Chapter 17: Nothing but a Thread

After an entire day, night fell once more. Sylph drew in the crisp, cold air and stretched down to her tail-tip. Her joints popped with a satisfying crack.

“Moin, or should I say evening,” Brandon said, “Looks like you slept well.”

She stretched her neck, and it gave another audible crack. “I feel great. Not the deepest slumber ever, woke up a few times, but I am wide awake now.” Sylph flexed her arm and noted her skin tightly clinging to the defined muscles. How much a little water could do was crazy. She fell into a relaxed stance, stretched more thoroughly and deliberately, starting with greeting the moon; a pose that brought your front to the floor and back in the air. Her sore muscles did not enjoy the workout, but soon warmed up and became as flexible as ever as she practiced her stretching routine.

“I am glad you are feeling better.” Brandon put away his small notebook and packed his bag. They should stop wasting time now that she was better.

Sylph made one last cut at the very bottom of the largest stem of the cactus and pushed her pfod inside. The plant grew thin and her body bloated slightly. She would take as much water with them as possible without inconveniencing herself by adding too much weight or overloading her ability to hold it in. Judging the amount was tricky without a container, so she opted to use her stomach to estimate. Five stomachs full beneath her scales felt comfortable enough. Quite a few liters, she guessed, and her ability easily remained in control.

The last drops of thick, white sap danced on her pfod and slid down a curved claw into the sand as she pulled out. “I really need to file them down,” she realized. The sharp edges were long enough to catch on any cloth and scratch things she would not want to damage, like books. The full claws on her left and the singular full one on her right thumb needed a bit of love. Their tips had grown dull and the claw too curved. She eyed the cactus. Sadly, it was too soft, even when dried out, to trim her claws. She stared at the edges a second longer; Finding her parents should worry her, not her claws.

Sylph planted down her pfod and stared straight ahead into the gray night. The desert laid before her like a surrendering opponent on his back, the dunes their soft underbelly and the cold air their held breath. “Let’s go.” She turned to Brandon. “Towards the slaver capital and towards some answers.” Sylph barged ahead. “We march into the sands that took countless lives, guided by the stars as spirits of the fallen and the winds of favor blowing below our wings.” She stamped through the cold sand with renewed vigor. “Our glorious purpose shall steel our claws, our conviction shall be our fiery breath, and may the mosaic guide our teeth to their throats.”

Brando hoisted up his backpack. “Sylph?”

“Yes?”

“That is the speech of Valligan’s last flight. I remember that quote. You-” He started a genuine chuckle that interrupted his sentence. “Sylph? You are heading north.”

She stopped to look up. The two brightest stars were absent. “Onward in the opposite direction in that case,” she corrected herself and snorted in a bought of laughs.

The further south they traveled, the more cacti of varying sizes sprung up from the ground like wild flowers on a field. Little animals cried out in alarm as they spotted the two intruders. Just two days ago, it all had seemed so dead. Now there was life all around. There had to be a source of water and that would not only attract animals, but people too.

In the early morning, they settled down to rest near another large cactus. Sylph had nearly dozed off as a shuffle echoed through the dunes and her ears snapped to full attention. Those were footsteps, and Brandon was sitting. She swiveled in the sound's direction until it hit her from straight ahead. After a second of focused listening, her ears adjusted, and the sound became clearer. Two distinct patterns of footsteps carried through the desert.

“People!” Sylph half-yelled, and Brandon was wide awake in seconds. She jumped to her feet and barged ahead before stopping two tail lengths away from the little camp. Her tail whipped through the sand. “I can hear people. This way.” Finally, a chance to leave the desert and get into town.

She scaled one dune, two, raised her head and closed her eyes. The pattern was clear, sure steps but slightly out of tact, if not limping. An older human, without a doubt. The second person dragged their feet through the sand. Shorter steps, heavy, also human. Then there was a third pattern she had missed before. Soft-footed and four legged. It sounded like a sick cow, definitely a mammal and not a wyvern or dragon.

A slurred barrage of words trudged through the rising heat. The words were slightly distorted, but she could make out what they said. One voice, harsh, raspy, and old, kept ranting about prices of flour and the second, dull and toneless one about selling eggs. They sounded like simple merchants. Their steps moved towards them in a half-circle, avoiding a dune perhaps. If they continued, they would come into sight in a few minutes.

“What if they are slavers or bandits?” Brandon’s voice drowned out all noise and Sylph’s ears closed up.

“Don’t be so loud,” she whispered, “It’s probably an old man, a younger man and some mammal.”

“We are near the slaver capital. They could be slavers. Do they even speak our language?” Brandon paced around until Sylph stopped him and his needless noise.

“The price for flour rose by a copper,” Sylph recalled.

“So they speak our language,” Brandon remarked, “But who pays with copper?”

“And if they are slavers-” She raised her left pfod and flexed her full claws.

Brandon went pale beneath his sunburn. “You are not going to hurt them, are you?”

She shook her head. “But they don’t have to know that. It’s an old man Brandon, I can deal with two unarmed humans and an arthritic cow.”

She froze and concentrated on her ears once more. If it came to a fight, their safety was her highest priority. She tried to make out the silent klinks and bumps of weaponry, but they were too far for that. “If I were them, I would be afraid of meeting us, the strangers out in a desert.”

Her pfod unconsciously reached for her neck and brushed over the uncovered scar. A lump formed in her chest as her thoughts crystallized around the problem. “It will be incredibly obvious that I was a slave, won’t it?” She looked towards Brandon and he shifted around and avoided her gaze, which was answer enough. She could reapply the paint, but she figured hiding it would be even more suspicious. Her wings still had streaks of the flashing paint on them too.

Brandon swallowed, loud and hard. “Yes. If they are familiar with that line of work, they’ll surely notice.”

“We’ll see how they react to me,” she suggested. “What should we say about why we are here?”

The steps and voices became clear enough to be heard through their quiet conversation. “You better think quickly, here they come.” Sylph went quiet. Two figures stepped out from behind the dune and Sylph tried to look relaxed, which proofed to be near impossible when every fiber of her body told her to take a fighting stance. She was not a slave. She would not pretend to be one.

The older man wore wide, flowing, white robes that nearly covered his entire body while the younger one wore a similar robe but in a mellow orange color. Their clothes left only their face fully uncovered. A large animal followed them on a rope and carried several bulging sacks on its back. Sylph’s gaze stopped on the furred beast. It looked like a fuzzy brown cow with a single hump. A camel, if she remembered correctly.

The two men did not notice them sitting at the top of the dune. A few seconds passed and Brandon and Sylph exchanged confused gazes. Brandon took an audible deep breath and stepped forwards. Sylph followed. If they paid that little attention to their environment, it must be uncommon to meet any real danger out here.

The young man spotted them first, pointed and tugged on the old man’s robes. They waved and stopped where they stood, waiting for them to approach. Sylph relaxed slightly, and her chest grew colder. Bandits would not wave that happily. But the robes made it hard to spot or hear anything hidden beneath. They could hide a knife. Better to be careful. If they jumped them, she would be ready.

The old man paid no attention to Sylph, other than a single glare, and headed straight towards Brandon. “How surprising to meet a friendly face all the way out here. It’s a pleasure to meet a fellow traveler,” he said and shook Brandon’s hand.

Sylph realized how this would play out. She knew that gaze of his, one that looked past her as a person, like one would look at a bowl or table. Her dragonheart ignited, but she forced down the fire with a deep breath. They were their way out of the desert. Opening her mouth could screw up everything, even if it was oh so tempting.

The young man closed in with the camel in tow, but stayed a short distance away from Brandon and the old man. She turned to look at the camel, the one thing that should still respect her. It did not. It stood there as unimpressed by her presence as though she were a wyvern perched on a windowsill.

Brandon made casual conversation, but more and more dubious glances came her way. They noticed the scar and wings. When they turned their feet in her direction, she knew it would get ugly and planted her own firmly in the sand.

“Why are they without a collar?” the old man asked.

There were two options. Wait for Brandon to make something up and fail, or strike first. She considered both, but Brandon could mess it up and she could still subdue them before they could grab a knife from under their clothes. So she opted to give Brandon a chance.

Brandon turned around and his pleading gaze sent a shiver down her tail. He was thinking, waiting for her to make a move. Her heart pumped hard. She hoped he had a better idea, because hers was terrible. Sylph lowered her head and bowed. She could not see, but she concentrated on her ears, the rustle of their clothes and slight movement as they stood and waited for an answer. If they only moved their arms to reach for something, she could still pounce.

“She is very well behaved,” Brandon said. His voice was hard, the words disgusting. She knew he pretended, but it felt horrible to hear him utter something like that.

“Well behaved, eh?” the young man said and stepped forwards. She raised her head as he approached. “That’s what they all say.” His calloused hand shot forward and grabbed her lower jaw. Jabs of pain shot through her head like a toothache. Sylph caught Brandon cringing and turning his gaze away as he guessed what would happen next. He knew that this young man played a very dangerous game.

If they were not lost, he would lose that hand and find it so far down his throat that he could scratch his stomach. But in this exact moment and situation, she let him. His fingers burned like hot irons as he pulled down her gums and looked at her teeth. “Actually got all teeth, not blunt either.”

Their gazes met as he looked up. He was young, barely twenty, with a well-kept beard and puffy face. His eyes widened and his arm shot back to his side. Her gums snapped back, and he took a generous step back towards the old man, who observed and stroked his beard.

The young man nodded towards Brandon. “You are headed for the arena, am I right? They have fire in their eyes, its kinda scary, I might wanna bet. Pretty great shape, despite the,” he pointed at her wings, “shoddy wing binding. And what are those reflective spots on the underside about? You are outsiders, am I right?”

Her eyelids twitched. She would not fight in an arena for slaves. How dare they dirty the reputation of the arena. She drew another deep breath to steady herself. Anything she could say or do would worsen their chances, so swallowing her pride and emotions remained her best option.

Everything rested in Brandon’s hands. Hands that rested weirdly proudly on his hips right now. It was as though he flicked a switch and now talked to a customer in the shop, with her as the sales pitch. “My employer hails from the far north. I came here to look for something, or rather someone. My airship crashed a few miles north on my way to Prina.” His voice was suspiciously confident and good at this.

As much as he convinced her, the old man was not as easily swayed. “You travel on your own, with an unchained slave?” His thin eyebrows raised in suspicion.

“She is chained enough. Magically.” He raised his finger and pointed at the younger man. “Sylph, pin the man down.”

He did not have to say that twice. She pressed herself into the sand and jumped forwards like a sprung trap before he could process. Her pfods smashed into his shoulders and she threw him to the ground. She took care to not fully dig her claws into his skin, just enough to be painful and leave a minor wound. He wriggled around and thin points of blood formed on his robe. The older man jumped backwards. “By the gods! Let him go!”

“Let him get back up.” Brandon’s words were calm but quick.

Sylph stepped off the man’s chest, sat down next to Brandon and curled her tail around herself to seem like less of a threat. Her gaze remained fixated on the older man, who now regarded them with a sound mixture of distrust and curiosity. The younger man rubbed his shoulders and eyed the small pricks her claws had left.

“I am far from helpless, traveling on my own.” The tension was palpable. She was not sure what would happen next. Sitting in such a position, she would have a hard time attacking first. But changing would seem suspicious and threatening. The slavers distrusted them and Brandon stood in the middle. Her dragon heart fired up.

“Must be your lucky day,” the old man said and his features relaxed. “We are on our way to Prina.” He grabbed a water bottle from his bag and tossed it to Brandon. “The desert is harsh and deadly for the unprepared. Us merchants have to keep an eye out for each other.”

Sylph’s scales curled upwards as she fell into a slow trot behind them all. They actually considered themselves merchants. If their act had convinced them remained to be seen, but if they distrusted her, they surely would not have her walk behind them. A single wrong move and she would be at their throats from a blind spot.

“You will hear that question again,” the older man said.

“She was about to kill me. I’m bleeding,” the younger one said and fumbled with his clothes.

The old man stopped to eye the injuries. “Those pricks? They don’t even count as scratches, so quit your whining, boy.” The younger turned away with a pout.

Three pairs of eyes turned around towards her, a different thought in each. “Better to keep her on a rope in Prina. They don’t take too kindly to dragons roaming free,” the old man said and handed Brandon a piece of rope from the camel.

“Certainly much safer,” the young man mumbled.

She watched Brandon approach her with hesitation, rope in hand. He stopped, raised the sling upwards, and halted. He looked like a convict handing his executioner the noose. “I’m so sorry. What happens now?”

The rope swayed like an angry tail in front of her. Far too thin to keep her bound. Its purpose was purely symbolical. Her dragonheart simmered. Nobody would control her ever again. She would not go back to being the chained hatchling, and Brandon knew that.

It came as an utter surprise to Brandon when she carefully pushed her head through the sling. The rope hung heavy around her neck, but not painful, not restricting. It was a rope, and she did not care for the symbol. If she had to wear a rope to cast off the old Sylph, then so be it. She was the one in control; it was her decision to do this. “Promise me you won’t hand me to someone else.”

“I won’t. Never,” Brandon answered hastily. His hands shook hard enough to be felt through the rope.

“You are doing great,” Sylph reassured him, “A little too good, maybe.” She forced a smile.

Brandon blushed. “I hate this. I didn’t know what else to say.”

“Do you have a side business? Some special flasks in your shop, perhaps? Because you convinced me.”

She saw him hiding a smile. “I played a bit of theater once. I wasn’t even terrible at it but it didn’t suit me either.”

“You in a theater? What for?”

Another blush played over his face. “Trying to sound more confident while selling.”

Sylph smirked as she guessed a reason for him to blush at being called out on his change in manners. Scouring her memories, she had only seen him talk like that to one customer. “You are trying to sound cool for the girls. What kind of girl visits an alchemy shop, though?”

“The best kind.” His grip around the rope relaxed. He glanced back at the waiting slavers. “If we keep pretending, we need some kind of code word.”

Sylph looked over the rolling dunes. “Boat.” The word fell from her mouth. So simple and unheard of in the desert. “If I ever drop the word, you better drop that rope and be prepared to run. The same goes for you. You shout and I break this flimsy disguise.”

“Boat. That’s a great idea.” Brandon hesitated to take a step forward with the rope in hand.

“Look at me.” Brandon turned back around. As confident as he had looked before, she could see the stress and glint of wetness in his eyes. “It’s fine. Honestly. The rope doesn’t hurt me, nor does it stop me. And with you on the other end I feel worryingly safe.” She tried to console him.

He nodded ever so slightly. “I can’t even imagine how this must feel. We could run.”

Sylph huffed. “I am not running. You know me and what I would do if I was not okay with this. That’s what the boat is for. Do what you must to get us to Prina.” Her gaze fell forward to the waiting slavers. “I think they are wondering what you are doing.” She nodded for him to continue. “And, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but please tighten it a little. It chafes.” Sylph exposed her throat and the loose rope.

“I’m so sorry,” he repeated as he walked back up with her on a rope much like the camel. The two slavers nodded and their faces looked more relaxed now that she was securely bound.