Yona and the Beast Read online

Yona and the Beast

  by

  C.C. Hogan

  Text Copyright © 2015 C.C. Hogan

  All Rights Reserved

  2016 – Second Edition

  To an old friend who brought a little peace to our valley

  THE DIRT BOOKS

  Series 1

  Dirt

  Bloody Dirt

  The fight for Dirt

  Hope & Mistry’s Tale

  Yona and the Beast – Short Story

  Series 2

  Girls of Dirt

  Dragons of Dirt

  People of Dirt

  Series 3

  TBA

  Check out the website for up to date information about the series, maps, the chronology and free stuff!

  www.aworldcalleddirt.com

  Contents

  Author’s Note

  Escape

  The Hills

  The Vale

  Find out more about Dirt

  Books by C. C. Hogan

  About the Author

  Author’s Note

 

  This is a standalone story set against the backdrop of the events of Dirt, series one. For those of you who have read those books, you will recognise some elements. For those that haven’t, it really will not matter and you will see the connections when you read the main books at another time. So, whether you are new to Dirt or not, enjoy the story.

  For those of you completely unknowing about such things, a Calliston is a huge, six-limbed creature that lives in quiet communities either on plains or in forests. They are the rarest of the intelligent peoples of Dirt. Please see the Calliston article on the A World Called Dirt website here:

  https://aworldcalleddirt.com/abbey/history/natural-history/calliston/

   

  Escape

  Yona was cold. She was so cold that even with her hands pushed beneath her shirt and buried under her armpits she knew her fingers were blue. She could feel they were blue, feel their numbness. The cold squeezed tightly around her like an ice blanket, unrelenting, uncaring, permanent. Phoran, her man, he was cold too and colder than she was. He had stopped shivering in the night and that was bad; he was losing the fight. A few had already been lost to the cold. They had moved them gently to the rock wall of the room using the light from the single weak oil lamp hung from the ceiling. The room was not very large. Yona suspected that it was a storeroom normally. It was built against the cliff of the gorge and the rear wall was cold, dark granite that sucked out what little heat there was. Yona wished the room was smaller as perhaps then the heat from their bodies would keep them warmer. As it was, they were all losing the fight.

  “Hold tighter, Phoran. You must stay awake.”

  “I am so tired, Yona. I am not built for this life-sucking cold!” He chuckled a little. The two of them were from the tiny, isolated community of Maernen on the south-east coast of South Homeland. It was a poor and simple place that had nothing much to do with the rest of Bind, but the two of them had been travelling up the river Kane with their few ponies to buy cloth and other material from Mellorn that their community needed. The slavers had caught them as they camped under the trees one night. It had not been much of a fight. They had been grabbed, beaten, tied up and then walked north. They had been the first, but by the time they had reached this frozen place on the North Hoar Ridge, there had been thirty of them. Now five had died and Yona was certain that they would lose more this night or tomorrow.

  “I miss the sun,” Yona said, cuddling her man. “And the sand and the warm wind and the sea! Oh, I miss the sea so much!” She whispered into Phoran’s ear; they had already been yelled at through the door once to keep quiet. A sudden wheezing breath, ragged, uncontrolled, echoed around the small room, and then she heard a young whimper of pain. They had lost another one, and Yona knew it was Mardia, Beva’s mother. Phoran knew it too.

  “Go to her, Yona. She will need you. I will cuddle with the others.” Phoran always made things sound so simple, trying hard to be cheerful. He had done so all the way through the many weeks they had spent walking north. When the slavers were out of hearing, of course.

  Yona carefully made her way across the room between the restless and sleeping bodies till she found the young girl, weeping over her mother. The small face of the ten-year-old looked up and buried into Yona’s chest; the thin, weak body shaking with agony and grief. Yona held the girl for a moment more, then released her and signalled two others to help move Mardia’s body to where the other ones were by the wall. It wasn’t difficult. They had all lost so much weight that even though none felt strong, the bodies were easy to lift.

  “What time is it?” Phoran asked as Yona returned, Beva huddling against her.

  “I don’t know, my love. Near dawn perhaps. It is some hours since they came with the water.” She settled down and Phoran snuggled into her with Beva. Phoran had been the strong one, but he had tried to stop the slavers beating the women once too often and they had whipped him with sticks into unconsciousness. Then they had denied him food for a week and whipped him again. Now he was one of the weakest of them, but he was staying alive, somehow.

  A cough from the other side of the door attracted Yona’s attention. It was hard to know the time in this cold world, closed off from the light. But in the week they had been held here there had been no movement at night, so she supposed it was approaching dawn. She could hear distant clattering. They knew the kitchens were a little way down from their room since they had been brought into the building that way. She remembered the brief, healing warmth of the kitchen as they had entered from the freezing gorge, only to lose it again as they were pushed on up the corridor and into this icy prison. More crashing and clattering and some shouting; she couldn’t make out the words.

  “What is happening?” Phoran asked, opening an eye.

  “I don’t know. Nothing to do with us, I think.”

  “Hmm.” He cuddled closer still and wrapped his arm around Beva, who had started to shiver. There was yet more and louder crashing and shouting, and Phoran snapped his eyes back open. “Something is going on,” he said, a little of his strength returning.

  “Sit up Beva,” Yona told the girl. Yona stood and leant against the door, listening carefully. She could hear more shouts and cursing, the words clearer now, and then the crash of a door and footsteps running up the corridor. And then … laughter? They all heard it and Yona turned and shrugged at Phoran.

  “I love that Mab-Tok!” someone shouted out. Yona flinched back from the door. It had come from right outside and was full of glee. Phoran had stood up, helped by Beva, and he came over to the door.

  “What is going on?”

  “I don’t know,” Yona said. “Not the guards, I don’t think.” She put her ear to the door again. She could hear some quiet talking and then a huge crash. Then more shouting.

  “Behind that door!” This time, it was a young woman’s voice. Yona stepped back, taking Phoran and Beva with her. Something banged against the door, hard.

  “Back!” Phoran shouted as they all struggled to their feet. Whoever it was smashed against the door again.

  “Are they coming for us?” Beva asked, her voice trembling with panic. Phoran and Yona held her tight, their own fear stark on their faces. The door crashed open. In the dim corridor stood a tall young man.

  “You are free,” he shouted. “Get out of here!”

  Yona didn’t hesitate. To stay was to die, she was certain. Grabbing Phoran and Beva she ran from the room and headed down to the kitchens, the others behind them. The young man shouted something, but she did not hear what he said. She had to get out of this building more than anything in the
world. Yona charged into the kitchen and kept going, dragging the limping, gasping Phoran behind her, the small Beva desperately trying to help him. Then they were outside in the narrow gorge. In the weak dawn light it was a scene of chaos and madness. Ahead of them, two huge beasts were wailing and crying. One, clad in studded leather, was thrashing around angrily, while the other was cowering and whimpering against the cliff wall. Guards were shouting and firing their bows, and above were dragons, dropping rocks down into the gorge. Yona skidded to a halt and the slaves huddled in behind her.

  More dragons leapt from the cliff above and dropped rocks on the angry leather-clad beast, pushing him back while the other monster started walking slowly down the gorge.

  “What do we do?” Yona asked Phoran, looking around her. She knew they had to head down the canyon, but the way was blocked by the massive beast. It was a calliston, she thought, but far bigger than in the stories she had heard as a child.

  “I don’t know!” Phoran shouted back as a big tan and cream dragon landed with a thump in front of them, its great wings out wide. Yona jumped back in surprise, and Phoran wrapped his arms around her.

  “Run to the beast,” the dragon yelled at them. “Get onto its back.” The slaves stared, wide-eyed with fear. “Now!” shouted the dragon and jumped back into the air.

  “Come on!” Yona yelled at the other slaves. To go back inside was impossible and there was something about the beautiful dragon she felt they