you were rather quaint, Rowan. Endearing in short
bursts, even. But the moment I'm away from you, it all fades. In
the beginning, I had to go to great lengths to convince myself that
you had been real. Though I supposed it makes this all easier.
Goodness. How can a person have such an effect on others? I wonder
if anyone else experiences such an unsettling sensation around you.
I wonder if it was the same for Claire.”

If she
was trying to provoke me, she succeeded. Her fingers stopped
trailing across my cheek, dipped down to the metal chain around my
throat, and without blinking, I turned my head to the side, caught
her hand in my mouth, and bit it as hard as I could. I bit it until
the skin split and she cried out, striking me around the head,
tugging her hand free and scrambling back.

“You—you
beast
,” she shrieked, pulling her bloodied hand to her chest and
clutching it as it healed over. “I am warning you, Rowan. I've been
more than fair; do not continue to test my patience.”

She
didn't check up on me, after that.

I laid
on my side for hours or days, watching blood trickle from my wrist,
light rush from my skin. Katja had thrown old clothes and towels at
me, and I'd mopped the floor with them until they were all bright
red. My body didn't know what to do with itself. The blood flowed
endlessly, until the light no longer stopped at my
wrist.

It
rushed into the blood itself, turning it white, until it was no
longer flowing out of me. I watched the light grow with a mixture
of awe and apathy, each one heightened by exhaustion, seeing the
light twist and change, blending into something new.

I
watched the light become a part of me. It was as Katja had said:
bones, muscle, flesh. The light weaved together, thatching itself
together in layers, until it had created something solid, something
whole. Once its work was done, the light faded somewhat, but didn't
rush out of me entirely.

The
whole of my body burnt, and so did the hand that had formed itself
out of nothing.

I stared
at it. The fingers twitched, curling towards the palm.

My
stomach turned, but I couldn't let that stop me. I had a hand free
of chains; a hand that would move as I commanded it to. Slowly, I
pushed myself back into a sitting position, and slipped my hand
behind myself. Working my new fingers made me sick to my stomach,
but there was nothing left within me to throw up. I found the
chains around my wrist and tried to loosen them.

It was
all to no avail. They were bound by a lock the size of my fist, and
I'd made too much noise in trying to free myself.

Katja
was back in the room.

“Rowan!
Rowan, we've done it. Oh, I knew it could be done! I knew even you
could do it. Look at you! It works, doesn't it? Just like the old
one did?” Katja asked, hands clasped together. I stared blankly up
at her, and her shoulders rose as she said, “Don't you have an
ounce of gratitude inside of you? Well? What do you
say?”

I
slipped my hand behind my back, not wanting her to see
it.

“What...?”

“You could start with
thank
you
. Goodness. Were you raised in the barn
on that farm of yours? I showed you that you can do this, Rowan. I
gave you your hand back.”

She
hadn't give me anything. It was still there, lying on the table,
and I would never say another kind word to her; let alone one of
gratitude.

Katja
didn't wait for me to say anything. She slipped away with a smile,
but she didn't disappear into her own room. She made for Akela's
bedroom, and I kept my eyes fixed on the door all the while, not
daring to anticipate what was to come.

She
wasn't gone for long. She returned with an axe she could barely
carry slung over her shoulder, and I held out a hand, pleading,
“No, no. No more, Katja.”

Katja
blinked, glancing at the axe as though she didn't understand what
had made me react in such a way. She tested its weight in her
hands, and I knew it wouldn't be like the time the axewoman had
stood over me in the forest. Katja didn't know what she was doing.
She wasn't strong enough to make a clean cut; she'd have to raise
the axe over and over, hacking through bone, making new ruts in my
skin with every strike.

“Rowan.
Dear. Be rational. Everything's fine, isn't it? You're stronger for
what you've been through, and I've no doubt that once you can
properly control your powers, a hoard of dragons won't be able to
stop you. Now...”

Stepping
forward, she lifted the axe and stared down at my legs. I could
move them away, but what then? She'd swing at me, not caring where
she struck.

“I'm
sorry, I'm sorry!” I heard myself call. “I'm sorry, I—thank you,
thank you, Katja, I know what I'm doing, you can stop this
now...”

She
wasn't listening to me. She never would.

Reaching
out, I swallowed the lump in my throat and pushed everything she'd
done to me into her.

The axe
struck the floor before she did, and she crumpled in on herself as
the dragon had.

I held
my breath and she didn't move.

It was
over. She was dead.

I didn't
waste any time.

If I
could get the axe, then I could hack my way free of the chains. I
stretched out as far as I could, stretched until my shoulder
threatened to pull from the joint, but it was still inches away
from my feet. Metal cut into my wrist and I was sure I kept seeing
Katja move from the corner of my eye, necromancy finally becoming
her.

Her
glassy eyes were wide-open and empty, and I felt the swarm of death
fester within her. I'd done it. Finally, I'd done what everyone had
silently been afraid of: I'd taken a life, the life of another
person, and all it had taken was a single look, a fleeting
thought.

My
throat was still raw and my head pounded every time I thought of
calling out. It'd take days to gather my strength, and what then?
What would the pirates think if they rushed up and found me like
this, covered in my own blood and vomit, scars on display? Worse
still, what if Katja had been right. What if Akela returned,
loyalty to Queen Kidira unwavering...

“Gods,” I managed to hiss, “No, no,
no
.”

I
brought my fist down, striking the floorboards, and knocked the
death out of Katja.

“You
,” she breathed, scrambling back
across the floor, “You had the temerity to
murder
me, and—”

Praising
necromancy had been all well and good, until I'd used it on Katja.
Now she was as horrified by the concept as everyone else had ever
been.

“Leave,”
I said. “Leave, or... again.”

Katja
was burning with righteous indignation, but she wasn't foolish
enough – brave enough – to take my threat lightly. She stormed back
into her bedroom and stayed there, no matter how much noise I made
in trying to break the chains free. Not that it made a difference:
all I succeeding in doing was bruising my body, no closer to
escaping after hours.

The two
of us weren't alone, divided by a single wall, for long. Boots
striking the steps up to the front door was the first real sound
I'd heard beyond the apartment in days, and the whistling
accompanying the click of the lock was unmistakeable.

Akela
was home.

“Kouris!” she called out. “Good afternoon! I am running two
days late, I am knowing this, but work was
good
. Hah, you will not be believing
what—”

The
words dried up in Akela's throat. Her axe was in her hand the
moment she saw me, and I wanted to cry out for her to help me, for
her to cut through the chains, but Katja burst from her room,
flying into Akela's arms with no regard for the blade.

“Kouris,” Akela said, gripping her shoulders. “What is
happening? What is... Northwood, why is she like that?”

“I had no choice!” Katja wailed. “Rowan, she, she
killed
me, Akela. I-I
did all I could to stop her, b-but she wouldn't. Over and over
again, I...”

Settling
her jaw, Akela turned my way, and stared darkly at me.

“Shh,
shh. You are needing to calm yourself. Already, you are being put
through too much,” she said to Katja, wrapping one arm around her.
“You are going back to your room, yes, and I am dealing with this
one. Soon, it is all over. Do not worry.”

CHAPTER V