Maerek took to the air first, pounding his sore wings hard against the still air, racing upward and upward, toward the rapidly shrinking opening. He now understood Mearto’s urgency. His muscles throbbed with each exertion. The wind was already starting to pick back up again and push him into the more violent portions of the storm. He yelled past the pain and flapped harder, straining his wing joints against the wind. Mearto was not far behind him, and he could hear her labored and heavy breathing.
“Almost there!” Mearto shouted, the words combined with a comforting and supporting bellow from her throat, encouraging Maerek to keep going. In two more wing beats, Maerek was out and above the blowing sand. The gap that Mearto had created closed just as his tail passed through. The wind above the storm was not as fierce, but Maerek still had to make quick and subtle wing changes to stay aloft in the sky. He hovered in places for a few moments, searching for Mearto, but didn’t see her above the biting sand.
He called out to her twice and began to circle, gaining altitude to broaden his field of vision. The storm beneath him looked like an angry gray sea with the surface shimmering and churning as what looked like waves appeared to whitecap in the starlight. He called to her a third time, and she appeared, shooting out of the storm, sand spraying out in her wake. Maerek flew to her side and they both continued south to Port Rasmú.
“I was worried,” Maerek said calmly, “When I didn’t see you, and with the storm.”
“Your calls helped, they gave me strength.”
“I’m glad you are alright.”
“We have a much larger problem now.” Maerek looked over at her inquisitively. “We need to find you another set of clothes. Will you be able to fly back to the city?”
“Yes,” Maerek said with difficulty.
“You’ll need to keep up if we’re going to get to shelter before the storm hits.”
Mearto banked in the air and turned back to Port Rasmú. Maerek followed closely behind, drafting off of her wingbeats. Together, they pushed a few yards ahead of the storm front, the colder air buffeting against their skin.
As they, and the storm, neared the city, the bells of the Port rang out in wild warning. Watchmen and bell keepers yanked frantically on ropes from protected covering deep inside the bell towers. Those who had homes, shuttered themselves in, layering the crevices of windows and doors with dampened fabric, be it bed sheets, shirts, or dishrags. Shop keepers did the same, and those that had cellars hid deep within them. The storms themselves rarely had enough strength to do any lasting structural damage to anything, but the sand created a mess, and those caught out in it often died from asphyxiation, choking on sand.
There were a few places that the homeless could hide, most covering themselves with blankets and going to some more well-known walled retreats in the city where the wind didn’t reach. With the influx of refugees from Noiknaer, those hiding spots were already filled and many sought and begged for refuge from others.
Maerek spotted a group of individuals running down the main thoroughfare, an older man, two women, two adolescents, and a child, two boys and a girl, more than likely a family. Others, too, scurried around them, but the man and what Maerek assumed was his family, caught his attention. Longer brown hair, tall and muscular build, brown leather jerkin over a white, dirt stained sleeveless shirt, brown trousers, bare footed, a clean-cut finger-width scar stretching from elbow to shoulder. The family split up and banged on doors furiously, with what was obvious begging and pleading for safety. The first couple doors the man tried, there was no answer. Just as he left, one of the older daughters flagged them down and each rushed to the shelter.
The man turned to steal a quick look at the storm and squinted in Maerek’s direction, almost looking Maerek directly in the eye, and shook his head as he hurried in.
“Were we seen?”
“If we were, the man will think it was a trick of the mind. He showed no fear.”
Maerek followed Mearto as she turned to the south-eastern part of the city. She mentioned that she stayed in an ocean side warehouse that had long since been abandoned. Maerek assumed they were headed there to take shelter, and if they were lucky, find Maerek a new set of clothes.
“You never mentioned how to get into the warehouse,” Maerek yelled above the wind.
“It is sealed off to the public. All the doors were barricaded, locked and barred, windows boarded up, and any reasonable access point was stripped. Speak plainly Maerek, you are among kin.”
“How have you kept your seclusion in such a place?”
“Rats do not go into the nest of the viper.”
In the next wing-beat, Maerek understood plainly that she meant no harm to adventurous youth or timid homeless that sought shelter, but that the warehouse had enough danger about its entrances that the unwelcomed guest would most easily be deterred. She needed to make prudent precautions to defend her “keep” as it was, from prying eyes. The warehouse was her den, her seclusion, where the mask of her feigned humanity could be shed, and she could be who she really was. Maerek understood that need slightly, having spent time in the company of the traders prior to showing his true character, and what a relief that was. Mearto was forced to hide that part of her, even in what private moments she could find at the capital.
“The warehouse itself is owned by a small group of merchants that broke off from a company called the Three Brother’s Trading Company, more commonly known as the Syndicate prior to its nationalization,” Mearto said above the wind. “It is used as a storage facility to stage goods prior to shipping, and I am its keeper.”
“And your relationship with these merchants, I would assume goes further back than your arrival to this port.”
“You assume correctly. They respect my space and are pleased with my work at protecting their inventory. Part of that mutual understanding is that while the company has free access to the warehouse, I do require at least a one-hour notice, either by writ or in person.”
Maerek tried to imagine this warehouse, and all of the various security measures one could take, short of the mystical art that Mearto was capable of. Dozens of layouts, door braces, locks, view ports, trap doors, ropes and pulleys went through his mind all at once.
“Follow closely, and be prepared to swim,” Mearto called out, and then rushed ahead slightly. A few wingbeats later and she began a steep descent and Maerek followed, the end of her tail just a few feet from Maerek’s nose. Turbulence from the storm had jarred both of the dragons up and down as they rode the wind above the city. Maerek glanced down, watching closely for any human that might hazard to look up and see their silhouette. The lower parts of the sandstorm already billowed into the city and over the walls, layering the crevices and flats of the street in a fine sand. The streets were clear, all livestock and suon safely stored away.
As they neared the coast, Maerek noted that the boats had their sails drawn up and extra ropes were tied to docks and slips. The suon had been let loose from their halters and carts and huddled closely together, each tucking their head underneath an arm or tail to protect their heads from the sand.
The sandstorm grew fiercer, blanketing the roads, and completely covering some of the smaller structures. Mearto flew harder, racing to get ahead of the storm and Maerek kept pace. A few more seconds, and the entire city was blanketed in the storm. Mearto hissed in frustration. Was the storm growing in strength and she had misjudged? Behind them, the large wall of sand was surging toward them.
Mearto turned toward the ocean, following the sounds of the waves on the rocks and ships. She raced forward, pounding her wings up and down, catapulting herself further and further ahead every second. Maerek struggled to follow as she pulled away from him, his skin and muscles still raw from Erith’s burning spell. Mearto looked behind her, turning her head quickly from one side to the other, and then banked left, signaling with a nod that Maerek was to follow her.
Maerek banked again and glided in just behind her. They were flying at so low
and close to the water that their claws could drag across the surface. Ahead of them, Maerek saw the warehouse. It was an unassuming wooden structure with a wide dock that extended a few hundred feet. There was a loading door, wide enough for even three or four men to pass through. Waves smashed against heavy wooden walls on either side of the dock and loading door, shades and outlines of barnacles sticking out at each receding wave. A rocky outcropping jutted out, parallel to the dock and went out just as far before disappearing into the ocean. When Mearto reached the end of the rocky outcropping, she plunged into the water. Maerek took a deep breath, tucked in his wings and followed.
He struck the water hard, his belly and tail smacking the ocean. The ocean roared in his ears as air bubbles rushed past him. Maerek stared ahead, the momentum from his dive carrying him forward, and looked for Mearto. Spotting her faint outline, he noticed how she used her wings to propel her through the water. The saltwater stung at his eyes, but he pushed forward, mimicking Mearto’s movements. The water pulled slightly against him, a riptide, trying to drag him back to the ocean, but his strength was enough to overcome it. Both of them swam underneath the outer wall of the warehouse. When she rose up, Maerek followed.
The saltwater provided enough buoyancy that Maerek was able to float up with ease. As soon as his head broke the surface, he exhaled and breathed in deeply. Mearto was already lifting herself up and out of the water and into the loading bay. When she was completely out of the water, she surrounded herself in a cloud of smoke. But instead of walking out of the cloud as Maerek had often done, she moved with the cloud, crossing the empty space of the warehouse and entering a room on the other side of the warehouse by way of a wooden door.
The grains of sand and wind pounded against the walls and roof of the warehouse. It sounded like being underneath a waterfall. The warehouse had the smell of abandonment. Rot, rust, mold, mildew, dirt, rodents, rodent droppings, were a few of the mildly offensive smells that wafted around him. Blanketing all of these smells, was the scent of Mearto, lilac and sea salt. Her scent permeated in everything. It was not sharp, as one would expect with a flaring of one’s musk, but it told him that she lived here for some time. The combination of scents was strange to him and raised more questions in his mind.
Maerek lifted himself out of the water, grunting in pain, and slowly tracked across the warehouse. He kept his nose close to the floor, stopping ever few feet to smell around him like a hunting dog. There was a smell of fish, lindworm and suon, and a faint trace of her blood. She brought her kills back to this warehouse to feed, some of them still living when the hunger rose up in her. He was halfway across the warehouse when the door to the other room that Mearto entered, opened, spilling light out to where Maerek stood.
“I thought you lived above the tavern? Is this your home away from home?” asked Maerek.
“I’ll fabricate some clothing in your size,” she answered, dodging the question. “I have some spare fabric that I can use.” She threw two towels out toward Maerek. When they hit the floor, dust and dirt flew up in the air and floated in the golden light. “Dry off as best you can. I will be back shortly to examine your burns, and then we need to talk.”
CHAPTER 23
Mearto used her craft to make some simple brown trousers and a sleeveless white shirt for Maerek from some excess fabric found in one of the crates. She had put on her white uniform from the school she formerly taught at. The living quarters that lay behind the door were nothing more than a canvas cot surrounded by boxes, some opened, others still sealed. There was still a faint trace of rust and dirt in the air, but it was overwhelmed by her scent.
Mearto performed the same healing magic on him that Ledría had within the cave, as well as on the trail. Yet, Mearto’s healing was more instant and reviving than Ledría’s, soothing deep burns with the wave of hand, and restoring fatigued muscles to a relaxed and renewed state.
Mearto sat on a small cot that was placed between two sealed crates, her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands, red hair falling around her fingers and arms. A pair of wax candles gave of light, but the wicks were not burning. Two bright orbs hovered just above the wicks and flickered just like candle-flames.
“The lights?” Maerek asked, sitting across from her on an old stool.
“Part of my craft,” she said shortly.
“I thought you lived above the tavern? When do you find time to retreat here? And where did these crates and supplies come from?”
“I do live above the tavern, but I come here to retreat when I need to.”
“And I would assume that you have another way out?”
Mearto nodded, and then pushed her hair back.
“We need to talk about what happened tonight,” she said. Maerek sat silent, expecting her to continue, but she didn’t.
“There was more said between you and Erith than what I understood. What happened?”
“Erith has grown in strength since I last saw him, since Noiknaer burned. Either that or he purposefully hid it from me. It doesn’t matter now, as he and I are equals now, in strength and skill, and soon he will surpass me, I think. When I was holding him, and crushing him that last go, I gave it everything I had, pushing as hard as I could, but there was part of him I could not break, something deep within him that was impervious to my skill. I thought I would have the strength required, but it may require more than what I possess.”
“What is it he really wants from you? He seemed intent that you bargain with him.” Mearto wiped her eyes and her cheeks flushed in splotchy red. Tears started to trail down her cheeks and she wiped them away. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” Maerek said cautiously.
“No, it’s not that. He wants… he wants our offspring,” she finally said, hesitating at first before letting all the words out.
“But you and I, we aren’t a mated pair. I am simply fulfilling and oath.”
“Is that all I am to you? A promise for your ego?” Mearto seethed.
“What? No! I meant, we aren’t yet.”
“What do you mean ‘yet’? So, it is your intention to mate me?”
“You’re twisting my words on me now,” Maerek replied cautiously, lowering his voice and bowing his head slightly, showing a sign of submissiveness.
“Then speak plainly Maerek! You are among kin. What am I to you?”
At that moment, his mind raced back to the beginning of this ordeal. With his cousin’s wedding, the ambush, his capture, meeting Boshk, his song, her song, her history, and how since that time, the image of her turquoise scales was constantly on his mind. Her laugh, her quick wit, her adventurous spirit, her aggressiveness, her fiery passion, and his promise, his oath, to rescue her. He thought of how many times, when he was in the foothills of the broken blades, he had whispered and thought to himself how much he loved her. He thought of the moment when the oath became more than an oath, but his own desire out of affection.
“I love you,” he thought to himself. “If I don’t say it now, will I ever have the courage to say it in the future?” And then, the next moment, without a second thought, he let it out.
“I’m in love with you.” His words were rushed, flat, and came out all at once. His heart raced, and he could feel his blood pounding in his ears.
Mearto stared back, eyes wide for a moment, and then smiled, a disappointed type of smile, and shook her head.
“Are males all alike? We were almost killed, the both of us, we flew on the front of a sandstorm, killed a man who was my captor for the past eighteen years, and we come to love and attraction.”
“Even before all that, I loved you,” Maerek replied with a little sharpness in his voice. He then breathed deeply and sighed. “Forgive me. You asked me to speak plainly to you, and I will. I do not ask you to be my mate and I have kept myself from making any advance toward you, but here,” Maerek placed a hand over his heart, “my song for you sings true, and at some time, I would share it with you.” Mearto paused for a long while, then she smiled,
a genuine, relieved smile and let out a sigh of relief.
“You have been kind to me.” She paused again and wiped her eyes a second time. “My whole life I have been subjugated to unwelcomed advances and treatment. Yet I need to remember that I am around kin.”
That word, kin, carried with it more than its meaning, but an understanding of heritage, of culture, of more than an expected set of standards, but of comfort. Maerek had felt it the night before, knowing that he could truly rest with Mearto around. There was a mutual understanding of expected etiquette, of trust, or respect.
“If the time comes, you will know,” Mearto said softly, and then bowed at the waist, arms outstretched and turned slightly upwards. “Thank you for coming to my aid. Your oath is fulfilled,” she lowered her head as she spoke, a true sign and gesture that Maerek was released from his promise to Boshk. When she raised her head, she had a fierce look in her eye. “For me, now is not the time for courtship. Your statements have brought me peace, and I thank you for that. Since it is your intent to stay in this city, and by my side I presume, you must understand what Erith’s goal is as it relates to Vilheim and why we need to stop him.”
“Erith mentioned Vilheim aims to become a god. How would that be done?”
“To understand that, you need to understand that Vilheim is a shade of a shadow of his former self. He lacks the physical structure of a body that you or I have. The semblance of his physicality is from binding his life to others in a ritual that was sealed in secrecy by those who know more of my craft than I.”
“I’ve seen this. It gives the drinker a form of immortality.”
“No. What you saw was conducted under the direction of the Seer, and it is a form of invulnerability. It was not the same practice that Vilheim and his disciples took in. Whereas the drinker of the blood that you saw during your captivity would become invulnerable, for the most part, the effects wear off. In Vilheim’s case, the tainted blood and ritual he uses, binds his soul to the soul of whoever drinks. This ritual creates a second stream of life, similar to that of the Faye, but the flow of life and death is controlled strictly by Vilheim. He has lived long past his time and has survived only by this binding and linking of his life. But now his power is extremely limited as he expended most of it in the creation of Erith.
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