by Rachel Aaron
Algonquin pulled back. “The banishment,” she whispered. “That was their magic?”
“It was everyone’s magic,” Marci said. “Land, Animal, Mortal—they all volunteered because they were scared to death of what you did! But even though my banishment failed, I’m still happy I tried, because it proved what I’ve been saying all along.”
“That I’m the enemy?” Algonquin said bitterly.
Marci shook her head. “That we’re all the same.” She looked down at Ghost in her arms. “You always talked about the Mortal Spirits like they were aliens, some kind of new invasion completely separate from other spirits, but they’re not. Ghost’s vessel might have been carved by humans instead of geology, but he protects the forgotten dead just like you protect your waters and your fish. If you need more proof, look at Raven. He figured out ages ago that the lines we drew to divide spirit types are nonsense, and he used that knowledge to become something more.”
“Do not speak that traitor’s name!” Algonquin snarled, her watery head turning as she searched the dark around them. “Where is he anyway? Lurking in the shadows for the right moment to swoop down and say something dramatic?”
“He’s not here,” Marci said, her face grim. “He gave up his magic just like everyone else to try to banish you before you destroyed everything. He hasn’t risen again yet. At this rate, he might never do so.”
For the first time since they’d arrived, Algonquin looked sad, her murky water drooping. Then she pulled herself back together. “It does not matter,” she said. “Raven was always against me.”
“You were against you,” Marci said. “Raven was always the one trying to save you.”
“He was a fool,” Algonquin spat. “But it doesn’t matter.” She slipped back into her muddy pool. “Criticize me all you like, mortal, but it’s too late. This world is already finished.”
“But it’s not!” Julius cried, grabbing the water with his claws. “That’s why we risked so much to come here! Because we’re all still alive, and so are you. You’re not dead yet, Algonquin! There’s still time to change your mind.”
The pool of water scoffed. “And do what? Join you? Forget the wrongs I’ve suffered and embrace those who hate me just as much as I hate them?”
“It was you who made us enemies,” Ghost said, his cold voice startlingly soft as he hopped out of Marci’s arms. “The DFZ and I were not born hating you. You taught us to hate through your actions. You killed the hundreds of thousands of people whose anger woke me from my sleep. You enslaved the city you built. Those are your sins, Algonquin. Not ours.”
“Your kind are the ones who taught mine to fear,” the water spirit snapped. “You were so out of control, your own Merlins shut down the magic because they couldn’t deal with you. Where’s the callout for those sins, cat?”
“That’s unfair,” Marci argued. “You can’t blame Ghost for what Mortal Spirits did before the drought any more than you can blame me for what human mages did a thousand years before I was born.”
“So I should ignore them? Do nothing?” She pointed at the Empty Wind. “His kind trampled mine and turned the world into a hell. Do you expect me to forget that just because he did? He’s as immortal as I am! The Empty Wind blew back then just as it does now, but unlike the Mortal Spirits, I did not wake ignorant. I learned from the past to act in the present before it ruined my future!”
Marci responded with something cutting, but Julius wasn’t listening anymore. He didn’t need to. The arguments might be different, but the dug-in anger he heard in their voices was the same as he’d heard all his life. Marci and the spirits were stuck in the same cycle of violence and revenge that Julius had been banging his head against ever since he’d found the courage to lift it. But as frustrating as that was, it gave him hope, because while he was an outsider when it came to spirit magic, this was a problem he knew as well as his own fire.
“It has to stop.”
The spirits and Marci jumped in surprise at his voice, and then Algonquin’s water hit him in the face like a slap.
“This is none of your affair,” she snarled. “You do not get to speak here, dragon.”
“It’s because I’m a dragon that I can say this,” Julius replied, shaking the water off his feathers. “I’ve seen the damage hate and vengeance do to everything they touch. Just look at what they’ve done to you.” He looked pointedly down at the pathetic stretch of muddy water. “You were the Lady of the Great Lakes, the most powerful spirit in North America. Now you’d fit in a bucket.”
The water shivered. “You dare mock me?”
“I’m not mocking you,” he said. “I’m drawing your attention to the results of your actions. I understand why you did it. You saw your world changing, and you blamed the humans and the Mortal Spirits because they were the face of that change, but not once did you stop and remember that you’re a product of change as well. Your five lakes used to be one. Before the last ice age, they weren’t there at all. The source was different, but as Marci already pointed out, you were born into this world the same as any other spirit. Or any dragon.”
“You are not of our world,” she spat.
“But I was born here,” Julius said. “So was my mother and every other living dragon. The Three Sisters you killed were the last dragons born in our old world. The rest of us were made right here, same as the humans or any other animal. Now that Amelia has tied our magic to this plane, we really are native, and we’re fighting now to protect our world just like you are.”
“This is not your world,” Algonquin rumbled, pointing at Ghost and Marci. “It’s not their world, either. It’s my world!”
“And in a few minutes, it’ll be no one’s world,” Julius growled. “Don’t you get it? You’ve been so busy fighting for what you think you lost, you can’t even see what you’re actually losing right now!”
“I lose nothing,” Algonquin said, slapping her water against the blackness. “This is my chosen victory! I would rather die here alone than live on in a world where I am ruled by Mortal Spirits, defiled by humans, and plagued by dragons!”
“But that’s just it!” Julius cried. “You’re so convinced that change is your enemy, you’ve forgotten that you can change, too. Everything can! If you don’t like how a tree is growing, you don’t burn it to the ground. You help it—prune it, tie it, coax it in a different direction. The future’s no different. As Ghost just said, Mortal Spirits didn’t come out hating you. You taught them that, because the only one who’s ever acted like it’s our way or the highway is you. But the good news is that you can change your mind.”
“Impossible,” Ghost growled. “She will never change. Her hate is too deep.”
“Everything can change,” Julius said. “Two months ago, I thought my clan would always be a nest of vipers, but this afternoon, I watched all of Heartstriker fight alongside clans we’ve been enemies with for centuries.” He turned back to Algonquin. “If stubborn old dragons can change to survive, you can. I mean, you’re water! All you do is change, so change now. Let the old grudges go. Look forward instead of backward. If you can’t live in this world, then work with us to build one you can live in. But if you destroy everything now, then it’s over for everyone, including the lakes you’ve fought so hard all this time to protect.”
That last part was the most important. Julius had been taught from birth to see Algonquin as his enemy, but even when he’d lived in her shadow in the DFZ, he’d never doubted her dedication to her lakes. Everything she’d done, including this, was to protect the land and those who came from it, and that gave him hope. She’d made a lot of terrible choices, but anyone who could die for others could surely be convinced to live for them instead. Even the fact that she’d held on to the Leviathan for sixty years before using it was a sign that Algonquin wasn’t an implacable enemy. She was just desperate and cornered, like Estella had been, or Chelsie.
Like himself.
When Marci had died, he could have done terrible things. Would hav
e, if Chelsie hadn’t stopped him. When she’d grabbed him, the line between tragedy and survival had come down to a single moment. One decision to bend instead of break. To keep moving forward instead of dying with his fangs in his enemy’s throat. It was a choice that couldn’t be forced, couldn’t be demanded. It could only be asked, so that was what Julius did now, lowering his head respectfully before the Algonquin.
“Please,” he said, bowing before the spirit who’d wanted him and all his kind dead for ten thousand years. “Don’t give up yet. All of us are here right now because we’re too stubborn to die. That’s common ground, so let’s stand on it. Let’s be stubborn together. Let’s fight and argue and refuse to give up until we’ve hammered out a world we can all live with. It might take a long time, and things might get worse before they get better, but if we just keep going, there’s nothing that can stop us from getting where we want to be. All I’m asking is that you keep trying with us. Please, Algonquin.”
A long silence fell when he finished, and then the lake spirit sighed. “You beg surprisingly well for a dragon.”
“I’m not begging,” Julius said, lifting his head. “I’m asking you to do what you know is right. It’s not over. You can still fix this.”
“No,” she said, cowering in her puddle. “It was the only way. The Mortal Spirits—”
“What could Mortal Spirits do to you that’s worse than what you’ve done to yourself?” Julius demanded. “I’ve seen your lakes, Algonquin! Your shores are dry. Your fish are dead. The Leviathan took every drop of water from them, and you let him. You were their spirit, their god, and you let them die.”
“Stop,” Algonquin whispered, sinking lower.
“I can’t stop,” Julius said angrily. “Not until you do. You’ve always claimed you were fighting to protect the land. Now’s your chance to prove it. Stop this, Algonquin. Don’t be the hammer that breaks the only home we have.”
By the time he finished, Algonquin’s muddy puddle was smaller than a dinner plate. When she didn’t rise again, Julius was terrified they were too late, that the Leviathan had already finished her off. Then her water started to shake, and Julius understood. Algonquin wasn’t being devoured. She was crying, weeping in ripples that quickly grew to waves.
“I can’t,” she sobbed. “Don’t you see? It’s too late. Even if I wanted to stop, I already let him in.”
She lifted a watery hand as she finished, and Julius gasped. In the dark of the emptiness, Algonquin’s water had looked muddy, but now that a bit of her was stretched out under the soft light of the Black Reach’s fire, Julius saw the truth. Algonquin wasn’t murky at all. Like always, her water was crystal clear. The off color was merely an illusion created by thousands of dark, tiny lines running through her body. The way they spread reminded Julius of roots, but there was nothing plantlike about the hungry way the black tips twitched and moved, crawling through Algonquin’s water like predators as they ate her alive.
“There is no more choice,” she whispered, pulling her arm back down. “He’s in every drop of my magic now. When he’s finished consuming all the water from my physical lakes, he will be me, and our world will be his.”
The defeat in her voice made Julius tremble. Even Marci was shaking, her whole body wobbling as she dropped to her knees beside Algonquin’s murky shallows. “There has to be a way to reverse it,” she said. “It’s still your water. What if we—”
“There is nothing,” Algonquin said bitterly. “Everywhere I look, everything I touch, he’s already there, and I’m so tired. I’ve fought for so long now, lost so many times. If I could go back and do things differently, maybe this wouldn’t have been such a waste, but as Raven loved to croak at me, we can never go back. The past is gone, and soon, I will be too.” The puddle sloshed resentfully. “I’m sure that brings you joy.”
“How can you think that?” Julius asked, heartbroken. “What have I ever said that could make you believe this is anything but a tragedy for everyone?”
The water gurgled, sinking even lower into her shrinking pool. “You are truly the strangest dragon I’ve ever met,” she said quietly. “I wish we’d had this conversation decades ago, back when it might have done some good. But now…”
She let out a long, watery sigh, and then she lifted her head, raising her mirrored face from the hand-sized splash of water that was all that was left of her. “I will not apologize. This isn’t how I meant for things to end, but I only did what I thought I must to protect my world, and I will never be sorry for that.”
Knowing she’d had the best intentions just made everything worse. At this point, Julius almost wished she’d died cursing them. The hate would have stung, but at least it would have been a clean ending, not this bitter, tragic mess. Looking at Algonquin, all he could think was that if only he’d been better, said something sooner, he could have prevented this. They’d spoken before, but he’d always been too distracted by other disasters to pay attention to why Algonquin was acting the way she was. If he’d taken the time, looked harder, maybe everything would have been different. Because she wasn’t a monster. None of them were. Dragons, spirits, humans—they were all just flawed, floundering souls fumbling their way as best they could. Now they’d fumbled right off the cliff, and by the time Julius realized what was happening, it was too late.
That was what ate at him the most. Not the loss or the death, but the waste. The deep unfairness of fighting so hard only to discover you’d never had a chance. He couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t lose. Not after how hard they’d tried. Not after everything they’d been through.
And just like that, Julius came to a decision of his own. It took only a moment, barely a thought, but he must have spent way too much time with Bob lately, because Julius could have sworn he felt the future pivot toward a new direction as he raised his head to look at Algonquin again.
“If things had been different,” he asked quietly, “if you could do everything over, knowing what you know now, would you work with us?”
The spirit’s mirrored face flashed with annoyance, but the inevitability of their coming deaths must have been enough to defang even Algonquin’s hatred, because in the end, she just shrugged what was left of her water. “Perhaps. I certainly wouldn’t have given up like I did. I would never have run to you with open arms, but if I could go back and do it all again…” She thought a moment longer, and then her head bobbed. “I would have acted differently, yes.”
That was all Julius needed to know. “Marci?”
She lifted her head hopelessly. “If you’re looking to me for a solution, don’t bother, ’cause I’ve got nothing.”
“That’s not why I’m looking at you,” he said, leaning down to rest his feathered head on hers. “I love you.”
Marci looked surprised by the sudden show of affection, which made Julius feel guilty for not telling her the truth sooner. If they’d had time, he could have gone on forever about how much meeting her had changed his life for the better and how important she was to him. But Algonquin’s puddle was shrinking by the second, so he had to settle for a final deep breath, holding the air that smelled of Marci and magic in his mouth as long as he dared. Then, when he couldn’t stall any longer, Julius turned to the lake spirit and lurched forward, sinking his teeth deep into what was left of Algonquin.
As runt of his clutch, Julius had never been much of a dragon. He was awful in a fight, couldn’t cast spells, had terrible control of his fire, and generally failed at everything most dragons considered vital to survival. But while he was a disappointment in every traditional sense, there were two things Julius did very well: being fast and ignoring the instincts that ruled other dragons’ lives, including, in this particular instance, the drive toward self-preservation.
He bit Algonquin like a striking viper, sinking his teeth into painfully cold water that tasted of fish and death. If he’d had a thought to spare for such luxuries, he would have been proud since this was probably the best hit any dragon had ever
landed on the Lady of the Lakes, but his target wasn’t actually the spirit. He was going for the tendrils that ran through her, the threads of the creature who was not from their world. Those were what Julius was eying when his jaws snapped down, devouring all that was left of Algonquin in one quick bite.
“Dragon!” The lake spirit’s voice was a roar as she poured down his throat. “What are you doing?”
“Getting you another chance,” Julius said, or tried to say. The black threads twisting down his throat hurt far more than he’d anticipated. Even with Marci screaming at him, he couldn’t make a sound. Thankfully, everything else seemed to be working perfectly.
As cold and magical as she tasted, Algonquin’s water flowed down his throat just like any other liquid. He could actually feel her spreading through his blood as she was absorbed into his body, the chill of her touch spidering through his brain as she panicked, which made him sad. He hadn’t wanted to scare her, but if he’d explained what he intended to do before he did it, he’d have risked tipping the Leviathan off. He’d hoped to tell her the truth now, but eating the Leviathan’s tendrils had hurt so much more than he’d expected. More than anything ever had, including the beating he’d gotten from Gregory. Painful as it was, though, he had to say something, because if Algonquin didn’t understand what he was doing, it was all for nothing.
“I’m a dragon,” he choked out at last. “Mostly water, like any other animal. But I’m also an outsider. A creature from another plane.” He broke off, catching a few rapid breaths before forcing himself to continue. “The Black Reach’s magic is still the pure fire of my ancestors. It’s what’s been keeping the Leviathan from eating us all this whole time. I figured if the fire could stop him from eating Marci and me, it could keep him from eating you too.”
But he already ate me! Algonquin’s voice cried in his mind. Now he’s in both of us!
Julius grinned a bloody grin. “But you can leave me. The Leviathan can’t get through the Black Reach’s magic or he would have done it by now, but you’re water. You can move through anything, and I’ve seen you use dragon blood before.”