by James Duvall
“It's magic, that means it's worth money to someone,” Willoughby offered. He shrugged, indicating that he knew the information was worthless. Beyond glidestone, magic was a mystery to airmen. They were a superstitious lot and left such things to men learned by book and quill. Theirs was a world of rope and sails and nights spent drifting on a dark sea from shard wall to shard wall.
With the glow abated, Timothy could see another item in the box. It was a small bit of oilcloth wrapped tightly around a thin disk. Unwrapping it revealed a brass compass, slick with an oil. The oil had somehow kept it from tarnish for the many years it lay hidden in the Mistwood. It smelled of lavender and the cloth was still wet with it.
“It doesn't point toward the gate,” Timothy observed, holding the compass up. Traditionally compasses pointed in one of two directions, north or toward the nearest gate. This one pointed toward the northeast, back in the direction of the Mistwood.
Willoughby scrunched up his face and peered at it, then compared it to his own compass.
“What does it lead to?” Aebyn asked, bouncing with excitement.
Willoughby shook his head and made the grim pronouncement. “Hard to be sure without charts, but I'd bet my last bottle it's the Mistwood Vault.”
“The men won't like that,” Timothy answered, thoughtful.
The sound of movement carried in from the plaza, boots clicking against the cobblestones. Willoughby leaned out, looking into the dark.
“The night watchman's moved on,” he said quietly. Timothy was already packing the Arlorian focus back in the box, shutting the aged lid on the cheery emerald glow. The rain had picked up and storm clouds rumbled an ominous refrain.
“Captain, I need to get the fire brigade ready,” Willoughby warned. It was one of his duties as the first mate. Torvald would have already started in his absence.
The duty had slipped Timothy's mind. Willoughby did so much to keep the ship running smoothly that it was easy to forget just how many duties fell to the man. It had been his intention to pass the storm in the alcove. He could do with a few minutes of peace without Christopher fretting. Skalde's interest in the book and Faralon's treasures was only going to make it worse.
“Alright, let's go,” Timothy said. The three of them returned to the Stormbreaker soaked to the bone.
Chapter 21
The Harvester
Nothnor, Isla Merindi, Pendric Shard
I've seen him twice on the northern wall after sundown, a large luminarian with blades upon his tail and deep violet feathers. On the second night there was blood upon his claws. After that I never saw him again.
Statement given by a soldier of Cahen
“Can't we do this in the morning?” Sapphire asked, hopping along beside her older brother. Torch was nearly full grown, each stride of his pale blue legs far out-stripped her own, so she was at a near gallop to keep up.
Torch edged up to the corner and checked to see if anyone was coming before quietly reminding her that they were not supposed to be there at all. “Besides, when it's dark it's easier to see the fireworks!”
“Hoora-mmph!” Sapphire's cheer was abbreviated by her brother's hand quickly gripping her muzzle shut.
“Shhh!” he hushed her, then the two slipped quietly into the rail yard and stalked past the watchman's little shed unseen. Further along the tracks their practice would be masked by the hiss and chug of heavy steam-powered engines gliding into the station and bright lights of passenger cars, all within too busy gathering their belongings and children to notice the trespassing dragons.
Atop an empty boxcar Sapphire watched, a silent and invisible specter bearing witness to her own past. In the cold winter air the visions of her past made puffs of mist with every breath. They took turns producing small fireworks and sparks with brief intermissions between each volley for Torch to give her pointers.
“Remember,” he said, “we must practice every night. There isn't much free magic in Cahen, so you will get tired quickly.”
There was something about that night that Sapphire was having trouble remembering. She could sense a quiet dread in the back of her heart. It waited and watched like a monster lurking in the fog on a quiet, moonless night. They must have come to the rail yard dozens of times. So many so that her memories of each event all ran together. Except... there was something about this one, something that was wrong.
Just then young Sapphire summoned a vibrant green spark that jumped and bounded off the bare earth and gravel like a grasshopper. The little white cub stalked after it, pouncing and missing as it ricocheted off a railroad tie. The spinning green spark arched through the air and landed in a thicket of tall weeds. It smoldered for a second or two before the dry grasses caught fire. Torch was on it in an instant, beating the flames out with the thick tuft of his tail. It was only a couple seconds, but the flames could have been seen from the watchman's shed or perhaps even from the platform. Torch clambered up the pile of gravel near the boxcar and pressed himself against it, eyes trained on the watchman's post.
“We have to go,” Torch said, gesturing for the little Sapphire to follow.
“It isn't safe,” Sapphire said in unison with her brother below, her voice a bare whisper from the boxcar.
With some reluctance she followed the shadows, though she knew what they would find. Then came the scream; her scream. On the road ahead Torch yanked the little cub beneath the shelter of his wings. Sapphire hurried to them, slowing the last few paces. She did not want to see it again, but something inside her urged her to look. It was a drake, dead on the side of the road. Unseeing glassy eyes looked up at her from a face twisted in pain. He had been shot through the chest and bits of frothy blood still clung to his lips. The dead dragon's wings were reduced to bloody stumps. Torch and her younger self stood in a field of broken and blood-stained feathers. The biggest had been removed, harvested.
Beneath Torch's wings little Sapphire whimpered, asking again and again, “Is he dead? What happened to him?”
Torch did not look away, his attention glued to the mutilated corpse. “Calcite...” he said in a voice that was so soft it barely carried to the little one's ears over her sobs. His jaw quivered and Sapphire could see water beading up in his eyes.
“He was your friend...?” Sapphire said, though Torch's image could not hear her. He was remaining strong for her, curling his wings tightly to hold her younger self against his chest.
“I'll take you away from here,” he whispered softly to her ear. “I'll take you away...”
And then the vision faded, and Sapphire was left alone on the streets of Nothnor, looking across the road at the merchant's cart where two dozen bloody feathers swayed like the blades of a wind chime in the evening breeze. Torch had tried so hard to protect her from the truth, but with time she had learned what it meant to be luminarian. Life was a story soaked in blood.
“You have to be quiet! Someone will hear you!” someone was saying, but Sapphire could barely hear him. There was blood pumping through her ears, the frenzied beat of her heart drowning out the outside world like the drums of war.
“I am taking those feathers back...” she said, stepping deliberately into the street.
A drake rushed out in front of her, flaring his wings out like a shield. “You mustn't!”
“Seven take you if you get in my way,” Sapphire seethed.
The drake remained fixed in place, meeting her furious gaze with equal resolve. Sapphire started to turn away as though to leave, then darted past him as fast as her weary legs could carry her. The drake sprang on her back, wrestling her down. Another luminarian, a female, jumped into the fracas, helping to hold the squirming outsider down.
“Chaaaa!” Sapphire cried out. She hissed and snapped, biting at the empty air with the unreasoning fury of a feral mind.
“Bind her!” another voice said, and Sapphire felt ropes looped around her, pinning one foreleg and and wing to her chest. In reprisal she twisted around and sank her teeth into the
offending drake's leg, eliciting a yelp of pain and an angry trill back at her. She didn't care. He could screech all day; she wasn't letting go. Two more loops of rope made a quick end to her resistance, and she could feel herself being hoisted up and carried away.
“No!” she cried out, her voice savage and wild. “We have to get them back! He has to die!”
Shortly thereafter they did her the discourtesy of tying her muzzle shut with a piece of rag. Twice she worked it loose and unleashed a barrage of angry insults and insinuations, but that only prompted them to retie the gag more securely. The third time she remained silent, simply relieved to have the gag out of her mouth.
“So no one knows her?” someone was saying in falfarren, a young voice, male.
Another voice answered. “I thought I saw her a few weeks ago. I haven't seen wing markings like that in our flight, though.”
“Where's she from, you think?” the first voice replied.
“Not here, that's all I know,” the other said.
“Isn't she the one they had holed up in the hay loft over at the south side stable?” a female voice asked.
Sapphire winced inwardly. She wondered what they might do to her if they thought she had some sickness that had reached her head. Given the very vivid hallucinations she was starting to wonder if that was not far from the truth of her situation.
“Nightsong,” Sapphire said, her words filled with pride. “I'm Nightsong.”
“Oh great, she's loose again. I suppose I'm going to hear how I'm a featherless worm again. Silver! I thought you had it right this time?”
“I did!” Silver said. Sapphire could see him looking over at her with an annoyingly goofy smile on his face. “It's just, she's got such a pretty little muzzle, I was worried I'd scratch her! You're only mad cause she bit you.”
Sapphire clicked her teeth on empty air in provocation. She felt certain if she could goad either of them into a fight she could slip away.
“And that hurt!” the other male said, glowering at her. Whatever attraction Silver felt for her, the bite wound on this drake's foreleg seemed an ample inoculation against it. He was taller than Silver and had a minty green pelt with a mane like pine needles.
Sapphire harrumphed. She didn't care. He could bleed a little. It would do him good. Maybe then he'd finally get angry and something could be done about the murderer walking the streets.
“You there, green one,” Sapphire called. The green dragon pinned his ears back and narrowed up his gaze.
“Yes, little bluebell?” he crooned mockingly.
Sapphire felt her ears burning. She knew she had that coming. “Untie me. I'll go peacefully.”
The green dragon's brow arched over one eye. “Go where?”
“Does it matter?” Sapphire asked, squirming against her bonds. Her wrists were starting to feel unpleasantly raw and warm. “Away.”
“I think you're going to go looking for the Harvester,” the green dragon surmised correctly. “I've run into you Nightsong types before.”
“He has!” Silver chimed in. “Wisp here used to work on an airship! He's been all over.”
Immediately the green looked like he regretted starting the conversation in this direction. While he had likely traveled along a few of the primary trade routes, a solitary Nightsong, weeks away from her home shard was likely to have seen all of Deshym twice over.
“I'm sure he has,” Sapphire said, sparing his pride.
“The elders will be here soon,” Wisp announced, sounding a little deflated. “They'll want to talk to you. If we untie you, will you wait for them?”
Sapphire did not feel she had much of a choice. Her head was still swimming from the exertion. If she was going to go after the Harvester, it wasn't going to be right that moment. “I'll hear them out.”
Some spiteful part of Sapphire wanted to bite Wisp's other foreleg while he was untying her, but she forced the thought aside. Dawn wouldn't like it, anyway. “So who is this Harvester?”
“If I tell you that, you'll be there by evening,” Wisp said, frowning as he bundled the rope up over his shoulder.
“He's a nasty one though,” Silver added. He sidled up to Sapphire, grinning at her with a certain genial charm.
Sapphire took a little step to the side. “He is. That's why I want to know why nothing's been done about him.”
“Something has been done about him,” Wisp stressed. “We had a council with elders from the entire flight. Every group on the island sent a representative. We decided that it was in everyone's best interest if we didn't start a conflict with the humans. The Harvester takes two or three of us a year. How many more do you think would die if we killed a human? You think they would care what he was? What he does to us?”
“I think they would remember that when they killed one of us, we killed one of them.” Sapphire felt the fur stand up on the back of her neck.
“Is that how it is done in Cahen?” Wisp asked, sounding unconvinced. “Tell me, what does Nightsong do when the butchers come calling?”
“We kill them,” Sapphire said, relishing the words despite their falsehood. The truth was that even the bravest of all the flights in Cahen were not that different from this poor flight. They would rather suffer the wolves than the crushing weight of retaliation. Whoever had killed Calcite had likely claimed many more victims in the intervening years, and he would not be the only one. Cahen was a large city, with many people desperate enough to pay for blood feathers. While it was true that luminarian feathers could be used in some potions, most of them did not require the feathers to be all that fresh and only a rare few required a blood feather and those had to be imbued into the brew so quickly that the spells were all but useless unless the donor luminarian was present at the brewing, but it did not stop people from trying. Torch's words echoed in her mind like a ringing accusation. We could fight them, but we don't. We run and we hide like the vermin they think we are.
“Maybe it's true,” Silver whispered to his friend. “Maybe they do have warp singer blood...”
Sapphire lifted her head a little higher. She knew she had impressed them. She had traveled further than any of them might dare to dream. She had seen the brightest wonders of the world, tasted exotic fruits they had never heard of, and sojourned in the darkest of places.
Just then one of the elders arrived. He was a medley of oranges and whites with a bit of a puffy white beard on his chin. He wore a bit of crystallized shell, fastened around his neck by a thin silver chain. It was likely the most valuable thing the flight possessed. “I assure you there is nothing legendary about miss...ehm... miss...”
“Bluebell,” his escort supplied helpfully. Sapphire recognized her as the female that had helped Wisp and Silver bind her and drag her from the street.
“Yes, Miss Bluebell Nightsong,” the elder said, squinting at her with milky eyes.
“My name is Sapphire,” Sapphire corrected. “Sapphire Nightsong. I am from Cahen. I was the one that applied for training at Bendrin University.”
“Yes and I am sure that went quite well,” the elder said dryly. “Tell me Miss Nightsong, did it? Did they bow to your greatness and spread their wings in respect?”
“Well I-” Sapphire started slowly, confused by the elder's biting words.
“They didn't?” the elder asked, feigning surprise. “Oh that's right, they don't have wings at Bendrin University. How silly of me to forget! It's my old age you know; the years have made me foolish. Or... Or perhaps you forgot yours. Have you forgotten your wings, Miss Nightsong?”
“No, sir,” said a much quieter Sapphire, her tone grown soft and deferential to the drake's station.
“Are you a human woman, Miss Nightsong?”
“I am a luminarian,” Sapphire said, bolder now.
“I hear pride in your voice,” the elder said, nodding slowly in approbation. “That is good. Do not let them take your pride but you must keep your senses. The will of the flight is clear in this matter.”
“But... Ruby...” Sapphire whined.
“Is alive and well,” the elder said, then sighed, looking very weary. “The dragon killed was a drake visiting from one of the flights on the coast. The rest of us know to be wary of the Harvester. Our kin on the coastline will mourn his loss, but they would not want the rest of us to suffer for his vengeance. Do you understand, precious daughter?”
Sapphire felt her eyes warm with fresh tears. “He, he killed one of us...”
“Miss Nightsong...” the elder warned. It was not her place to question an elder.
“He has to die!” Sapphire pleaded, tears streaming down her face.
“Making humans fear luminarians will not make us safe, nor will it bring back our lost brother.”
Sapphire felt her legs tremble. “But why should we be the ones to fear, elder? Why us? Why always us...”
The elder placed a claw on her shoulder and lowered his head to brush his nose against her forehead in formal greeting. “The world is not a safe place, precious daughter. Do not make it more dangerous than it must be.”
They sat with her for a while until the moment of her sadness had passed. Ruby was still alive, and it made her heart feel a little bit lighter in her chest. Again Torch came to her thoughts. She remembered his promise.
I will take you away from here...
When they all left, Silver stopped at the door to look back at her with mystified curiosity. It gave her hope that she had planted a seed of courage in his heart, like her brother had done for her. When they were all gone she let out a deep sigh, straightened her mane and wings and wiping the tears from her face before she returned to the streets to find Ruby and Rusty. She had a mind to take them away from this place, maybe back to Havek. There was enough space in the tower for so many more dragons than just she and Dawn.
I could make a Haven of my own. It wouldn't be hard. The gardens would need to be extended and a larger orchard planted.
There was plenty of stone nearby. They could build a wall. It was only a matter of time before someone realized that Havek was not a genuine black shard and the tower would need to be defended. If there was one thing she had learned at Bendrin University, it was that a luminarian would never own a place so grand as Havek Tower. Not so long as there were those strong enough to take it from her.