Anya's Freedom Read online

  Exhaustion snapped at her soul. All that fear, worry, and potential grief, along with the bone-breaking work of a long harvest, caught up with her. The tears had long since dried on her dirty face. Not knowing what else to do, she closed her eyes and tried to sleep. She tossed and turned in Kalgrin's talons, finding them uncomfortable.

  She didn’t enjoy the dreams that came with her fitful sleep. Dreams of her whole family slaughtered, sightless eyes facing the ceiling, their hut trashed, as the wyrms continued looking for her. She dreamed of herself as the dissenter, the one who dared envision a different future from the one they held. She saw the traitor as well, some nameless plantation worker with his sly, mean little eyes, prepared to fuck over the lives of everyone else for the sake of it. The wyrms with their sinuous, wingless bodies looming above the tiny human village, jaws snapping in the dark, eyes a bloody red as they searched.

  These nightmares felt disturbingly close to real life for Anya.

  Something else appeared in her dreams as well. Other voices, not ones she recognized. Arms holding her, saying they needed to pick another time.

  Another time? Another time for what? Still, it made for a better dream than before. And she swore she no longer felt the rough talons encasing her body, or the wind whistling through the small gaps, or the cold seeping into her bones.

  She jerked herself fully awake when loud, clopping noises rent the air. To her surprise, she found herself in the arms of someone who walked along a cobbled street. Tall stone and wooden houses leaned on either side, and a horse-drawn carriage clattered past. A man sat in the driver's seat, his face tainted by shadow, though gaslights illuminated the entire street. She even saw stone walls around the houses that reached five times as high as she suspected Kalgrin to stand. Perhaps they protected the people inside. Or prevented them from escaping.

  Wait. She was in someone's arms? Kalgrin in his human form? She strained to look, cheeks flushed slightly at the notion. One arm looped in the crook of her legs, below her knees. The other supported her just under her armpits, and her head rested against the cushion of his shoulder.

  She didn't get a great view of him – just a glance of chin at first. Then he adjusted his head to face Anya for a moment. She caught clever gray eyes, a straight, angular face that gave him a thin jawline, and a charming smile that displayed pristine, sharp canines. She blinked in surprise.

  He's handsome! And then there was her, a thing yanked straight out of a bog.

  Oh no. He was carrying her. Her with all the filth upon her body.

  “Good early morning, my little mud monster,” Kalgrin said, grinning with those brilliant teeth. “Welcome to Tarn. My house is over there.”

  They approached a small house up a slope, made out of reddish stone, visible from the street lights that decorated the lanes.

  “Were you talking with people earlier?”

  “Oh? Yes. I had to call the attack off, remember? Since I rescued you.”

  Right. She did remember.

  “You look worried.”

  “I...” Anya flushed, glad he couldn't see it in the thin light. The gas lamps didn't cover everything. “I'm... dirty.”

  “And?”

  “And? Obviously I'm spreading my filth to you as well.”

  “It doesn't matter. But we are giving you a bath. And a bunch of buckets, I think.”

  The kindly expression, the attractiveness of his features left her dumbfounded and embarrassed of the state she was in. Even though keeping herself ugly was the best survival tactic anyone like her could ever have – and she couldn't really help accumulating all this mess in her bid to escape – she never expected someone to carry her in his arms. He did wrinkle his nose at her scent, but otherwise didn’t seem completely repulsed. If anything, he acted cheerful of the fact he cradled a mud monster to his chest.

  He must be insane.

  “I’m afraid I don’t have any clothes for women at my place, so please excuse me for that.” He gently put her down, making sure she didn't fall onto her knees. He grabbed out of his pant pocket a key, and turned it in the lock. The door clicked open and he walked into his house, declaring he’d get the bucket of water filled up and ready for her to scrub.

  Walking into the place, it didn’t strike Anya as belonging to someone wealthy. She saw cracked stone walls, then Kalgrin turned on lights to illuminate the place, revealing a small sitting room with three armchairs, a straw mat, a hearth, and a desk with papers on it – not that Anya could read such things. She saw a bottle of ink and a quill, and a picture on the wall of a simplistic rendition of a mountain with fencing around it. She nodded at it, before being led to a small washroom.

  “It’s not much, but I don’t see the point of having a big home when I spend most of my time outside,” Kalgrin said. He gave Anya a wink, before handing her clothes, a scrubbing brush, and pointing to a small copper tap. “We can get a limited amount of hot water from this a day, about half a tubful.” He indicated an iron-rimmed wooden bucket which went above Anya’s knees. “Use this for your initial rinsing, finish with the bath. Take your time, use soap if you want some extra freshness, and I’ll get you something to eat. Bread and butter okay?”

  “It’s fine,” she said with a smile, though feeling awkward all the same. With the door closed in the small washroom, she observed the strange seat in the corner which, when opened, showed water swilling at the bottom. Oh. She’d heard about these. It was like a privy, right? You sat on it, did your business, and yanked the chain afterwards, washing the smell away.

  Far more sophisticated than what she was used to. Less chance of using it as an emergency escape.

  Truthfully, even though Kalgrin left her to her own devices to clean up, Anya hadn't done a proper cleaning for a long time. She knew how to, but her memories clung like cobwebs in her mind, needing a good dusting.

  No one should know what she looked like under all that grime. It made people want to do bad things. She trembled at the thought, and worried for one frantic moment that it might change Kalgrin's attitude towards her. She hesitated for far too long by the bathtub, before filling the bucket up with cold water.

  Cleaning up took a while. The first bucket of water fast became murky, and she needed about two more cold buckets until she’d scrubbed herself down and daubed herself in soap.

  She then used cold water twice more, not bothering with Kalgrin's hot water, though she still didn't quite feel clean. Then, because the idea of hot water was a novelty to her, she eventually conceded and ran the bath, allowing the water to turn hot. She watched the steam curl up from the copper. Tested the water a few times, mixed it with cold, then dipped herself in with a sigh.

  Oh, wow. I've... mmm. What an amazing experience. She tilted her head back in bliss and allowed herself to soak up this bliss for a little longer. Then she scrubbed at her arm again.

  She saw her skin perfectly now, and her brown hair, trailing in the water like algae.

  Strange. She’d only been truly clean in her childhood, back when her mother was concerned about them catching illness through bad hygiene. Anya didn’t know much about diseases, only that diseases were attracted to dirt and bad hygiene. Kendra knew a thing or two about it, though she said it was all down to common sense. In fact, the only thing Kendra insisted on having her children do each day was to make sure their hands were washed, and any wounds they accumulated cleaned out and covered, to make sure infection didn't set in.

  Anya knew her mother had likely saved their lives on more than one occasion like that, since she'd seen even fit, strong people die from infections.

  Eventually, with a reluctant sigh, since the water turned from hot to warm, Anya splashed herself out. She used the towel in the washroom to dry herself out and marveled when no specks of dirt revealed themselves, but a lot of her skin flaked off. Underneath all those layers of dirt, when she looked at herself in the mirror by the sink, was a brown-eyed, dark-haired woman with an oval face, a smattering of freckles across he
r face, and a shy smile. Her teeth were stained a little yellow, which now made her scratch at them. She used to chew mint to freshen her breath and use dock paste to help clean them out, but she didn’t really get many opportunities to look after herself on the plantation.

  Being able to tidy up at any point amounted to a reward of sorts. So, this is the face that men want, Anya thought, not quite sure how or why. Mother said they'd have surely taken me if I didn't act like an urchin. With her breasts unbound, they slumped just in front of her chest. She had wide, child-bearing hips, as her mother liked to say. Another thing men find attractive. Anya wasn’t the tallest person around, which annoyed her – most of the other serfs reached loftier proportions. Even the kids managed to surpass her early.

  Being clean, though, felt good. Smelling the fresh soap, with a hint of something fruity, not that Anya knew what type of fruit it represented, pleased her. She looked at her dirty clothes, unwilling to touch them again. She wrapped a towel around herself and left the bathroom. Then, taking a deep breath, Anya walked into the living room and asked if Kalgrin had anything for her to wear, like a large shirt she could use as a gown. Her heart fluttered awkwardly the whole while, as if she expected Kalgrin to morph into that hand-grabbing beast her mother claimed all men were.

  He turned in his seat to regard her, having been ruffling his light brown hair, and his jaw actually dropped.

  “Well, fuck me,” he said. “Look who was hiding underneath all that dirt.”

  For some reason, the compliment made Anya blush, but also feel self-aware of the notion she only had a towel separating her from Kalgrin’s gray-eyed gaze.

  “Well, it’s not like you can see much of me underneath several layers of shit, is it?”

  “No,” he said, smiling. “That is indeed true. You know, I’m surprised you…” then he stopped, “no, that’s rude of me, I’m sorry for that.”

  “You're surprised that I what?”

  He licked his lips, drumming the side of his armchair. “I’m surprised you weren’t a captive in the wyrm’s house. They like to take the pretty ones.”

  “I know,” Anya said, not offended at all. He only echoed what her mother and most of the other adults said. “I did everything I could to make myself ugly. And it worked. Did I look remotely attractive to you earlier?”

  He chuckled. “I see your point.”

  “Most women try to do that. Some even stuff clothes down their pants to make it look like they have cocks.” Her cheek temperature rose as she said this. She thought it a great idea from the women, but saying this in front of Kalgrin made her notions absurd. She didn't want to mention cock in front of him. She didn't want to steer the conversation towards anything that might even hint at sexuality.

  “Smart,” Kalgrin said. He nodded his approval. “Dragons keep thinking you lot are incapable of doing anything for yourselves, but you find ways around the system. You may be battered, you may be beaten, but there’s still things you do.” He seemed rather pleased with the fact.

  He's got such a bright smile. Like it could blind me if I stare at it for too long. Anya kept getting impulses to move around, just so she could inspect Kalgrin from every angle possible. To see what he appeared like from the side and back, if that nose was as sharp as it looked. It irritated her in a way that he looked so attractive. Dragons weren't supposed to be attractive. Yet something in her stomach swirled anyway, making her uncomfortable. It kind of squirmed in there like some caterpillar. Not nice at all. Maybe she was getting her blood early? That usually caused stomach upsets.

  Or maybe she was coming down with a fever, given that her cheeks seemed to be permanently flushed.

  “Yes. We do small things like this to try and make our lives easier. It doesn’t change, though. We’re too afraid, and they always find ways to get at us, no matter how careful we are.” Anya closed her eyes for a moment. The anger passed through her in a wave. “I know you told me to stop worrying about the fact that something has happened to my family, but I can't. It's... it's my fault they might be dead. It squeezes me here.” She tapped her chest, indicating the guilt.

  Kalgrin's eyes lightly trailed over her towel, before resting on her face. “How many family members do you have?”

  “Six.”

  He whistled. “That's a lot.”

  “Human women tend to have a lot of children on the plantation. It's my grandpa, my ma, and my four younger sisters and brothers. None of my siblings have names yet.”

  Kalgrin seemed to find this concept hard to grasp. “No names? Why?”

  “If they survive to their tenth birthday, they get a name.”

  “Ah.” He fell silent and solemn at this. The awful truth of it seemed to linger in the air, reminding them of the high human mortality rate. Of the sheer hopelessness of their situation. “That makes a wretched kind of sense. Still horrible, though.”

  “I give them names, anyway. The babies are Chub and Podge. The older ones are Tantrum and Sniffles.”

  “Nice.” He smiled fondly. “My mother did that with some kittens she planned to sell. She knew she wasn't supposed to name them, but she did anyway. Lazy, Stupid, and Adventurous. Still hold a special place in her heart.”

  On one hand, it seemed demeaning to be compared to kittens. On the other hand, it did make sense.

  “You have family?” Everyone had family, of course. But not everyone knew them.

  “Yes. Mother and father. Drakes. Only child. Drakes don't tend to have a lot of children. Same with wyrms, actually. My parents live in a neat little house in the Frostlands. Which is a long way from here. I visit them every now and then.”

  “Do they share your attitude to humans?”

  “Oh, yes, of course. You don't think I naturally started liking them, do you?”

  Anya shrugged. She wouldn't know. Kalgrin's eyes flicked over her again. She looked down upon her body, which Kalgrin kept discreetly skimming. Right. She needed clothes. She was probably quite distracting like this. And yes, her cheeks had definitely increased in temperature. Maybe she should ask him for some medicine. “So, about that shirt you were offering me?”

  Now Kalgrin's cheeks brightened slightly. “Oh! Yes. Of course. Follow me, my towel-wrapped friend. I’ll show you where you can sleep as well. It'll probably be a better nap than in my claws.”

  Kalgrin beckoned her over, and she paced towards a double bed through a door to the left of the house. It lay nearby the washroom, with clothes slung haphazardly over a chair.

  “This is actually my bedroom, so if you'll excuse the mess...”

  For one second, wild panic stopped Anya's heart, before Kalgrin added, “I’ll be sleeping on the floor in the living room, since I only have one bed. Now, let me see…” He began rummaging through a chest of drawers, pulling out a baggy shirt that looked like a tent. “Here. Do you want underwear, too? I have some shorts…” He took out some white shorts and tossed them her way. “I didn't actually get around to making your delicious toast and butter meal yet, but I will now. The bread's a little stale, so it'll be better burnt. Come into the living room in a few minutes.” He gave her a little wink, then ducked out of the room and closed the door.

  Anya's heart slowly returned to its normal pace. For one insane second, she'd believed Kalgrin intended to sleep in the same bed as her. Which meant him doing male things. Male things that resulted in babies.

  Why the fuck had she thought that? Gods, her mother had corrupted her thinking on this. Kalgrin might be a male, but that didn't mean he had uncontrollable urges to fuck things.

  She knew... well, it made sense men and women got attracted to one another. Something needed to happen to keep the babies coming. But people also practised self-control. Anya felt attraction all the time in the plantation, but she chose to control it.

  She didn't want to risk bringing any children into such a miserable world. She didn't fault those who did, because maybe having something to love made it better. She just didn't want to be a part of it
.

  Thank you, Kalgrin. Genuine gratitude flooded into Anya's heart for the first time. Now that she'd let go of her fear and exhaustion, of her instant judgment when it came to dragons, she saw him for what he was. Someone who had gone above and beyond to get her out of there. Someone who had abandoned his plans to keep her safe.

  Plans to kill the wyrms. Plans she'd always wanted to execute herself.

  Anya took the time to inspect her new room. Honestly, although the appreciation clutched at her heart, she found Kalgrin a hard one to figure out. He just casually chatted to her and did these things for her without a second thought. Like it didn’t even occur to him that she was some kind of lesser being, as wyrms loved to enforce. Even when he’d seen her face-to-face without the dirt and grime of her disguise on, he’d simply admired her, then let her go on her way. Without ravaging her like dragons were supposed to do. Still, that glimmer of interest from him meant her mother was right. She was attractive. To him, anyway.

  Thinking about her mother made Anya stare at the bed with an icy fist around her heart. Curses, she needed to just stop. Dead or alive, there was nothing she could do about it for now. Kalgrin had taken her out of that place. He'd freed her.

  For the first time, she walked around a place with her shoulders straight rather than hunched. She moved without the terror of being beaten, of being discovered and dragged away. She stood here, washed clean, and didn't dread the reveal of her body. She relished not having her breasts bound, too. That shit hurt.

  I'm safe. I'm safer than I've ever been. My mother would be proud of this. She'd be proud to know her daughter made it out.

  This thought counted on Kalgrin being the person he said he was. That he'd truly spotted her and made the split decision to save her. And then proceeded to talk her ear off as he carried her through the dark sky. Carried her in his arms as he walked to his little house, let her use his bathtub, and sleep in his only bed. He might not be wealthy, even for a dragon, but he treated her like an equal. Someone worth saving.