Did I Ever Tell You About ... Empty Days?

Welcome to a new segment on Cael's Tales: Did I Ever Tell You About?

Here is where I'll place stories either unfinished or just started, little tidbits of things to come, and stuff that doesn't fall into other categories. As always, let me know what you think in the comments!

Today's DIETYA is the beginning of a story I've titled Empty Days. Enjoy!

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            The nights in Nyrath were getting cold.  Frost was not yet on the ground but the trees were bare, splayed limbs stretching upward in agony.  The sun did not tarry, rushing to complete is journey across the sky, leaving the moon to linger, cold and steely.  She knew it would only get colder, too. 

Were she still in the wild, she would know how much time was left until winter truly began, but she no longer had the luxury of keeping to the wilds.  The last of her old friends had left, going to find a new place in the world.  She would need to do the same, but there was nowhere to begin.  This town was the only place that had not rejected her, its low walls a mockery of the shelter she craved. 

Syanith hated the cold, she hated being hungry, and she hated being alone.  But waiting was the part she hated most.

She sat on the cold stone floor of an alleyway in the manner of Shayaths, her tail-body curled in a tight coil below her.  The last gift she was given, a warm and sturdy cloak, enclosed her like a blanket, hiding her form from vicious eyes, as well as her serpentine head.  Her nose poked out beneath the hood, but it was narrow enough that she might be mistaken for a Darathrek dragon, a dragon with human features.  Only if someone saw her large, yellow eyes with long vertical pupil would her identity be known.

Most observers would call a Shayath a large snake with arms, likening them to the vile Yuan-ti.  But cautious eyes might note that a humanoid torso connected the head and tail-body, ending just below the pelvis.  Though her form was serpentine, she had very human features.  Without her ventral scales and green skin, she could pass as a beautiful slender human female. Under normal circumstances, she would have found a suitor among her own people in a distant village, making a life as a hunter or a ceremonial dancer. 

But along the sides of her head and neck were a fold of skin and scales, much like the hood of some venomous snakes.  This was a sign of bad luck for Shayath, as it was the hooded ones that lead to the death of the Empire of Shay, the apex of her people’s culture.  To them, her bloodline represented was the reminder of what they had lost, and none but her own family, now gone, would ever see her as anything but dangerous.

Movement at the mouth of the alley made her cringe, but all that stood there was a curious stray cat.  It meowed quaintly at her, its eyes seeking food.  She relaxed, and held forth a hand, coaxing its interest.  It started forward cautiously, sniffing at her hand.  She reached out and stroked its coat, soft despite its predicament.  It purred disarmingly, rubbing its head on her hand and stepping closer.

It was so close, just a little bit more.  It was so small, so gentle, and did not suspect a threat.

She was so hungry…

But it moved first.  The stray cat leaped up to her lap, making her cloak its perch and curling up with little fuss.  It was not hungry, it was cold.

That’s a strange question, Sya.

But if anyone would know, master…

It’s not really important.

It is to me!

If that is true, I can’t give you an answer.  You seek it every day, in all you do, in every person you meet, even if they are your enemy.

“Do you have the answer?” she whispered to the cat as it dozed.  “The meaning of life?”

The cat only purred.  She continued to stroke its fur, the warmth of another creature more filling to her at that moment than any meal.  In time the cat’s breathing evened out as it slept, and she at last found the mind to sleep.

She found the morning with the cat’s warmth replaced by the sun’s rays, strengthening her though the air was frigid.  She peered about in a dreary daze, searching for a sign of the cat.  It seemed as though their partnership had ended, as she saw no trace of the warm feline.  Brushing the fur it left behind as a present from her cloak, she uncoiled and peered into the street beyond her secluded alley. 

It was still too early for people it seemed, the empty stalls and lifeless buildings seeming haunted by the morning mist.  She glided out into the street freely, observing it all from this new angle.  She paused in front of a vendor’s stall, placing a hand on the dried out wooden counter, wondering who would pass by this merchant, who would stop and talk with him as they would an old friend, before selecting one of his wares and shrewdly bartering a fair or fairer price. 

She imagined this one sold fresh apples, picked daily from an orchard not far from town.  They would look so bright and crisp in the morning light.  The merchant would ask her if she wanted one, and yes, she would.  Two coppers a piece?  She would place three coppers on the counter, telling him that would be fair for two apples.  He might frown, at first, but clearly he had much more apples than the other vendors; he could afford to lower his prices.  Nodding, he would proffer the apples, and she would thank him, promising to return the next day.

Coldly she came to realize how vulnerable she was out on the street.  Her hand withdrew from the stall, as if pulling it away from a rotted corpse.  Turning away, she could feel her eyes burn with emotion, and she lowered her stature, using less of her tail-body to hold herself up. She glided swiftly down the street, looking for a new alley. 

A short way down the road she came upon a tavern and her heart leapt.  She took the alley next to it, only to find that it was blocked off by a locked wooden gate, built high.  She did not have the heart to break it, and easily lifted herself up to the top, standing on the very edge of her tail. 

With acrobatic ease, the lady-snake lifted herself up onto the top, hand-standing over the fence.  The cloak dropped down over her head, and she was thankful that no one was around to see the tattered cloths she wrapped around her chest and thighs to barely conceal her breasts and shame.  She lifted her tail fluidly above her torso, and flipped over the fence, holding her weight easily and slowly lowered herself until her tail touched the alley floor before finally letting go on the other side of the gate.  Exhilarated by her little workout, she slid forth to the edge of the building, peering around the corner.

A well sat in the middle of the back lot, and she longed for a clean cold drink of water, but she kept still, watching the whole area before moving.  Next to the building was a large bin, exactly what she had hoped to find.  Though it would be mostly filled with refuse, there was undoubtedly a few morsels she could make into a meal. 

But she remained still.  Lying at the back door to the tavern and only a few feet away from the bin was a large dog, still asleep and softly whimpering in its dreams. 

She considered her options.  Briefly the hungry predator considered eating the dog.  She refused that part of her obstinately in this case.  Though she longed for live prey, this canine had a purpose here, and she would be doing no good to the owner of the tavern by killing his security.  Besides, she imagined that perhaps the cat would sneak in, creeping up to the surly dog, batting its nose and scampering away before it snapped awake, barking its firm opinion of its nose being used as a toy.  The cat might be sad that its unwilling friend was gone, and that broke her heart just enough to change her mind.

Bringing herself as low to the ground as her ample chest would allow, she slithered slowly toward the wooden bin.  Now that her nose was closer to it, she could smell what she hoped were a few scraps of meat.  Her eyes never left the large black hound dozing on the steps, and her heart raced as she realized how close she was to the animal.  Her stomach ached as she noticed that the dog was certainly well fed, but she quickly shifted her attention to back to the bin. 

Lifting herself up higher, she opened the top, recoiling momentarily at the stench that wafted out.  Steeling her nose, she leaned in close an starting rooting through the refuse as quietly as she could.  After few moments of sifting, she came across several large bones that were the source of the smell, and she frowned.  Undeterred, she dug deeper, and was rewarded with a few bruised apples. 

Quickly, she glided over to the well, hoisting the rope on her own rather than using the noisy crank.  The bucket clattered very little on its way up, as she kept her hoists even and slow.  At last she was rewarded with a bucket full of clean clear water.  She brought the whole thing up to her mouth and tilted it back, taking in gulp after gulp of refreshing liquid.  After finishing her draught, about half the bucket remained.  She used what little remained to wash her food, as well as her garbage covered hands and arms. 

The dark bruises on the fruit where the pulp was mushy did not make it any less desirable to her than it must have to the tavernkeep.  She bit down vigorously on the apple, snapping it in half with the incisor like ridge between her long fangs, which were retracted for now.  The crisp, sweet treat sat on her tongue for a while, and she savored the taste of her first meal in days. She swallowed the half piece whole, letting the first stomach in her humanoid abdomen do the crushing of the delicious fruit.  She did the same for the other half of her treasured fruit, and repeated the process for the second apple. 

She was about to start on her third, when she heard a low growl.  She snapped her gaze over to the dog, who was just lifting its head from rest.  She placed the whole apple in her mouth to keep her hands free and glided as quickly as she could toward the alley.  The dog barked loudly, but did not chase her, bound by a tether that she missed before.  She scrambled to the top of the fence, but could see that there were now people in the alley.  Cursing her luck she carefully but hastily put her top half over the fence and doubled over, slackening her tail-body and pulling herself down the wooden planks.  She slipped down off the fence with a thud louder than she intended, drawing up in a coil and hunching over to make herself as small as possible. 

Moments later, she heard a door slam open and a man’s angry voice chastise the dog, who quieted after the man’s threats.  Tense moments passed, Syanith’s tail writhing, her heart thundering, and her mind racing.  She didn’t even want to be here.  She wanted to be with her old friends, the ones she had not seen in years.  Especially her master.  He would have made sure none of this ever happened.  All she wanted now was to have him hold her, his gentleness calming her deep inside where no one else could see but him.

A moment later, she heard the backdoor of the tavern close, and her breath returned.  The apple in her mouth, held down by her tongue, seemed a paltry prize for such an ordeal. 

She swallowed the whole apple, almost spitefully.  She had spent a month like this.  There was no way the superstitious, small-minded townsfolk could show her what she wanted.  With no master, no friends, and no home, the whole world seemed determined to beat her.

She rubbed her wrists, feeling the segmented dents in her flesh that had not diminished even after thirty five years.  She could still feel the chains that were no longer there.  It made her sick, thinking that she once accepted that she would never be able to live without those chains, the lashes, and the disgusting appetites of those who called her slave.  Now, with not even her sweet master, she felt lost instead of free. 

“There is always a path open to me,” she whispered, repeating the words of Shareshta, her closest friend.  She had left first when the master had departed, feeling hurt by her perceived abandonment.  Syanith had tried to explain it, but nothing consoled her.  Even at that darkest point, Shareshta had managed to find a path. 

Syanith released her wrists.  Her eyes looked down the narrow alley, to the people who did not want her.  If they could not accept her, she had no reason to accept them.  Her path was not here, or in any of the other towns she had been to in the past five years.  She went to the edge of the alley, casting her gaze to the marketplace not far from her vantage. 

She noted the people gathered around a huge caravan, as many as five wagons long.  Strong men loaded up crates to the wagons, and several halflings dealt a few wares to the crowd from a small booth.  A sparse guard of a few mercenaries kept watch over the proceedings, and from the way they were working, the caravan looked ready to go at any time.

Syanith looked up at the sky, to the sun.  She extended a hand from the alley to the sunlit street, the striking radiance making her tiny green scales on her hand vibrant and lively.  It had been a long time since she had felt that bright inside.  Nothing now gave her such a warm feeling, not even if the sun blazed in her very heart.  She didn’t want to feel like this, but his absence had been harrowing for all his followers, she just had nothing to fill that void afterward.  Every day since the one he left had drained her.

It was getting colder, and soon there would be fewer caravans.  She could almost hear him calling her now.  Her chance to leave was now, before she was trapped in this town for a soulless winter. 

She moved slowly at first, leaving the alley under the cover of her billowing cloak, trying to hide herself from all the eyes around her.  But soon her movements came easier, her long tail waving along the ground as she glided down the street.  She drew a few curious glances, and more than one mystified stare.  A moment ago, such audacity seemed beyond her, but now it seemed not only right, but necessary.  The market, open and lively spread before her, but the sights and sounds of commerce were only the backdrop for this new stage.  The scene was set; she only had to do her part. 

She moved on to the halfling merchants, and when one was free, she came up to them.  “Greetings,” she said, the first word in months she had said to a sentient being.

“Well met,” the male halfling said, “How can I help you this day?”

“I wish to speak with your master,” Syanith said.

He nodded, and let out a whistle.  A female halfling, sturdy but slender turned from her task with the laborers toward the merchant.  She was quite pretty, with rich brown hair and gray eyes, dressed in a work apron and dark clothes. 

“What is it?” she said to the male, who pointed at the cloaked Shayath.  She cocked her head, stepping forward, and bid the ladysnake before her to speak.

“I wish to join your caravan,” Syanith said.