Rifle fire came from the cavern floor.
Kaika slapped Rysha on the shoulder. “We’re not done yet.”
Rysha tore her gaze from the dead bat’s eyes. She raced down the slope after Kaika as quickly as she could on the treacherous rock. She sucked in an alarmed breath at the sight below.
Trip knelt on one knee, his head bowed, Jaxi’s point pressed into the ground beside him as he leaned on her. Azarwrath had fallen from his grasp.
Duck, Leftie, and Blazer were all over to one side, crouching behind rock formations as they fired over Trip’s head at a bat arrowing out of the stalactites toward him. It was even larger than the one Rysha and Kaika had killed.
Cursing, she willed her legs to move faster. The team fired again, but the bat disappeared, just as the first one had done. Their bullets bounced uselessly off the stalactites. No, dangerously. One ricocheted back, hitting the rocky floor only a few feet from Trip.
“Where’d it go now?” Leftie blurted.
“Stop shooting,” Kaika yelled, springing off the slope and over a lumpy, scorched corpse.
Rysha hadn’t noticed it before. Was that the bat that Trip had been fighting earlier? That meant there had been three, damn it.
The giant bat reappeared right behind Trip, claws slashing toward his back.
“Trip!” Rysha shrieked.
Only a few meters away, Kaika raised her sword and sprinted toward them.
But Trip jumped up, whirling in the air, Jaxi coming across to slice into the clawed limbs only inches away from him. The bat’s momentum carried it into him, but Trip braced himself, and the creature bounced off him.
He held his hand out to the side, and Azarwrath flew through the air to land in his grip. Trip sprang at the bat before it recovered from its failed attack, driving both soulblades toward it. Lightning and fire poured into the creature as the swords sank through its wings and into its chest.
A high-pitched screech erupted from the bat’s mouth as their eyes met. Rysha couldn’t read the expression on Trip’s face, but couldn’t help but wonder if he noticed the similarity there.
As more lightning and flames assailed the bat, it struggled to pull back, to batter Trip and somehow escape, but he strode into it. Somehow, the flailing wings never touched his body. The smell of scorched meat filled the cavern. Finally, the bat stopped moving.
Trip pushed it away with his boot so he could pull the swords free. The flames and lightning faded, though a few remnant sparks danced along their blades.
Trip turned toward Rysha and Kaika. Kaika still had her sword raised, poised to spring in, and Dorfindral hummed against Rysha’s palm, as if to say it was ready for another fight, ready to slay this other magical being in front of them.
“Meyusha,” Kaika said, eyeing her raised blade with a determined expression.
Rysha murmured the same command to Dorfindral while meeting Trip’s eyes. He could have spoken the words to both swords and quelled their eagerness for dragon blood right away, but he neither spoke the command aloud nor silently. It took Rysha a few more utterings before Dorfindral allowed her to lower it.
She drew a kerchief and willed her breathing to slow to normal as she cleaned the blade. The bat blood, a dark ichor that seemed as unnatural as the creature had been, did not come off easily.
Duck, Leftie, and Blazer walked over, eyeing the two corpses near Trip.
“Any more around?” Blazer asked.
“Not in this cavern,” Trip said.
“But elsewhere in these tunnels?”
He sighed, his eyes holding an expression Rysha couldn’t read. Regret? Unease? “Probably. The soulblades and I can sense more life down here. It’s difficult to tell exactly what or where it is.”
Kaika finished cleaning her sword and sheathed it, then looked frankly at Trip. “Those bats had your eyes.”
Rysha grimaced at the bluntness. Though she had made the same observation, she wouldn’t have shared it in front of the whole group. Trip didn’t look surprised by the comment, nor did there seem to be any lack of understanding in his gaze.
Leftie’s lip curled as he looked back and forth from Kaika to Trip. “What are you saying, Major?”
Blazer frowned as if she hadn’t caught on yet. Probably because she hadn’t seen those bats’ eyes close up.
“That I bet family gatherings at Trip’s papa’s place are very interesting,” Kaika said.
Trip’s jaw clenched. He didn’t look pleased by the comment or the situation in general.
Rysha stepped toward him and laid a hand on his sleeve. She wanted to say something light, something to make him and the others forget the uncomfortable possibilities, but he turned his gaze—his green-eyed gaze—toward her, and her tongue tied. He had human eyes instead of bat eyes, but the color… it was exactly the same.
“Can’t be much crazier than gatherings at General Zirkander’s house,” Blazer said.
“Possibly true,” Kaika said. “One of those ferrets has green eyes. Bhrava Saruth isn’t a relative, is he, Trip?”
“Not that I’m aware of. He didn’t mention it when he sniffed me.”
Rysha snorted, remembering that moment in the ice caves.
Trip lifted a hand to the side of her face. She thought it some gesture of endearment, but then her eardrum tingled. She remembered that it had been bleeding earlier. Now that her awareness of it returned, she noticed that both ears ached deep inside.
But almost as soon as Trip touched her, the ache faded. Every ache in her entire body seemed to fade, and a warm surge of energy flowed to her limbs. She suddenly felt that she could sprint ten miles with her rucksack on and a rifle in hand.
When Trip lowered his hand, the sensation didn’t fade, but she did feel disappointed at the cool air that replaced the warmth of his touch.
“You’re getting better at that,” she whispered.
“Good.” He was still holding her gaze, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. Was he looking into her eyes? Or at her spectacles?
She almost asked what else was on his mind, but Duck spoke first.
“Are you getting your ears healed? Because those hollering screeches hurt like bees stinging your drums.” Duck stuck a finger in his ear, drew it out, and grimaced at the blood on the tip.
“Yes.” Trip waved for them all to come closer.
Leftie hesitated. He touched his ear, then grimaced when his fingers came away bloody, but he looked like he might cross his arms and stay mulishly away from Trip’s healing touch.
“I’ll heal your infected foot, too,” Trip said quietly, meeting his eyes.
Leftie flinched. “It’s not infected.”
“There’s pus all over your sock.”
“I like it that way.”
“If you get gangrene, you could lose your foot.”
“Damn it, Trip. Stop knowing so much about what’s in my head and what’s in my foot.” Leftie dropped his chin and rubbed the back of his neck, the gesture tense and frustrated.
Rysha wanted to punch him for being difficult. She understood him not being willing to forget—or forgive—that Trip had read his mind, but if his foot truly was infected, he was foolish not to get help from a healer.
Leftie must have reached the same conclusion because he limped over after Duck left Trip’s side.
“I’m sorry,” Trip said, resting a hand on his shoulder.
“For spying on the status of my foot?” Leftie asked.
“For poking into your head. I’m not used to having the ability to do so, and sometimes, I do it without realizing. I’m trying to get better at not invading people’s privacy. I don’t want to see what they’re thinking.”
“Good.”
Rysha thought that would be the end of the conversation, especially since that “good” had sounded sullen, but Leftie surprised her by speaking again, in a lower tone of voice, one she probably wasn’t supposed to overhear.
“It scares me when you do things that aren’t human,” Leftie
said.
“I know,” Trip said. “It scares me too.”
“It’s only going to get worse, isn’t it? You’re going to get more—less human.”
Rysha wanted to come to Trip’s defense, but the men were speaking quietly, their words for each other, not for her. Maybe she shouldn’t have been eavesdropping.
“I don’t know,” Trip said, “but I’d appreciate it if you point that out if you see it happening. I don’t want to be… inhuman. Or inhumane. You probably don’t believe this, but I didn’t want any of this.”
Leftie raised skeptical eyebrows.
“I still just want to fly and shoot,” Trip said wistfully. “But I feel it would be irresponsible of me not to learn how to use the power inside of me. To learn to control it.”
“Yeah.”
Trip lowered his hand. “How’s your foot?”
“Can’t you tell?”
“I’m choosing not to invade your privacy to check.”
“Hells, what’s it matter now? You magicked my ear and did weird things to the inside of my foot. What secrets could be left?”
“I’m going to assume that means you’re feeling better. You’re welcome.”
Leftie grunted. Such a grateful patient.
“Once everybody’s bandaged up or healed up—whatever—we’re pressing on. This place is creepy.” Blazer nudged one of the dead bats with the tip of her boot. “I don’t want to spend the night in here.”
Trip opened his mouth, but he shut it again and turned toward Duck to heal him.
Rysha had a feeling he’d been about to point out that the odds of them getting to the dragon lair and out again before needing to sleep were slim. She suspected the sun had already set outside. Not that they would ever know, here in the depths of the mountain. She didn’t like the way Trip kept glancing toward the far end of the cavern, as if he was certain there would be more trouble.
20
Despite Blazer stating her desire not to spend the night in the cave system, after a few more hours of travel, she’d called a stop in a cavern with a large pool in the middle, water trickling down damp walls and stalactites to feed it. Thanks to the uneven terrain, it had taken the group a long time to progress only a couple of miles.
Trip believed it was another couple of miles to the large central cavern he’d been directing them toward, the cavern that he’d thought would grow easier to sense as they traveled closer. But it remained opaque to him, and he had only a vague sense that there was life and magic inside.
Blazer had assigned Trip, Jaxi, and Azarwrath to the first shift of guard duty, so he sat on a rock formation overlooking the pool and the team’s spread blankets. The water was serene, with the group’s lanterns providing enough light to show the reflections of the stalactites hanging above it. The small drops of water dribbling from the rocks made tiny ripples in the otherwise still pool. Despite the serene spot, everyone rested with their boots on and their weapons close at hand.
Trip looked down at the pieces of metal spread in his lap, the lock from the outpost, the cracker lid from the entrance, and the other scraps he’d gathered along the way. He was shaping them, using his mind as both melting furnace and forge to manipulate the metal. The cheerful cracker picture painted on the lid pleased him, a splash of color among all the gray, and he was trying to keep it intact.
The tinkering took some of the tension from his body, but he couldn’t keep his thoughts from wandering, from dwelling on dragons. And the things around this one that didn’t add up. Was Agarrenon Shivar truly down here? Trip still couldn’t sense him. The same questions continued to haunt him. If the dragon was in a stasis chamber, how had his mother gotten him out? And why, if Agarrenon Shivar had been freed, had he gone back in? And what of that disease Moe had spoken of? Was the dragon even now dying a slow death inside the stasis chamber?
If the dragon was sick and locked in stasis, where in all of Linora had his batty offspring come from? Seven gods, it had been creepy running into animals—beings—that shared his blood—and his eyes.
Trip had known they did right away, even if Jaxi and Azarwrath had been less certain. The strangest mixture of familiarity and repulsion had come over him. He hadn’t wanted to lift the soulblades or use his magic against them, but they had clearly not felt the same way. Still, when he’d killed that first one, his blood or who knew what dark reptilian part of him, had cried out, the emotion driving him to his knees. It had felt as if he’d committed some crime against all dragon-kind. All of his kind.
He blinked at moisture gathering in his eyes. He didn’t know if he was mourning for the deaths of his alien brothers or for his own lost innocence. Every day, something new happened, and he felt more and more of a freak. Less human.
He longed for the days when he’d simply flown with his squadron mates, the wind sweeping his cares away as he soared up the coast, the waves breaking below, fluffy white clouds drifting in the sky over the calm sea.
His hands kept working as his mind ran sprints in a thousand directions, wrestling over and over with the same issues. After hundreds of drops had fallen into the pool and his comrades had drifted off to sleep, Trip looked down and found the toy he’d barely been paying attention to now complete.
For the first time in days, he felt a twinge of satisfaction at something he’d done. Maybe even pleasure. Though he sat in the dark, outside the influence of the camp’s lanterns, he could see his creation well enough.
Inspired by that workbook he still hadn’t mastered, he’d shaped all the various scraps of metal into interlocking pieces that formed a three-dimensional puzzle, one that happened to be shaped like a fish. The cracker logo had ended up on the side, the tin creating one of the larger pieces. Most of the pieces were big enough for a toddler with unrefined motor skills to manipulate, and they all attached to a central spindle that had been made from the shank of the lock. The pieces connected to it so they couldn’t be taken out, merely moved to various spots around it.
The toy shouldn’t be a danger to a baby, even though a newborn would be more likely to suck on it than do the puzzle. Trip would clean it thoroughly and maybe find some tongue-safe paint to color the rest of the pieces. In the meantime, maybe the toddler, Marinka, would be old enough to tinker with it. Would any of General Zirkander and Sardelle’s children have an interest in tinkering? The general had clearly wanted to instill the love of flying in his little girl, but Trip imagined Sardelle being a more neutral encourager, letting the kids try all manner of things to see what they liked.
Trip tucked the toy into his cargo pocket, barely able to button the flap with it in there. Maybe he would take it and stick it in his pack.
He shifted and looked at the camp, spotting his ruck and his blanket next to Duck’s. Before heading over, he stretched his senses out to make sure nothing inimical was sneaking up—or flying up—on their group. As before, he sensed life deeper in the complex, but nothing approached. Outside, the sun had long ago set. Maybe the cave dwelling creatures somehow knew and lived by its influence, even down here.
He supposed if he knew, then weird animals that shared his blood could also know.
Trip shook his head, not wanting to contemplate the bats again. But perhaps his thoughts leaked out of his bank vault, because Jaxi spoke up, as she had occasionally done while he’d been standing guard. Azarwrath seemed more inclined to leave Trip alone with his thoughts.
We’ve been arguing about those bats, she thought.
About what possessed a dragon to get frisky with their mother? Trip wondered if, from a dragon’s point of view, a human was little different from any other animal.
No, I’ve ceased wondering about things like that. Dragons are odd beings. An image of Bhrava Saruth accompanied her words, the big gold dragon lying on his back in the sun, his legs crooked in the air, while he convinced Sardelle to rub his belly.
From what Trip had seen of him and the young female, he would gladly spend time with them over Agarrenon Shivar.
He recalled Bhrava Saruth’s green eyes, and that he had a reputation for being promiscuous. It was a shame that, as Kaika had suggested, he couldn’t have been Trip’s sire.
What we were debating, Jaxi went on, is how old those bats were.
Trip hitched a shoulder. He had no idea how long normal bats lived or if dragon blood could extend an animal’s life. He would have believed anything from a few years old to thousands of years old.
Neither of us is certain how long typical bats live, Jaxi said, but we don’t think those were some strange timeless creatures that have been alive for millennia.
Agreed, Azarwrath commented. Even though dragon magic keeps dragons alive for an impossibly long time, I never observed or heard that the offspring of human-dragon pairings lived inordinately long lives. They were typically known for having good health and living to a hundred or a little more, but certainly not many centuries. Any animals we encounter that share your blood are likely to have been born after you, or around the same time as you. Not earlier, unless they’re sea turtles or parrots or some notoriously long-lived creature.
It doesn’t really matter, does it? Trip asked, not wanting to think about being related to any more animals. Sea turtles, hells.
Doesn’t it? I find it quite fascinating, since your archaeologist acquaintance seemed to believe it a given that Agarrenon Shivar was dead.
Moe is a treasure hunter and occasional mapmaker, Jaxi said. I have a feeling that real archaeologists would be insulted by the idea of him being labeled as one of them.
That matters little in this conversation, Azarwrath said.
Trip hoped they weren’t going to start arguing in his head again. His gaze shifted from his rucksack, where he’d been thinking of putting the toy, past Duck and to where Rysha slept curled on her side, using the book she’d taken from the outpost as a pillow. Her sword was in its scabbard next to her, acting as a paperweight for the rubbings she’d been looking over before going to sleep.
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