by David Estes
“She wasn’t attractive.”
“Then you must not be a man, or blind, because even I found her attractive. She touched your hand, Sir, your hand! If I hadn’t been watching, I’m fairly certain she would’ve jumped on top of you right then and there!”
Christoff scrubbed furiously at the gauntlet, unaware he was even doing it. “Mona, I don’t understand such subtleties, I was just trying to learn about how they create such perfect armor, I needed to know, if I didn’t find out I thought I would explode even if I know, logically, that’s not possible, but it felt that way, and the more I learned the more excited I got, and yes, I remember every minute detail about her because that’s what I do, I remember things, but I also remember the man we bought lunch from, how his whiskers were light gray around his lips and then faded perfectly into black by the time they reached the base of his neck, and his hands were calloused and had three burn scars. Three. Did you see them? Do you remember them?” He knew he was rambling and that his hands were aching from polishing so hard, but he couldn’t stop. It was like something else had taken over his body, and he wondered if this was how Tarin felt all the time. He continued, not noticing that Mona had clambered off the bed and was making her way over to him. “But that Orian, she didn’t make my heart beat faster, though I must admit when she drew the ore from the ground and began to mold it into this perfect piece of armor it was one of the greatest moments of my life, except for when we—you know—the first time, and—”
Mona grabbed his hand, pulling it to her breast, and he finally stopped talking, stopped polishing, stopped thinking about all the things he’d done today, stopped replaying them over and over in his mind.
“Shut up, Sir. Sometimes I forget just how different you are. I’m sorry I was jealous. Take me to bed and we shall never bring up this subject again.”
So he did. And he remembered every detail of that too.
Seventy-Six
The Southern Empire, High over the Scarra Desert
Gwendolyn Storm
The ever-shifting dunes of the Scarra rolled far below them like white-speckled waves frozen just before crashing on a bleak, empty shore.
They’d been flying for several hours, the scenery unchanging, the desert endless as far as the eye could see. Something shimmered to the west, and she suspected it was the Spear catching the afternoon light as the river flowed into the Burning Sea.
Gwendolyn had planned to spend a few more days in Calypso trying to convince Whisper to change her mind. But then something had happened.
Her hand instinctively went to the lockets dangling from her neck, jangling them between her fingers. Four lockets, one smashed beyond all repair. Such small things. Truth be told, in the weeks and months since she’d acquired them in the Tangle she’d forgotten about them. Tucked beneath her armor, they’d rested, dormant.
Until that day Whisper rejected her offer to fly to war with the Calypsians. Gwen had been sitting beside Siri well away from the city—she didn’t want to scare the citizens—and had felt something heavy pulling at her neck. At first, she’d thought someone had snuck up on her and clamped their hand around the back of her neck, shoving her toward the ground, but, of course, there was no one. The lockets were heavy.
Not just heavy, she thought now, feeling their pull. They were trying to drag themselves back. Based on the direction they were pulling, she knew exactly where: the Tangle. Which meant the four nymph sisters who the lockets belonged to were no longer asleep—at least not all of them.
Gwen wasn’t certain what it meant, only that she needed to find out. Something was happening to the forest—something important.
Siri rumbled beneath her. Gwen thought it was a satisfied purr, but she couldn’t be certain. Nothing about the dragon was the same. Not her appearance or her personality. She even ate meat raw without using her fire to sear it. Before Raven died, she’d never done that.
I am strange to you, Siri said. Gwen bit her lip. She hated the confusion in the dragon’s voice. The brokenness. This magnificent beast didn’t know who—what—she was.
I must show her, Gwen thought. And not only because Raven asked me to. Because I want to. Because… She couldn’t deny it any longer, regardless of her tumultuous past when it came to all things Calypsian, including dragons. Because I care about her. Because she is—was—my friend, one of the few I had left.
Siri, she started. You are not strange to me. You are my soul, and I am yours.
I feel your thoughts. I feel your fear. Of me. Of what I’ve become.
Gwen took a deep breath. She was scared. Of that nub of a neck that still seemed to be growing on Siri’s left shoulder, albeit more slowly than before; still, it was several inches longer today than it had been yesterday. Of the madness that would one day overcome this dragon. Of her inability to stop it. Slowing the reaction, yes, that was something she would try to do. But Gwendolyn had not failed at anything since that fateful day when she was unable to save Alastair.
I am not scared of you, my soul. You are beautiful. You always have been. You always will be. But that’s not all you are.
My soul?
You are strong. You are a warrior. You are what the world needs right now.
I’m scared, the dragon said.
You have nothing to fear when you’re with me.
Siri purred, her wings undulating in even beats at her sides, the movement so gentle it might’ve rocked a baby to sleep. She wanted to take Siri far, far away to some distant, uninhabited land where they could live in peace together, away from the violence and the loss and the war. Perhaps there that second neck would stop growing. Perhaps there she could save the dragon’s soul. And mine, she thought.
Which was why Gwen hated herself for what she knew she’d be forced to make the dragon do. For what she’d be forced to do.
She saw the smoke almost the second they passed beyond the desert’s borders. Siri saw it too.
Burning, she said. Not me.
No, Gwen agreed. Not you. Something is afire.
It could not be a coincidence, she knew, for her world had never been a place of happenstance. No, she knew the Tangle was burning.
Faster, she urged, and Siri angled her body into a steep, swift dive, swooping toward the ground as the harsh brown desert transitioned into the lush green fields the east was known for. The large area in between was hard, cracked ground, but little by little, blades of grass sprouted from the landscape, which grew more rich and fertile, the climate slowly changing until they reached the edge of where the rain fell more consistently.
Once she would’ve called this place home, but not anymore. She didn’t feel at home anywhere. Except…
Here, she thought, surprised by her conviction. With Siri, she felt at home. The bond of dragons was stronger than anything she’d ever experienced.
My soul? Siri said, thinking the command was directed toward her.
Nothing, my heart. Make for the smoke. We must learn what has become of the forest.
Dangling from her neck, the lockets grew heavier and heavier, until she was forced to grasp them in both hands to bear their weight. Siri dove once more, angling toward the mighty river, the Spear, which was not far now, just to the west. The dragon released a shriek as she cut across the water and turned to skim upstream, spray bursting up from her scaled sides as her clawed feet dipped into the current.
Gwen hung on with her knees and ankles, still clutching those damn lockets, which weighed so much now her arms were aching.
Smoke roiled in the distance, on the western bank of the river, where the beginnings of the Tangle had appeared. Well, sort of. The small trees and hedges that typically signaled the start of the ancient forest were gone. The ground was a field of ash, curling ribbons of smoke wafting up until they disappeared.
And beyond…a burning forest. Gwen knew this very same wood had once burned with an unnatural fire caused by the death of Fire Sandes, but eventually it had been extinguished when the rainy seas
on known as Wrath’s Tears had begun. But now…
There was no sign of rain. And this fire was not unnatural nor natural. No, it was very real fire set by very real hands and Gwendolyn only needed one guess as to who would perform such an insidious act.
The Horde. They must be close, she thought. Anger rushed through her, because to she and her people forests were sacred places. The Tangle was no exception, even if it had long been ruled by an enemy to the Orians—the wood nymphs. The current nymph queen was dying because Gwen had smashed her locket of souls, but the queen’s sisters were, as far as Gwen knew, alive and well.
But not for long, not if this fire continued its path of destruction.
I must stop it, she thought. Not only for the nymphs, but for the Four Kingdoms, to show the Horde that they would not be intimidated, that there was still fight left in them.
We will stop it, Siri corrected, and Gwen was humbled to hear the conviction in the dragon’s voice inside her head.
Siri skated across the river, dipping her head to fill her mouth with water. She rose once more, cutting sharply left where the hungry line of fire continued its march northward. An enflamed tree cracked and fell in a shower of sparks. A burst of flames shot upwards, right into Siri’s path, where she released a waterfall. The fire shrank back, hissing smoke and spitting sparks. And then continued its march, albeit more subdued.
It was only one small portion of the forest fire. But it was a start.
Siri wheeled about, shrieked, and went back for more water.
Those Who Slept
Colya, Lina, May. Three sisters, wood nymphs all of them, ran. They’d outdistanced the main line of fire, but still the flames moved faster on their western flank, driven by a stiff wind that seemed to spur the inferno on.
They had not seen their eldest sister, Felicity, in many years, though they’d felt her presence in every breath. She was the queen, even now. Even broken and dying, they felt the power inside her, lying dormant now. Waiting…for something. They’d found her in the highest boughs of the tallest tree in the forest, lying in a hammock made of vine and leaf, stitched together with sunbeams. They’d coaxed her and shouted at her and rough-handled her until one drowsy eye had opened and they’d told her what they needed.
Felicity had whispered something, several words spoken in the ancient tongue, and then promptly fallen back to sleep. They hadn’t been able to rouse her since, and could only hope whatever Felicity had said had worked.
“Make for the river!” Colya called now. She was the second eldest, and had naturally taken on the role of leader.
“We can’t leave the forest,” May said, but she followed her sister anyway, Felicity slung over her shoulders. Physically, she was the strongest of the three, and had taken on the lion’s share of the lifting.
“We have to try,” Colya said, grabbing Lina under the arm when she stumbled, her vine-like hair brushing the forest floor.
Onward they raced, until the forest began to thin and the waters of the Spear rushed up to meet them at the forest’s edge.
The heat of the flames scorched the air behind them as they ground to a halt. Lina glanced back, fear in her eyes. “Our lives are cut too short,” she said, though they had lived for many years. For them, time passed slower, filling the spaces between dreams.
“Not yet,” Colya said, her teeth clenched behind her blueberry lips. “We have to try.”
The fire was upon them now, having bypassed them to the north, curling around beyond. They were surrounded on three sides. The river was their only escape. “Jump!”
Arms linked together, they sprung from the forest, closing their eyes in preparation of the plunge into the swiftly moving water.
Incandescent waves rippled through the heated air around them as they slammed into an invisible barrier. The edge of the forest.
Their home had become their prison.
And soon it would become their tomb, the flames devouring the final few trees and bushes that separated them from certain death.
“May you return as a butterfly,” Colya said to Lina, for she knew that was her wish.
“And you as a faun with white-spotted ears,” Lina sad, tears welling in her eyes.
“I will become a tree,” May promised. “The strongest in the history of the world, impervious to fire.”
The sisters laughed and cried at the joke, their arms encircling each other as they waited to die.
Felicity lay on the ground, oblivious to the danger she was in.
Somewhere in the distance, a dragon shrieked.
Gwen
Siri’s black scales were covered in soot. Gwen’s skin was so dark she might’ve been Calypsian. She was burned in several places when Siri had gotten too close to the flames.
They’d been toiling for what felt like days, but which was only hours. Tirelessly, Siri made trip after trip to the river, filling her maw and releasing the water onto the flames. In some areas of the forest they’d managed to stop the fire’s progression, though hot coals continued to smolder beneath the ash, but in other areas the flames had outdistanced them, dancing from branch to branch, tree to tree.
And all the while, the lockets grew heavier, until she’d been forced to unclasp the necklace and rest them between her legs on Siri’s back.
They drag me to the ground, Siri said now, the first she’d complained of their weight.
What do I do? Gwen said, growing frantic.
You must drop them. Or at least some of them.
Gwen knew she was right. They wouldn’t do anyone any good if they perished on this day. She plucked up the broken one first, surprised that it was no heavier than a normal locket. She wondered if it meant the nymph queen, Felicity, was dead.
Without thinking, she tossed it away, watching it fall toward the river where it vanished with not more than an unheard plop.
Another, Siri said. One of the heavy ones.
Gwen grasped one of the other tiny lockets, requiring both hands to lift it even with her heromark pulsing on her cheek. She had no argument with the other wood nymphs, for they’d been betrayed by their own sister. But she had no choice, she knew, hefting the locket to the edge of Siri’s scales, being careful to drop it somewhere out of range of her beating wings…
Something caught her attention on the riverbank, an area where the flames were the thickest. Three forms, huddled together. Not human but standing upright, they might’ve been created from the forest itself, their every feature born of nature’s beauty.
There! she cried, forming a picture of what she saw in her head. Siri got the message and shrieked, diving toward them, beating her wings heavily to stop overhead, hovering.
Gwen dropped the first of the lockets, which plummeted faster than should’ve been possible. The wood nymphs looked up, and one of them caught it as easily as if it weighed the same as a feather. Her countenance shimmered for a moment and then one of her sisters shoved her into the water, away from the flames.
Gwen pushed another locket across Siri’s back, forcing it to slide away. She didn’t watch it this time, immediately going back for the third.
When it was done, Siri beat her wings and made for the far riverbank, safe from the flames.
She set Gwen down gently where she fell atop the dragon, pressing her hands against Siri’s ash-covered skin. And she laughed. For the first time in many months, she really laughed.
“You heard our call,” one of the wood nymphs said, the one who’d introduced herself as Colya.
“Yes,” Gwen said, though it didn’t sound like a question. The nymph was almost as beautiful as her eldest sister had been, her locket hanging in the hollow in her blue neck, threaded with long, woven grass.
Colya nodded. “Our sister saved us,” she said.
Gwen felt a shred of anger creep through her. “Felicity.”
The thickset sister with the bark-like skin who’d called herself May, said, “Yes. She managed to arouse herself for long enough to whisper the spel
l that called you to us.”
“The lockets grew heavy,” Gwen whispered, understanding. Felicity had admitted to killing her own mother and stealing her own sisters’ lockets of souls, but still…in the end she’d done the right thing. She’d saved them, even if she’d been unable to save herself.
The last of the three sisters, the smaller, dainty one with the green cheeks dotted with rose blossoms named Lina, said, “They wanted to come home.”
“I’m sorry I took them,” Gwen said. “I had no argument with you three. Felicity tried to take my…friends’ souls. I felt I had no other choice.”
Colya said, “We don’t blame you. But why didn’t you smash them when you smashed hers? Our people are no friends to each other.”
Gwen had to admit she’d been tempted to do just that. “One of my…friends,” she said. “He’s…different to other men. He wants peace in these lands. In all lands.”
“You love him,” Lina said, and Gwen’s heart broke just a little at her perceptiveness.
“I don’t deserve to,” she said. “There is another who deserves him more. My other friend.”
“We don’t choose who or what our hearts deserve,” Lina said, vines growing from her fingertips to caress Gwen’s jaw. It should’ve been awkward for a stranger to touch her that way, but it wasn’t. These three sisters had a way about them that made them feel like old friends.
Siri purred in agreement.
May said, “Your dragon has lost someone.” She gestured to the nubby neck. Gwen bit her tongue as she noticed how much longer it had grown over just the last few hours.
“She’s not mine. A dragon is no one’s. But yes, she has lost her first soul. I am her second.”
May nodded. “She wears her loss on her scales.”
Loss? Siri said. My soul?
Gwen stroked her under the chin, and she resumed her purring. “Please. It is too fresh. We must not speak of it while the pain is close.”
Colya nodded. “We understand pain. Our mother…and now our sister.”