Page 4 of Phoenix's Fire

The snap of my name made Kanik stop mid-sentence. The voice made all of us turn to see Zasen storming through the market, clearly in a hurry. His nearly-black and pale-striped skin stood out in the crowd. Few Dragons - either the tailed or the tailless - were as striking as him. I didn't even need to see his bright blue tail to pick him out easily, but he looked annoyed. Or maybe it was worry?

"Ayla," he said again, not yelling this time. "There's a - "

The sound of a woman's scream pierced the air.

In Lorsa, the market was always bustling, but that? It killed the murmur of conversation instantly. Bodies turned - mine included. Everyone looked to find the source of that sound - only for it to come again. Fear. Pain. Anguish. They were all wrapped up in that cry, and it was clearly from a woman.

" - Mole," Zasen finished, pushing in to catch my arm. "She was hung out for the Dragons."

"What?" I gasped.

He nodded, towing me towards the sound. "The Reapers brought her. Tamin saw. He told me and I ran over here, but they're unloading her. Rymar should be - "

Another scream drowned out whatever Zasen was trying to tell me, but this time it had words. "Do not touch me!"

English. I knew those words. I'd grown up hearing nothing else. I'd learned Vestrian since I'd gotten here; the language was so close to English that it wasn't hard to switch over, but the sounds were changed, altered, and morphed from time. It was also the common language here. English wasn't.

I swore I recognized the voice too.

Without waiting for Zasen, Kanik, or anyone else, I ran. There was no way. It had been months, but some things were seared into my memories, and that voice was one of them. I pushed past canopy-covered stalls, ducked between bodies, and wove my way towards the edge of the market. There, I shoved through the ornate bushes that lined the edge of the road.

Once my feet were on the hard-packed clay, I ran with all I had. These leather pants were warm in the oppressive heat of summer. I could feel sweat already trickling down the short hairs along the back of my neck, but my boots gripped and made me even faster. That was why Dragons wore clothing like this. It was functional, even if revealing, and I'd stopped caring about things like modesty.

Up ahead, a crowd was already gathering near the stage. Something was making a loud, sharp, and repetitive noise. I could see a strange vehicle with a shaggy beast attached to it and a smaller black one sitting on it. That was where both the sharp sound and the screaming came from.

As I got closer, two terrifying tailless men were struggling to pull a girl down from the back. Her body was almost completely obscured by the much larger men - but her hair was pale. Silver, almost. Clearly, she was a Mole, and she was fighting as hard as she could.

Then Jerlis, the mayor of Lorsa, reached out to grab her. No, her chains, because she was bound the same way I'd been. Large manacles were attached to her wrists. A long chain linked them together, made from a very heavy metal. When the mayor's hand closed on the center of it, the girl pulled, twisted, and screamed again, but I was still too far away to help her.

Without shame, I pushed through people, ducking and dodging if I had to. Most jumped back, but enough looked behind me to prove I wasn't alone. Zasen must be back there. Kanik too. Maybe even Jeera? I didn't know and didn't care, because that girl was being dragged to the stage.

She kept her body hunched over. The posture was defensive, and one I knewmuch too well. Punishment was often aimed at our stomachs, heads, or anything sensitive enough to leave a lasting impression. Curling up was a trick we girls learned when we were young. It proved this woman had to be scared out of her mind.

"Move!" I roared, clipping someone's shoulder as I charged up the stairs.

The mayor paused, letting the woman finally crumple to the ground, screaming again. The pitch of it made my ears ring even as the girl flailed. That wasn't defiance. It was pure fear. This was her fight or flight instinct, and I'd experienced it myself. I knew how blinding it was. I understood the horror this woman was going through. It was enough to make me forget about everything else.

Pushing the mayor aside, I forced my body in front of his and dropped to my knees, just as someone snarled, "Shadow, silence!" in Vestrian.

I didn't care what that meant. I was reaching for the girl's hands. She flailed again, the chain on her wrists smacking me in the process, but she was too weak to make it hurt.

"Hey, hey, hey," I breathed, the words in English. "It's okay. I got you. They're not going to hurt you."

The girl paused. Then, slowly, she looked up. Matted and filthy hair shifted back to reveal pale blue eyes. Eyes I knew.

"Ayla?" she breathed.

"Meri!" Without thinking, I wrapped my arms around her shoulders and pulled her close. "I've got you. It's going to be okay now. I promise I've got you."

As my words sank in, she relaxed into me, and the first sob broke free. "Ayla? Is it really you?"

"It's me," I swore. "How are you here?"

But the mayor couldn't understand our words. "What's she saying?" he demanded in Vestrian.

The sound made Meri look up at him. The man was gigantic, taller than even Zasen. His skin was red and black. His eyes had no white to them. His shoulders were twice as wide as mine, and the tail lashing behind him proved he was flustered.

One look was all it took and Meri screamed again, pushing herself back. I was sure she was about to crawl her way off this shallow stage in an attempt to escape. His words made no sense to her. Hers made none to him. Even worse, we'd both been taught that Dragons were the Devil's minions.