by Chrys Cymri
A few minutes later Alastair bounded across the dying grasses. His coat was thickening with the onset of winter, making him appear even larger. Tail sweeping from side to side, he marched up to Fianna, his jaws open in laughter.
‘Doesn’t he ever bark?’ she asked, rubbing his head.
Deian fed Alastair the question, then translated the answer. ‘He’s never found the need.’
‘You did it again. You talked to him.’
Alastair made a wry comment, and Deian smiled. He said, almost shyly, ‘He likes you very much. I think, one day, he might leave here with you.’
Fianna drew back. ‘I wouldn’t take him. He’s your dog.’
Deian shook his head. ‘You make it sound as if I own him.’
‘Don’t you?’
‘As little as I own the moons. The pigs are mine.’ He touched the dog’s grey coat gently. ‘Alastair has decided to be with me, and assist me with the hogs. But we are friends. He’s free to leave, should he ever wish to.’
‘You should always make sure of what you own.’ Then Fianna scowled. ‘You changed the subject. Teach me how to call him without speaking.’
Deian hesitated, unsure if the awareness were something which could be taught. At her urging, he tried to make her understand that everything on the Land was interconnected. Plants grew from the soil, animals ate the vegetation, and other animals ate the grazers. The Land provided life to all, both to her own children, and those she had adopted.
‘Adopted?’ Fianna repeated sharply. ‘What do you mean?’
He shrugged helplessly. ‘Some, like the cherlubar, were always here. We came afterwards, humans, dogs, pigs, birds, horses. Dragons and unicorns.’
‘Then where did we come from?’
The Land had once tried to answer that for him. Confused impressions of metal scarring earth with its sudden impact, a sudden outpour of energy, new beings with only four limbs striding across the ground. The Land had already been alive, but something had surged across her at the moment, giving her new awareness, new focus. Deian answered simply, ‘I don’t know.’
Alastair stood patiently as Fianna’s forehead creased in concentration. She did not need Deian to tell her that she was achieving nothing. ‘Oh, this is stupid!’ she finally said, jumping to her feet.
Deian cocked his head. ‘Alastair feels that you think too much. You won’t still your mind.’
‘Well, I’ve got lots to think about.’ She leaned down to pat the dog.
Something gold and red tumbled from her shirt, swinging on a long chain. Deian rose to his own feet, startled by the power he felt in the object. ‘What’s that?’
‘Mine.’ Fianna quickly slid the ring out of sight.
‘It’s no more yours than Alastair’s mine.’ Deian shook his head. The Land had recognised the ring, and her sudden thrust of hope was confusing him. ‘And it’s not complete.’
‘There are two more parts.’ She straightened. ‘I’ll find them.’
‘Care when you have them.’ He spoke slowly. The Land was communicating through him, and he had to translate her images into the imprecision of words. ‘The three together are a thing of power.’
Fianna shrugged the warning away. ‘What do you know? You’re just a pig herder.’
As she ran back across the fields to town, Deian found himself wondering if she were really the servant he had thought her to be. Or was she something more?
<><><><><><>
Autumn and winter passed without Deian seeing Fianna again. His days were full, especially once the snows had bound him, dog, and pigs to his small house. The stocks of food he had stored were ample to feed them all, and between the bodies of thirty creatures and the large fire the well-built walls kept them all warm. As with the winters since his father’s death, he spent much of his days in a half-sleep. Borrowing energy from the minds of the pigs and the willing Alastair, his mind ranged far across the Four Kingdoms.
What he found worried him even more. There was some trouble with the First Kingdom, that of the unicorns. Although he did not understand all of their rituals, he sensed the missing element. The dragons, the Second Kingdom high in their mountain caves, were finding that they could not always exit the time streams in the place and hour of their choosing. Only the humans of the Third and Fourth Kingdoms appeared unconcerned. They seemed unaware that fewer and fewer mages were being born, that the power once exercised in the highest places of learning was now dwindling to memory.
Deian returned to himself each evening. Preoccupied with his concerns, he sometimes placed Alastair’s nut cakes in front of the pigs, and gave their dried fungus to the hound. They merely swapped food dishes behind him, unconcerned so long as there was sufficient for all. Alastair made sure that Deian had a share of his own stores.
‘Magic,’ Deian finally said to the dog one evening, the solemnity of his words making him speak aloud as well as direct to Alastair’s mind. ‘That’s what’s happening. Magic’s disappearing from the Land. I wonder what’s being done about it?’
<><><><><><>
Summer came before Deian saw Fianna again. She strode through the pig herd one overcast day, taller than he last remembered her. ‘I’ve had the most boring lesson today,’ she said, dropping to the ground near him as if she had never been away. ‘Cross-stitching. Can you imagine that? Why do I need to know how to stitch?’
Deian silently called one of the piglets over. He lifted a pink ear to show a thin red line across the back of the head, neat stitches of dark thread closing the lips of the wound.
‘All right, maybe it has some use,’ she admitted grudgingly.
She continued to rattle on about her lessons in geography and how cold the house had been during the winter. Deian found himself smiling as he listened, only now realising that he’d missed her visits.
Summer went and autumn came, his mornings spent tending to the needs of his herd, the afternoons playing on the flute his father had left him, or carving as Fianna lectured him in the intricate games of military strategy. ‘I’m going to be a knight,’ she told him one day.
He lowered his flute, fingers rubbing the aged wood. ‘We’re not at war with anyone.’
‘We will be.’ She tossed her head back, as she always did when arguing. ‘The Third Kingdom wants our lands. That’s what the Lady Sallah told me. We have to be ready to defend ourselves. You don’t seem interested,’ she said sharply.
Caught in the act of raising the flute to his lips, Deian shrugged. ‘It has nothing to do with me.’
‘Of course it does.’ She snorted. ‘Do you think even a pig herder can hide from battle? When war comes, it affects everyone.’
‘Then,’ he said gravely, ‘we should try not to war.’
‘You don’t understand.’ She waved it away. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.’
Deian smiled. ‘Thank you.’
Hearing the near-sarcasm, Fianna drew herself up straight. ‘What do you think I am?’
‘One of Lady Sallah’s servants.’
‘But I’m--’ Fianna cut off suddenly. She glanced away. Deian felt something go through her, a struggle between two parts of herself. Human minds were always trickier to read than those of animals, so he merely waited. Finally something hardened her face. ‘Yes, I suppose I am her servant, in a way.’
The ghost of a presence prevented him from asking further questions. He slid the flute into his shirt, then stood, waiting. The cherlubar stepped gingerly from the forest, limping, although the wound was long healed. The small, pink appendages attached to the shoulders were coiling and uncoiling, reflecting the agitation he sensed in the deep mind.
‘What’s she doing here?’ Fianna breathed.
Deian was already moving to the creature’s side. He knelt within touch of the fragile head, trying to open his mind as far as possible. The alien thoughts brushed over the surface, too different to grasp fully. Something was in the woods, something strong and dangerous. The cherlubar had been sent to him for
help.
Even this much communication had raised an ache between Deian’s eyes. He rose, rubbing his forehead. The cherlubar flicked a hairless tail, then turned, looking back to make sure he followed.
He was led deeper and deeper into the forest, the trees thickening until the weave of branches plunged the space beneath into dark shadow. The cherlubar almost disappeared into the blackness, and she had to retrieve him several times. As they neared the sound of a small waterfall, however, he began to sense the being which had frightened the creatures of the woods. The cherlubar faded into the shadows, and he stepped into the small clearing alone.
A dragon stood in the pool formed just beyond the splashing of the waterfall. He had braced his legs on the rocky lining so he could hold his right eye in the liquid. Blood oozed from a deep wound, colouring the water to a shade only slightly lighter than the muted scales. This close, Deian could sense his thoughts, running together in a rush of anger and pain.
Something bobbed on the surface of the thickening water. Deian moved closer. The objects were fish, their bodies white and sickly. He followed the flow of the water from the pool, noting that the plants which grew along the edge of the stream were beginning to blacken and die. This was why he had been brought here. The dragon’s blood was poisoning the woods.
Deian studied the beast, wondering what he could do. Unlike unicorns, whose sense of honour and honesty flared brightly in the minds he had touched, dragons recognised no loyalties to any creed or cause beyond Family. Pointing out that the dragon was destroying the water supplies for a town would most likely bring nothing more than an uncaring laugh.
Slowly pulling the flute from his shirt, Deian raised it to his lips and began a soft tune. He watched the ear free of water twitch, then swivel in his direction. With a groan, the dragon raised his head. Water and blood dripped from what remained of the right eye. The dragon’s thoughts became more focussed. He would destroy this merry piper, and drop his head back into the cooling water.
Deian stopped playing. ‘The water only eases the pain,’ he said calmly. ‘It won’t cure the wound.’
The dragon decided the human was a fool to assume that a member of the Family spoke Human. The best condition for a fool was death. The long head swung towards him, left eye blinking as he focussed on Deian.
‘I know you understand me.’ Deian strode forward, stopping a few yards away from the glowing orb. The smell of festering flesh from the damaged eye made his stomach churn. ‘And I know you can speak.’
‘It’s a dragon,’ Fianna said suddenly, some distance behind him.
Deian’s hands curled, nails pressing hard against skin. Without turning his head, he said, ‘Leave, or I will tell Alastair to take you away.’
‘Let her stay.’ The dragon climbed onto the bank, towering over Deian. Water dripped from the jaws, splashing just beyond his boots. The serpentine neck coiled back upon itself as the dragon raised his head. He lowered his snout in a brief, mocking bow. ‘Fianna.’
‘What do you want here?’ she said tightly. ‘The Second and Fourth Kingdoms are allies.’
‘I soak my eye.’ His tail slapped loudly against the water. ‘The pool was once touched by unicorn horn.’
Deian walked past the long body and ran fingers through the mottled water. ‘You lie,’ he told the dragon. ‘The horn was brought with you. Any pool your eye touches would give you ease. But it won’t heal you.’
‘What will?’
Deian carefully wiped his hand free of dragon blood, the skin already tingling. ‘The piece of horn in your eye has to be removed. Only then will the wound begin to close.’
The dragon waited until Deian stood in front of him before speaking again. ‘If you help me, you will regret it.’ The emerald eye looked beyond him at Fianna. ‘Do you wish to tell him why I know this?’
‘Because,’ Deian said quietly, ‘dragons are but loosely bound by time.’
‘Do you know that for yourself? Or do you merely repeat what has been told to you?’ The eye blinked. ‘Come and see.’
Another blink, and Deian was drawn into the glimmering depths. The impact of the complex mind made his own nerves scream with pain. A complex labyrinth of thoughts uncoiled around him, even time transparent to their workings. Yesterday the dragon had been wounded, and this morning he had slipped back nine months. Following the time streams was as simple as choosing a path through a forest.
You lie, He told the dragon. Even the two words were a struggle to press against the flow of consciousness crushing Deian. It used to be that simple. But not anymore.
That he could force a thought of his own startled the dragon. As the beast sought to recover his control, Deian reached out a hand, clutched at the dirt beneath his body. Dragon magic was not the same as the Land’s magic. They were not even adopted children. Deian called on the Land, seeking her touch through the mud squeezing between his chilled fingers.
Forest and water swirled back into existence around him. He took a deep, ragged breath of air, unsurprised to find his cheek pressed against the gritty sand at the pool’s edge. The quiet awareness of the Land hovered around him a moment longer, touching him with a quick caress. Then her presence dissipated, merging once again with the ground.
Deian tried to stand. Alastair was instantly beside him, lending him a strong shoulder. Wiping his eyes, Deian found blood mingled with tears. His ears were ringing, and only after shaking his head did he realise that Fianna was arguing with the dragon.
‘You have only one part of that pretty bauble,’ said the dragon. ‘And neither the knowledge nor the strength to use it even if it were complete.’
As his vision cleared, Deian found the trees ringed by creatures of the forest. Birds weighed down tree branches, cherlubar, deer, and animals for which he had no names watched from the shadows. Sent by the Land at his call for help. The dragon turned a half-lidded eye to him. ‘I had thought you weak, little man. But I will remember your protector, when next we meet.’
Deian straightened. Feeling was slowly returning to numbed muscles. A part of him marvelled at Fianna’s lack of fear, facing a creature twice as large as a warhorse, and far more deadly. ‘At the moment, you need my help.’
Blood was beginning to flow again from the damaged eye, swelling from the deep wound to drip darkly onto the sands. ‘If you heal me, you will one day lose that which you most love.’
‘If I do not,’ Deian pointed out, ‘you will poison forest, field, and town. I can’t allow that.’
The dragon chuckled. ‘The Land has found her Champion.’
Deian nodded, slowly, sensing that he had received his answer. He drew his knife from its sheath. ‘Rest your head along the ground.’
The dragon obeyed, commenting, ‘Battlefield surgery. Be gentle, or I might tear off your arm.’
Alastair had disappeared, searching through the tree roots for a glowing fungus which Deian often used. He returned now, lips carefully peeled back from the astringent toadstool. ‘Why don’t you stop yourself from being wounded?’ Deian asked, propping a foot against the fungus as he drew steel through the stem. Liquid stained the bright metal, cleaning the blade. ‘Ride the time stream to warn yourself of this outcome.’
The dragon chuckled a second time. ‘There are many possibilities. But some events must happen, and this is one of those if the Family is to exist.’
‘But the Family has always existed,’ Fianna said, sounding confused.
‘Not in every possibility. And we must ensure this possibility.’
Fianna stared at him. ‘You’re not what I expected.’
‘And you,’ said the dragon, tone low and menacing, ‘will you tell the Land’s Champion who you truly are?’
Deian straightened, ready. His muscles were already beginning to stiffen with the aftereffect of the dragon’s mental invasion. ‘Hold still.’
‘He means, hold your tongue,’ Fianna muttered to the dragon.
The dragon’s other eye closed, and he sighed
heavily. Deian moved close to the large head, as high as his waist, though the lower jaw was resting on mud. The eye socket was as large as two outspread palms, and ravaged by a long deep wound. The source of the infection was embedded in the raw flesh. The silver curls were untainted by the black blood oozing along the short shaft.
Deian tightened both hands around the leather-wrapped hilt of his knife. The dragon shuddered, once, as he eased the cold metal along the side of the piece of horn. The pure silver twisted away from the blade’s steel, freeing a passage for the dagger. Deian slowly worked the steel deeper and deeper, his hands moving to the rounded end of the hilt as he tried to avoid the blood moving down the metal.
Unicorn horn sung a high note of protest as steel tip finally ground against silver. Deian threw his weight to one side, flipping the blade against the end of the horn. For a moment, the obstacle held. Then the piece of horn was flung free, Deian dropping the knife and skipping to one side as a fresh flow of blood followed the removal. The tip bounced along the ground, finally dropping into the pool.
The dragon raised his head, sand and mud churning under his silver claws as he turned. He thrust the eye back into the water. The pool shimmered, silver spreading across the surface, mingling with the blood. When the dragon lifted his head free, the wound was still raw, but sealed. Behind him the water was pure again. Only the gently bobbing remains of dead fish marked the former poison.
He tilted his head and focused the remaining eye on Fianna. ‘When you meet me for the third time,’ the dragon said mildly, ‘remind me that unicorn hunting is a dangerous pastime. The horn is for you to carry. I had hoped for an entire length, but three inches should do.’
‘Should do for what?’ she asked suspiciously.
The dragon winked. ‘Possibilities. All possibilities.’
With a roar of wind and flung wings, the dragon leapt from the pool. Water and sand fell from his claws, griming Deian’s tunic even further. Birds scrabbled desperately out of his path. The dragon laughed, his tail sweeping through the flocks, his claws tearing more bodies from the sky. Deian watched as feathers and blood dropped through the trees. He felt a wrench deep within the air, and the dragon shifted into another time stream.