For YOUR Eyes Only:
Below is the second chapter from my new series, The City of Broken Dragons.
This work is very new, unedited, and it's highly likely it will change. However, as my newsletter subscribers and members of my Street Team, I would love to share it with you!
I hope you enjoy this first glimpse into the world of Neethris!
Special thanks to Dr. Shelly Xu and Dr. Scott Charenko for providing their expertise and answering the many medical questions I had for this piece.
Chapter 2: Neethris
from
The City of Broken Dragons
A new series by D.H. Nevins
"How do I get back?" My voice was meeker than I wanted it to be. I tried again, with more force this time. "Tell me how to get home, Rune."
"I already told you. You can't go back."
My grip tightened on my shoes. Play nice, I reminded myself. Get home. "Can we come up with some agreement? A deal, maybe?"
"No."
I held back the expletive I was about to hurl at him and swallowed it instead. "Fine," I said, keeping my voice as even as possible. "Could you tell me where we are? How did we get here?"
"You won't like it."
The surf swirled around my legs as I thought about my response. "I don't see I have a choice, now do I?"
"That's true."
Rune seemed determined to keep me in the dark, and I had no patience for this. "So where are we, asshole?" I bit my tongue. The 'asshole' part just slipped out. Speaking rationally to the guy was harder than I expected.
Shaking his head, Rune lifted his jacket and began removing his knife and sheath. My heart rate spiked the moment I saw the other object hanging on his belt—his burgundy pouch. It was the very pouch I had seen him slip Maya's bracelet into… and Huan's watch… and Sasha's necklace—and who knew what else? What other valuables had he coerced my classmates into giving him?
I loosened my fists and tried to focus. Although glimpsing that pouch made my blood boil, getting home needed to be my top priority. I cleared my throat and dragged my gaze back to his face. "Where are we?" I asked again.
He walked to a huge, wooden rain barrel that stood to the side of the cabin door. "I'm only telling you because—because of your utter idiocy—this place is your new reality now." He took a scoop of water out of the barrel and poured it over his sheath and weapon, rinsing away the salt water. He followed suit with his belt and the pouch. Next, he pulled a simple cloth off the line. He began to dry the items, his movements slow and careful. "But I assure you that otherwise, you would be the very last human I would ever want to bring here." He paused to glare at me. "The very last one."
I wanted to rip his head off, but I made myself wait, instead. At the moment, information was more important than retaliation. "Noted," I muttered.
He let out a long breath as he dropped his cleaned items on the plank of a crude, wooden bench. They landed on the bench with a dull thunk. "Have you thought about how you got here?"
"Yes, but it doesn't make any sense."
"Can you see the place you came from? Do you see anything you recognize from before?"
I chewed the inside of my cheek and peered behind me. I knew I was in a different place and that there was no trace of the ruddy-stoned ridge we had stood upon before we jumped. Yet I didn't want to fully acknowledge it. I looked around with careful eyes, needing to be certain I wasn't missing anything. "Everything looks different. Even the orientation of the cliff has changed." I turned back to face him. "Are you going to tell me what happened?"
"We passed through a portal."
"No."
"Think about it. Do you have another explanation?"
I shook my head. I wasn't sure if I was trying to clear it, or if I was physically forcing myself to deny what he had told me. There was no way. This couldn't have happened. Without a doubt, we were in a different place. But… a portal? My mind spun and I had trouble connecting my thoughts. This couldn't be, could it? "Okay," I heard myself say. My voice sounded oddly flat. "To where?"
He shifted on his feet. "To my world. Neethris."
I felt my mouth pop open. "Holy shitfuck,"
Rune swiped his hand across his mouth, as though smothering a laugh. "What did you just say?"
"I don't know… shut up." I shook my head as though to clear it. "I sometimes combine my swear words when I'm flustered. It happens." I shuffled out of the water and dropped my shoes onto the deck. My whole body felt numb. "What do you mean, 'your world?'"
He shrugged. "More like a different realm, I should say. One your kind would label, 'mythical.' You know, a place of dragons, merfolk and unicorns."
"Sure, sure. A child's dream."
"A dangerous dream."
I folded my arms. "Where are we, really?"
"I told you. Neethris. Whether you believe me or not, that's where you are. And trust me—that's on you. Entirely."
"Yeah, yeah. I get it. It's my fault."
"Do you? Because I don't think you truly understand. As I said before, you aren't allowed to be here." He walked along the deck, closing the distance between us. "The responsible thing would be for me to kill you and dump your body in the sea. And trust me, a few times, I was close." He turned away again. "Now excuse me, I need to clean up before we travel."
"If I shouldn't be here, then just let me go back. Show me the way."
He rounded on me. "Are you listening at all? It isn't allowed. Your choices are either to die or to come with me. And I'm almost hoping you don't choose the latter."
My mind raced. I couldn't fully believe him about being in some different world, but wherever the hell we were, he never said going back was impossible—only that it wasn't allowed. After all, he had somehow ended up in my damn Classic Literature lectures, so there had to be a way back home. I would simply have to keep playing along. For now.
Ignoring me, Rune began walking back toward the cabin, stripping off his jacket as he went. Dumping his sodden clothing on the bench, he turned to the water barrel. Grabbing a bucket, he dunked it into the larger barrel, filling it with water. He then hung the bucket from a hook over his head. A fine cord was attached to the rim and it dangled down in front of him. I supposed he could pull on this cord to tip some water from the bucket over himself. As I was busy staring at the bucket, I didn't notice he had stopped what he was doing. Frozen with his fingers on the ties of his pants, he glared at me. "Turn around, you creeper."
I felt the heat rise in my cheeks as I turned from him as fast as I could. I plunked down on the edge of the deck. Then I swung my legs over. "I was looking at the bucket, by the way," I said, loudly enough so he could hear me over the splashing water and the crashing surf. "Not you." I jammed my feet into the sand, wishing I could rinse the salt from my skin as well. "So don't flatter yourself."
After a while, the sounds of spilling water stopped. I continued staring out over the waves while I heard the cabin door open, footsteps echoing inside, drawers opening and closing, clothing rustling, and finally, the sound of his footsteps growing louder on the deck. Something thumped down beside me, and I glanced over. A small pile of what I assumed was clothing had landed beside my leg. It was difficult to tell exactly what it was from the messy heap.
"Your turn," he said. "I'm not sharing my horse with someone who's soaking wet."
"Horse?" I choked.
He ignored my reaction. "Make it quick." Then he turned to a path that wound up a rise behind the cabin. Within moments, he had stalked through the scrubby grass and craggy rock, and had disappeared over the hill.
I jumped up. Half running to the water barrel, I jammed my hands into my pockets. There! My zippered insulin case had survived the fall. I pulled it out and set it upon the plank of the bench, praying everything was intact inside it. Fumbling with the zipper, I let it fall open. The test strips were sodden. Ruined. Yet my insulin pen appeared intact—for now. I had one of them, only. At least it was recently opened, so it contained just under the full 300 units—280 units, to be exact. I inspected it to confirm, and my heart steadied when I saw the indicator. Yes, 280 units. At 10 to 20 units per meal, it would last me about a week—or even longer if I rationed it.
I pushed my hands into my pockets once more, but this time, came up empty. My candies were gone, leaving me with nothing to counter a sugar crash. I checked my jacket pockets as well, then patted my whole body down for good measure. It was no use, however. Everything besides my insulin case had been lost to the sea.
I stripped off my clothing and rinsed as quickly as I could, while my mind turned over how to best manage my glucose levels. The doctor had explained that because my diabetes was in the early stages, my body was still able to produce small amounts of insulin—for now. She told me that some people at this stage could possibly survive for months to even a year without injections if they carefully managed their sugar and carbs… but with the caveat that everyone was different. I grabbed a cloth and began drying myself off, wondering where I fit in there. If I assumed my body could still produce minimal insulin, I should be able to stretch those 280 units much longer than a week or even two. Yet it was all guesswork. And dangerous. Plus, with my test strips destroyed, I would have no way to properly monitor my sugar levels. That made everything about this situation risky. But… surviving here for longer was possible. Stupid, but possible.
Not that I intended to stay here for more than a few hours, of course. But should anything go sideways, this plan gave me more breathing room than I should ever need. And with that, some comfort.
I hung the cloth on the line to dry and turned to the clothing he left me. The underclothes were strangely archaic—one of the items resembled a white nightshirt and the other one looked like a girdle. There was also a plain, blue dress and some cloth that might have been a large kerchief or perhaps a small shawl. I paused as I crushed them together in my hands. As much as I wanted to set this stuff aside and ask for different clothing, I had to put on something before he came back. A quick glance up the hillside reassured me that he was still away. Tucking the bundle of clothing under my arm, I burst into the cabin, naked as the day I was born. My heart sank when I rummaged around the small closet and through a paint-chipped armoire, the salty air causing the wooden drawers to swell and stick. Everything I found was of the same style, and it looked like the clothing he gave me was the least thread-bare of the lot. There were some men's options, but they were all far too large.
"Dammit," I hissed, turning the garments over in my hands. There was no help for it—these items were my best options. I held them up, considering. I supposed that if I were to play along and try to get out of this land, it was best to at least look the part. Thankfully, the ancient-looking outfit didn't pose too difficult of a puzzle for me. I was dressed with my insulin case tucked into an inner pocket before there was any sign of him on the rise.
Glancing again at the empty hill, I leaned over to wring out the water that had concentrated at the ends of my hair. It was only a matter of time before it would soak into my clothes. When I gathered the dark strands together, I thought they resembled the end of a giant paint brush that had been dipped into black ink. I felt the ghost of a smile cross my lips—my hair was just like my mother's had been. Though it was more than a decade since she died, I could clearly replay some memories as though they were yesterday. Sitting on a stuffed bench in her bedroom, I used to swing my legs as I watched her run a brush through her midnight waves. Her hair would ripple and shine like a black ocean in the sunlight. I pushed away the old memories and squeezed.
The water was splashing onto the boards in big, messy drops when I felt the tip of a blade biting through the fabric between my shoulder blades, burning where it pricked into my skin. My anger spiked, hot enough to boil the water from my hair. Asshole, I thought. We've already been through this knife shit!
This time, I intended to make good on my unsated desire to clobber him. Confident he wasn't going to stab me—he would have done so already—I released my hair and pinwheeled my body around, my loose arm gaining momentum as it flung in an arc like a rag doll's. I heard a satisfying crack as my hand struck a cheekbone. My glorious backhand made the guy fly to the side. But my breath caught the moment my vision caught up with my fist.
"I already told you. You can't go back."
My grip tightened on my shoes. Play nice, I reminded myself. Get home. "Can we come up with some agreement? A deal, maybe?"
"No."
I held back the expletive I was about to hurl at him and swallowed it instead. "Fine," I said, keeping my voice as even as possible. "Could you tell me where we are? How did we get here?"
"You won't like it."
The surf swirled around my legs as I thought about my response. "I don't see I have a choice, now do I?"
"That's true."
Rune seemed determined to keep me in the dark, and I had no patience for this. "So where are we, asshole?" I bit my tongue. The 'asshole' part just slipped out. Speaking rationally to the guy was harder than I expected.
Shaking his head, Rune lifted his jacket and began removing his knife and sheath. My heart rate spiked the moment I saw the other object hanging on his belt—his burgundy pouch. It was the very pouch I had seen him slip Maya's bracelet into… and Huan's watch… and Sasha's necklace—and who knew what else? What other valuables had he coerced my classmates into giving him?
I loosened my fists and tried to focus. Although glimpsing that pouch made my blood boil, getting home needed to be my top priority. I cleared my throat and dragged my gaze back to his face. "Where are we?" I asked again.
He walked to a huge, wooden rain barrel that stood to the side of the cabin door. "I'm only telling you because—because of your utter idiocy—this place is your new reality now." He took a scoop of water out of the barrel and poured it over his sheath and weapon, rinsing away the salt water. He followed suit with his belt and the pouch. Next, he pulled a simple cloth off the line. He began to dry the items, his movements slow and careful. "But I assure you that otherwise, you would be the very last human I would ever want to bring here." He paused to glare at me. "The very last one."
I wanted to rip his head off, but I made myself wait, instead. At the moment, information was more important than retaliation. "Noted," I muttered.
He let out a long breath as he dropped his cleaned items on the plank of a crude, wooden bench. They landed on the bench with a dull thunk. "Have you thought about how you got here?"
"Yes, but it doesn't make any sense."
"Can you see the place you came from? Do you see anything you recognize from before?"
I chewed the inside of my cheek and peered behind me. I knew I was in a different place and that there was no trace of the ruddy-stoned ridge we had stood upon before we jumped. Yet I didn't want to fully acknowledge it. I looked around with careful eyes, needing to be certain I wasn't missing anything. "Everything looks different. Even the orientation of the cliff has changed." I turned back to face him. "Are you going to tell me what happened?"
"We passed through a portal."
"No."
"Think about it. Do you have another explanation?"
I shook my head. I wasn't sure if I was trying to clear it, or if I was physically forcing myself to deny what he had told me. There was no way. This couldn't have happened. Without a doubt, we were in a different place. But… a portal? My mind spun and I had trouble connecting my thoughts. This couldn't be, could it? "Okay," I heard myself say. My voice sounded oddly flat. "To where?"
He shifted on his feet. "To my world. Neethris."
I felt my mouth pop open. "Holy shitfuck,"
Rune swiped his hand across his mouth, as though smothering a laugh. "What did you just say?"
"I don't know… shut up." I shook my head as though to clear it. "I sometimes combine my swear words when I'm flustered. It happens." I shuffled out of the water and dropped my shoes onto the deck. My whole body felt numb. "What do you mean, 'your world?'"
He shrugged. "More like a different realm, I should say. One your kind would label, 'mythical.' You know, a place of dragons, merfolk and unicorns."
"Sure, sure. A child's dream."
"A dangerous dream."
I folded my arms. "Where are we, really?"
"I told you. Neethris. Whether you believe me or not, that's where you are. And trust me—that's on you. Entirely."
"Yeah, yeah. I get it. It's my fault."
"Do you? Because I don't think you truly understand. As I said before, you aren't allowed to be here." He walked along the deck, closing the distance between us. "The responsible thing would be for me to kill you and dump your body in the sea. And trust me, a few times, I was close." He turned away again. "Now excuse me, I need to clean up before we travel."
"If I shouldn't be here, then just let me go back. Show me the way."
He rounded on me. "Are you listening at all? It isn't allowed. Your choices are either to die or to come with me. And I'm almost hoping you don't choose the latter."
My mind raced. I couldn't fully believe him about being in some different world, but wherever the hell we were, he never said going back was impossible—only that it wasn't allowed. After all, he had somehow ended up in my damn Classic Literature lectures, so there had to be a way back home. I would simply have to keep playing along. For now.
Ignoring me, Rune began walking back toward the cabin, stripping off his jacket as he went. Dumping his sodden clothing on the bench, he turned to the water barrel. Grabbing a bucket, he dunked it into the larger barrel, filling it with water. He then hung the bucket from a hook over his head. A fine cord was attached to the rim and it dangled down in front of him. I supposed he could pull on this cord to tip some water from the bucket over himself. As I was busy staring at the bucket, I didn't notice he had stopped what he was doing. Frozen with his fingers on the ties of his pants, he glared at me. "Turn around, you creeper."
I felt the heat rise in my cheeks as I turned from him as fast as I could. I plunked down on the edge of the deck. Then I swung my legs over. "I was looking at the bucket, by the way," I said, loudly enough so he could hear me over the splashing water and the crashing surf. "Not you." I jammed my feet into the sand, wishing I could rinse the salt from my skin as well. "So don't flatter yourself."
After a while, the sounds of spilling water stopped. I continued staring out over the waves while I heard the cabin door open, footsteps echoing inside, drawers opening and closing, clothing rustling, and finally, the sound of his footsteps growing louder on the deck. Something thumped down beside me, and I glanced over. A small pile of what I assumed was clothing had landed beside my leg. It was difficult to tell exactly what it was from the messy heap.
"Your turn," he said. "I'm not sharing my horse with someone who's soaking wet."
"Horse?" I choked.
He ignored my reaction. "Make it quick." Then he turned to a path that wound up a rise behind the cabin. Within moments, he had stalked through the scrubby grass and craggy rock, and had disappeared over the hill.
I jumped up. Half running to the water barrel, I jammed my hands into my pockets. There! My zippered insulin case had survived the fall. I pulled it out and set it upon the plank of the bench, praying everything was intact inside it. Fumbling with the zipper, I let it fall open. The test strips were sodden. Ruined. Yet my insulin pen appeared intact—for now. I had one of them, only. At least it was recently opened, so it contained just under the full 300 units—280 units, to be exact. I inspected it to confirm, and my heart steadied when I saw the indicator. Yes, 280 units. At 10 to 20 units per meal, it would last me about a week—or even longer if I rationed it.
I pushed my hands into my pockets once more, but this time, came up empty. My candies were gone, leaving me with nothing to counter a sugar crash. I checked my jacket pockets as well, then patted my whole body down for good measure. It was no use, however. Everything besides my insulin case had been lost to the sea.
I stripped off my clothing and rinsed as quickly as I could, while my mind turned over how to best manage my glucose levels. The doctor had explained that because my diabetes was in the early stages, my body was still able to produce small amounts of insulin—for now. She told me that some people at this stage could possibly survive for months to even a year without injections if they carefully managed their sugar and carbs… but with the caveat that everyone was different. I grabbed a cloth and began drying myself off, wondering where I fit in there. If I assumed my body could still produce minimal insulin, I should be able to stretch those 280 units much longer than a week or even two. Yet it was all guesswork. And dangerous. Plus, with my test strips destroyed, I would have no way to properly monitor my sugar levels. That made everything about this situation risky. But… surviving here for longer was possible. Stupid, but possible.
Not that I intended to stay here for more than a few hours, of course. But should anything go sideways, this plan gave me more breathing room than I should ever need. And with that, some comfort.
I hung the cloth on the line to dry and turned to the clothing he left me. The underclothes were strangely archaic—one of the items resembled a white nightshirt and the other one looked like a girdle. There was also a plain, blue dress and some cloth that might have been a large kerchief or perhaps a small shawl. I paused as I crushed them together in my hands. As much as I wanted to set this stuff aside and ask for different clothing, I had to put on something before he came back. A quick glance up the hillside reassured me that he was still away. Tucking the bundle of clothing under my arm, I burst into the cabin, naked as the day I was born. My heart sank when I rummaged around the small closet and through a paint-chipped armoire, the salty air causing the wooden drawers to swell and stick. Everything I found was of the same style, and it looked like the clothing he gave me was the least thread-bare of the lot. There were some men's options, but they were all far too large.
"Dammit," I hissed, turning the garments over in my hands. There was no help for it—these items were my best options. I held them up, considering. I supposed that if I were to play along and try to get out of this land, it was best to at least look the part. Thankfully, the ancient-looking outfit didn't pose too difficult of a puzzle for me. I was dressed with my insulin case tucked into an inner pocket before there was any sign of him on the rise.
Glancing again at the empty hill, I leaned over to wring out the water that had concentrated at the ends of my hair. It was only a matter of time before it would soak into my clothes. When I gathered the dark strands together, I thought they resembled the end of a giant paint brush that had been dipped into black ink. I felt the ghost of a smile cross my lips—my hair was just like my mother's had been. Though it was more than a decade since she died, I could clearly replay some memories as though they were yesterday. Sitting on a stuffed bench in her bedroom, I used to swing my legs as I watched her run a brush through her midnight waves. Her hair would ripple and shine like a black ocean in the sunlight. I pushed away the old memories and squeezed.
The water was splashing onto the boards in big, messy drops when I felt the tip of a blade biting through the fabric between my shoulder blades, burning where it pricked into my skin. My anger spiked, hot enough to boil the water from my hair. Asshole, I thought. We've already been through this knife shit!
This time, I intended to make good on my unsated desire to clobber him. Confident he wasn't going to stab me—he would have done so already—I released my hair and pinwheeled my body around, my loose arm gaining momentum as it flung in an arc like a rag doll's. I heard a satisfying crack as my hand struck a cheekbone. My glorious backhand made the guy fly to the side. But my breath caught the moment my vision caught up with my fist.
