by James Duvall
None of the hallucinations had lasted nearly so long as this one, if it were one. Hours had passed since the Harvester had died. The twilight hour was passed, the dark hour was passed, and now the moon was beginning to set again. The dawning hour was soon to begin. Sapphire could see the sign of its approach in the soft purples rimming the horizon to the east. The warp singer could see it too, it seemed. She studied it for a short time and then took to the air. Sapphire wasn't sure if she should be relieved or terrified. Had she been spotted? Was this the creature's attempt to draw her out?
If it was, Sapphire was about to fly directly into her trap. She darted up out of the mist, staying low to its gentle luminescence. If the warp singer wheeled back to face her, she could disappear into the mist and scurry for shelter. One lone dragoness was hopefully not worth its time.
Soon they had left the Mistwood, Sapphire skimming dangerously cross to the ground. Occasionally she would feel a tall weed brush her paw. Her eyes, however, stayed on the warp singer. The dawning hour was a growing imminent concern. Here in the dark Sapphire might go unnoticed, but her bright white pelt and blue mane would draw attention in the bold light of day.
After an hour Sapphire's wings felt just as tired as her aching legs. Her wounds from the fight with the lighthound and then the dusk tracer cried out for rest. Ahead, the warp singer seemed to be getting bigger. It took a moment for Sapphire to process the strangeness of this apparent feat. No, I'm just getting closer.
Wounded as she was, it seemed unthinkable that she was catching up. Then the warp singer dove, disappearing into a gap in the trees. Sapphire coasted down after her, circling back once to sneak a peek into the dark forest floor before she landed near the tree line, pressing her chest down into the grass. Her wings spread out, letting her flatten herself against the ground. The warp singer stood at the center of the little clearing, her back to Sapphire.
She said something, but Sapphire couldn't make out the words at this distance. Was there someone else there? Sapphire surged her magic, feeling her reserves quickly fading as her blindsight let her see who the warp singer was talking to. Only there was no one there. That was odd. She held up her lantern once more, looking toward the rising sun. She turned her head a little. It looked like she was... smiling? Then she closed her eyes and disappeared. In the span of an instant the warp singer's body turned to sparkling purple dust that hung in the air for a heartbeat and was blown away like ashes in the wind. It was unlike anything Sapphire had ever seen. Her jaw hung slack.
Sapphire waited there on the hillside for a while, pressed tight against the ground. The cool grass beckoned to the weariness of her body. Sapphire could hear her mother singing to her.
I'll be your north star when fate's borne you far,
and I'll be here praying wherever you are.
STAY AWAKE! Sapphire commanded herself. She curled her tail around and gave the tip a sharp bite. The sting gave her a few seconds of lucidity. She crept out of her hiding place, circling the place where the warp singer had disappeared. The only trace of her was a quickly fading scent. There was no sign of the dust, nor fur nor feathers. Even the lantern had gone.
“Things don't just disappear!” Sapphire shouted into the retreating night, but it did not bring the warp singer back. The night had swallowed up its secrets and it too in turn was disappearing before the advance of the rising sun. The dawning hour had begun in all its golden amber glory.
“They don't!” She sat down on the spot, defeated. All of that effort and the warp singer had escaped. She would never get to ask her questions. No hidden knowledge. No miracle cures....
She would not get a feather for Dawn.
Sapphire curled up in the grass, letting memories of her mother's soothing voice comfort her into much-needed sleep.
The sun was high overhead when she woke to its warmth against her wings. It was faint, however, her breath coming in little puffs of smoke like one of the big mountain dragons. It served an ominous reminder that winter was quickly coming to Merindi and would bring an end to any of the herbs she had yet to gather.
Sapphire dug through her packs until she found an apple. She chewed on a big hunk of it while she inspected the moon flower samples. Still intact. If any of them failed she still had the live plants back at the lab. Accustomed to the cold, high reaches of the mountains, it would be alright even if a heavy snow fell. There would be a need to establish a cold area of the greenhouse for it when she returned to Havek Shard, but that was a problem for another day. Right then, Sapphire's mind was on the problem of the disappearing warp singer. She circled the spot the warp singer had been standing. The ground was undisturbed. All around the clearing was open. The grasses and weeds that covered much of the landscape were only a few inches tall. The warp singer could not have slunk away. Moreover, why would she have? Sapphire could not imagine any conflict between herself and the warp singer where she came out on top. Clearly the warp singer's magic was highly refined to accomplish such a disappearance. Though Sapphire had kept her distance, she could tell that the warp singer was much bigger than her, also. Nearly the size of a melodian male. How big, she wondered, must the males be? Twice her own size?
Focus! Sapphire hissed at herself. Now, what did she know about warp singers? The poem, mostly.
The night once strummed the trauma chords,
and they did lend an ear.
Softly they sing the shadowed songs,
and wear the mask of fear.
Borne unto hateful darkness
their eyes yet brim with light
and in the still and starkness,
they stand watch against the night
In her mind's eye Sapphire could see Dawn reciting it for her in the snowy mountain cave. He had been right, the twilight hour shining through the vent did look like a warp singer's eye and she should know. She had looked into those shimmering purple eyes.
“The legends all describe them as purple with purple eyes, despite that color being absent in the spectra of our kind,” Sapphire said, as though Dawn were right there listening. She looked over to the side, half expecting to see him there by virtue of the mist-water's curse on her. He was not, however. She sighed.
“Focus,” she told herself again. She could feel in the back of her mind that she was missing something. The poem. Right. References to darkness. Borne unto darkness. Carried into darkness? Why say that?
“All of the old legends agree that after the High Priestess was murdered, the warp singers left the Ascended Valley. The melodians followed them to Alsimor and the Caelish went into the east,” Sapphire said. It seemed a little silly to her to say the words aloud, there was no one to hear. She had long ago grown accustomed to Dawn being an ever-present companion in these investigations. It helped her to focus.
“That means everyone went out of the Ascended Valley and into the dark world. So it was not just the warp singers. There must have been something special about them. The color, maybe?” Sapphire mused, but she felt purple was not enough to describe someone as borne unto darkness. Evil? No, that wasn't right either.
Their eyes yet brimmed with light.
Sapphire was neither historian nor philosopher but eyes that brimmed with light despite being carried into the darkness seemed more like angels than demons, which was an apt description of the warp singers in the minds of most of her kind. Angels of death, keeping watch through the dark of night. Never had that felt more the truth than cowering in the Harvester's hallway as the warp singer read summary judgment over a murderer and then sent him into perdition's flames.
“What was it the Caelish call them...Night soldiers?” Dawn would know. Sapphire growled her frustration. If only she could have found the amulet. She felt she wasn't getting anywhere. None of this information explained how a warp singer could disappear in front of her very eyes. There was one explanation that remained: the hallucinations. They had come just after she had choked on the mist-tainted water flowing out of the Mistwood. Sapphire had don
e plenty of work with the mists before. It had never occurred to her to down one of the smoke-filled vials for this very reason.
Sapphire started a small fire. It was an easy enough trick for a mage of her caliber. She encircled it with rocks and fed a few sticks in it to keep it going. Any mage could conjure fire, but a wise one used materials on hand and conserved her reserves of magic whenever possible. Soon she had built up a small campfire and had a fresh flask of crystal water simmering over it. It was time to start working on a remedy for her hallucinations.
Part of her rationalized that warp singers could not be real and so a hallucination was the answer. It explained the source of the mythical creature and its inexplicable dissolution. Other facts argued back just as zealously, pointing out that all of the hallucinations so far had acted out her memories. The good with the bad. Also the rest of the hallucinations had passed on by simply fading away. None of them had gone to shimmering colorful dust like the warp singer had. Lastly, the hallucinations had never killed someone before, and the Harvester was certainly dead. Sapphire could still remember the scent of his blood filling the room. Even her darkest of memories brought to life had not been so vivid as that.
Sapphire shook the thoughts from her head, focusing on her remedy. She looked down at the little bowl she had scooped from Pendria's soil and saw her mother's hand stretched out over it, sprinkling crumbled herbs into a cauldron simmering over the fire.
“Mom...” Sapphire said sadly, looking up into her mother's eyes. They were not focused on her, however. Amethyst had her full attention on the concoction she was brewing. Sapphire could faintly remember the smell, warm almonds with a hint of cinnamon. Directly across from Amethyst was a young Sapphire. By this point in her life her formerly plain white wings had begun to take on her adult markings, blue stripes along the tips of her wings.
“Was that right?” young Sapphire asked. Amethyst nodded in approbation and turned the page of her book. Sapphire recognized the falfarren letters, written by her mother's own hand.
“Hooray!” young Sapphire cheered.
“Careful around the fire, little one,” Amethyst urged. Immediately the cub stilled.
“I'm bringing you a moon flower,” Sapphire said, but the illusion did not answer. “I... I miss you.”
Just then the door opened, admitting a wide-eyed Flint. “Medicine! Do we have medicine?!” he demanded, desperate.
Amethyst's ears drooped. “Where is Torch?”
“He's coming!” Flint said. “There was a poison. His friends...”
“Dad!” Torch called from outside. Little Sapphire hopped over to the door to peer through, her older self standing over her. For a moment the corridor was edged in darkness, a long pathway receding into the infinite void. Then Torch became illuminated at the far end, as though a shaft of starlight had fallen over him. There was a dragon on his back, blood oozing from his mouth.
“It's Chase!” young Sapphire reported. Amethyst had already removed the cauldron from the fire, replacing it with a new vessel of crystal water.
Torch laid Chase out by the hearth. The white and orange-marked dragon wheezed for air like a dying man, foamy blood on his lips. Flint brought another in right behind him, a female with a white pelt and green markings. Sapphire could not remember the girl from any other event.
Amethyst put her ear to Chase's chest, listening to his labored breathing.
“Was he scavenging from behind a shop? Which one?”
“No!” Torch protested. “We know better than that!”
Amethyst glared at him. “This is not the time for pride,” she said, her words sharp. They found their mark.
“Sorry...” Torch said, chastened. “Someone poisoned our garden.”
“Garden...?”
Torch dug a strawberry out of his satchel and offered it to his mother. “They do not smell right.”
Amethyst took the berry and sniffed at it, then opened Chase's mouth and lightly traced the flat of her claw across his tongue. “No burns...” she said, then held the claw to her muzzle and sniffed at it.
Sapphire could see her younger self grimace a little.
“Give them as much water as they will take,” Amethyst instructed, then hurried away to her supply closet.
“Should we make them throw it up?” Torch called after her.
“No. Water.” Amethyst barked back.
Sapphire found herself stepping back to get out of the way as the shadows of her past frantically hurried around the room, desperate to save the poisoned dragons. It was a miserable thing, watching those lights fade. Every minute they lingered it seemed that Torch's heart sank a little deeper into the mire of his despair.
Flint and Torch saw to the stricken ones, coaxing them to drink a few sips. Neither was very responsive, but when the bowl of water was held to their chin they would lap little bits of it up.
Amethyst returned from the back room dragging a leather satchel bulging with what must've been almost half of the pantry's contents. This time there was no slowing down for the sake of her daughter. Amethyst flew through the pages of her recipe book, placed it on a stand by the cauldron and went down the list one item a time, verifying her work as she went. Accuracy was just as important as speed. Torch's friends did not have the luxury of a second attempt. Herbs, berries, cracked nuts, and little vials of more exotic concoctions prepared in advance went into the cauldron in a flurry of activity. Gradually the attic space began to smell of scorched leaves.
Once the ingredients were added there was nothing to do but sit and wait. Sapphire had learned this particular formula sometime later. It would take nearly an hour for the heated crystal water to absorb the life-saving oils from the alchemic herbs.
The night would end in victory, but not for many hard fought hours. Twice Chase's heart had stopped and only Amethyst's magic had saved him, but by morning the poisons had ebbed from his veins and his companion's. It was three days before they could walk again, and Torch left their side only once that Sapphire could remember.
The image faded, but the waking world did not return. Torch and her father were arguing, escalating voices stirring a young cub from her sleep. Sapphire's heart ached as she watched from the hallway, standing tall over her younger self.
“This was the last time I saw you,” Sapphire said quietly. At the time she had dismissed the conflict. It was an old score, one she'd heard many times before. Torch argued for what was to his eyes justice, and their father would warn against the path of vengeance.
“This is not about vengeance, this is about what is righteous!” Torch protested. “Freedom, strength to stand on our own four legs. We are animals to them!”
Flint shook his head. “When you are older you will understand,” he promised, his words calm. “The elders have weighed these matters carefully and have decided that it is for the good of all that we not become aggressive to the humans, lest we all become hunted.”
“They murder us, father. We could fight them, but we don't. We run and we hide like the vermin they think we are!”
Something had been different about Torch that day, though what Sapphire could not directly label. She had thought about this day so many times before, wondering if she could have prevented him from leaving and cursing herself for not following him, but the Dragons of Nightsong were not ready for the sort of valor that brimmed in Torch Nightsong's heart. They were not ready to bear the wounds that would accompany their freedom. So long had they lived in the shadows and cracks of a far grander civilization that they had come to think themselves less in their own hearts. On that day Sapphire felt as weak as any other dragon, for her magic was still only blossoming and she was a small thing in a world of much larger creatures, even among her own kind.
“I thought I might spend my entire life in that attic with my brother and mother and father,” Sapphire said somberly. It had been the foolish hope of a child only beginning to understand the wounds the world had in store for her. That day had cut her deeper than m
ost. Torch made his promises, packed his things, and bade them all farewell.
Sapphire could see him now, standing in the doorframe, prepared to embark on a quest to free a people that would curse him for the pain his actions would bring down upon them. In her youth Sapphire could not understand, promising her young heart that he would soon return and the happiness of her household would not be broken, but in her budding wisdom Sapphire could see what light the divine that had kindled behind Torch's eyes. There were no words that could have made him stay.
The door opened onto a snowy, moonlit night. Torch looked back sadly, then stepped out into the darkness. With a creak the door swung shut, and Sapphire felt her heart shatter in her chest. She wept bitterly, even as she heard her younger self seeking comfort in her mother's warmth, asking her when her brother might return.
“I will find you,” Sapphire called out to the vision, her sight blurred by tears. “I will find you. If you somehow survived these years, I will find you.”
Mercifully, the vision faded, leaving Sapphire to the solace of her work. It was comforting, doing something with her hands. She mixed the herbs in her makeshift cauldron, stirring and smelling, leaving for a few minutes to forage in the nearby bushes. By mid afternoon her elixir was complete. She drank deeply from it and laid down in the coolness of the nearby trees, letting the medicine do its work. Her sorrows had faded and so too had the soreness of her many wounds. She had been a good student. She slept a while and woke refreshed near the end of day. There was a thought in her head as she stirred. A little snippet from one of the many stories Torch had told to her.