the silvery dust riding in and out of Blasphet's nostrils. Blasphet turned his head to the right, then to the left, his eyes running up and down the length of her body.
'You've not lead an easy life,' said Blasphet, touching the festering burn wound on her chest. She sucked in air as a jangle of pain ran through her. 'You possess far more scars than a typical woman your age. You've broken several bones over the years. Yet, you've received better medical attention than most humans. Your cuts have been expertly stitched and your bones have been reset by a confident hand.'
Blasphet turned his attention to her face. He stroked her cheek. 'A typical female your age would already be a mother. Yet I see you retain your virginity. It's obvious from your rather formidable skills that someone has trained you as a warrior, not a wife. What a curious life you've led. Won't you tell me your story?'
Anza ground her teeth together and strained against the hands that held her. Though she was still fully clothed, she felt as if Blasphet was somehow undressing her. She'd never felt so vulnerable.
'Whoever trained you… he was never able to teach you to speak, was he?' asked Blasphet. He didn't wait for Anza to answer. His eyes were fixed on her throat. 'He couldn't have. I see a small tumor on your recurrent laryngeal nerve. It looks quite old; perhaps you've had it since infancy. It's become calcified. It's a tiny stone in your throat that blocks nerve impulses to your vocal chords. The muscles in your larynx have atrophied, producing your present aphonia.'
Blasphet's talons fell upon Anza's throat. He lightly rubbed her skin. Anza shuddered, then tipped her head back as searing pain ripped through her neck. It felt as if Blasphet were attempting to decapitate her from the inside out. She couldn't breathe-it felt as if a dozen thick worms were squirming and coiling in her windpipe.
She opened her mouth and tears welled in her eyes. She'd lived her life as a tool of death, like a sword or a bow. She'd known that the day would come when she would break and be discarded, as was the fate of all tools. She'd never told a soul that she was afraid of this day. Who was she to tell? It was her shameful secret that she sometimes woke up in the dead of night, from dreamless sleep, shivering at the thought of nothingness, of non- existence, of the world moving on in her absence.
Suddenly, the worms in her throat lined up in a more orderly fashion, allowing the movement of air once more. She filled her lungs to fullness with a deep, desperate gasp.
As she exhaled, a noise tore from her throat that was like nothing she'd ever heard. It was something the cry of a hungry baby, only deeper, like the howl of a coyote, or the wail of a wildcat. It was a long, deafening, drawn- out scream that caused the hands that pinned her to flinch.
It was the scream of a woman who had never even whispered. It was a howl that was the sum of countless days of silence. It was the cry of a woman who'd never laughed, never cursed, and bore in silence the pain of broken bones and a thousand cuts.
It was a sound she'd heard only in her dreams. There was no mistaking it. This noise was coming from her own mouth. It made her tongue itch and her teeth ache.
Slowly, the scream died away as the last thimble of air left her lungs. She took a deep breath, and screamed again.
One by one the hands that held her let go. She didn't move. She couldn't. All the anger and fear and shame of a silent lifetime had provided the tension that drove the springs of her clockwork heart. That tension was gone now, carried away by the primal howls. The last remnants of her unspoken agony seeped out as loud, choking, sobs.
'Ooo,' she said, trembling. 'Ooohhh, oohhhh, ooohhhhhh.'
She possessed a voice, but she didn't know how to make words.
'Ooohhhh!' she groaned, as she curled into a tight, fetal ball. 'Oooohhh… Ooooohhh!'
Gently, a pair of giant talons slipped beneath her and picked her up. She was cradled against Blasphet's enormous breast. She pressed her wet face against it. His scales felt cool in contrast to the heat of her tears. The drum-like beat of his heart filled her ears.
'Your screams are like music to me, child,' Blasphet whispered. 'They are the sounds of your body healing, so that your soul may heal. Soon enough, we'll teach you to talk. You shall be whole, child. You shall be healed.'
'We shall all be healed,' the chorus of women said in unison.
Anza opened her teary eyes. She didn't see an angry face among the women who looked up at her.
Beyond the women, however, was the sky-dragon she'd spotted earlier. He was standing near the back of the room, staring at her with a look that was best interpreted as a scowl. He didn't look pleased by what he was seeing, but he didn't look like a threat either. Nothing in the way the dragon carried himself suggested he was contemplating violence.
Feeling completely, truly safe for the first time in memory, Anza closed her eyes and cried herself to sleep in the cradle of Blasphet's wings.
JANDRA WOKE TO the sound of a woman screaming. Her eyes popped open as the echoes faded. She felt a flutter of panic; total darkness engulfed her. Was she blind? The disorientation faded and she remembered she was underground, deep in the mines.
She'd seldom encountered true darkness. Above ground, even a cloudy, moonless night still possessed some faint trace of light. Within the palace where she'd grown up, there were many shadows, but she was never far from a torch or lantern. When she'd had her powers, she could create light simply by sprinkling dust in the air. She sat up, tossing off the blanket that covered her, taking a deep breath to calm her racing heart. She felt stupid. She was too old to be frightened of the dark.
She groped for the visor she'd placed beside her rolled up coat that she used as a pillow. The walls of the mine came into sharp focus as she slipped it on, not that there was much worth looking at. They were in a long shaft of black stone. Up was rock, down was rock, side to side was rock. The only living things to be seen were Shay and Lizard. Shay was sitting up, his back to the wall. He already had his visor on, hiding his eyes. The short braid he normally wore had come undone, and his red hair lay about his face in tangles. He hadn't shaved in a week, and the shadow of stubble around his mouth made him look older. Coal dust had darkened the creases of his skin. His shotgun was in his lap, grasped with both hands. Life underground was proving hard on Shay. He'd grown increasingly silent the deeper they moved into the earth.
The cool, dank tunnels were also taking a toll on Lizard. The little earth-dragon was pressed up against Shay, staring at Jandra with a wide-eyed gaze. He looked worried.
'Have long have you been awake?' Jandra asked.
'You were talking in your sleep again,' said Shay. 'You woke up screaming.'
'Did I?' Jandra cocked her head. She had a fleeting memory of a woman shouting, but it was ephemeral, the echo of an echo. 'What did I say?'
'You were talking to someone named Cassie,' said Shay. 'Just before you woke, you screamed, 'It's mine!''
Jandra brushed the hair back from her forehead, puzzling over this revelation. She thought about her tongue, how it could possibly speak without her mind controlling it, and grew aware of the bad taste in her mouth. 'I need water,' she said.
Shay held out the leather canteen. She uncorked it and took a deep drink. The water had a sulfurous taint to it. There were numerous streams and pools in the mine, but most tasted like rotten eggs. It wasn't pleasant to drink, but neither was it dangerous. Vendevorex had provided her with a thorough education in chemistry. Sulfur posed no harm to the human body when ingested. The main downside was that her spit was taking on the foul odor. In fact, she was starting to reek, period. When she'd still been in control of her nanotech, the tiny machines had kept her skin clean, her breath fresh, and her hair untangled. Low tech grooming was tedious and almost pointless in a coal mine, where every surface she touched sullied her further.
She put the jug down and wiped her lips with the back of her hand, feeling the coarse grit that covered both her hands and her mouth. The black grit reminded her of the black sand of an oil-covered beach-one of Jazz's memories.
'Can you remember your dream?' Shay asked. 'Who's Cassie?'
'My sister.' Jandra cringed. 'I mean, Jazz's sister. I don't remember the dream directly. I feel like my brain is sorting through all these extra memories. Jazz's life story is starting to make sense finally. All the random, disconnected memories are becoming a coherent sequence of events.'
'A lot of slaves worshipped the goddess, but I wasn't a believer,' said Shay. 'It's hard to swallow the idea that she was real.'
Lizard jerked his head upward when Shay said the word 'swallow.' The little beast's vocabulary was limited, but he knew all the words connected to food.
