She kissed his cheek. His mouth curved into a slight smile, but he didn’t wake until she said his name several times and shook his shoulder.
His eyes fluttered open, his sleep-smile widening into a real one. “Hey,” he said in a drowsy voice. “You gotta go?”
“Pretty soon.” Zeisha was glad it had taken a few hours to prepare for the trip. Krey had needed the sleep. As he sat up, yawned, and stretched, he looked nothing like the half-dead guy who’d walked into Eira’s office. “You don’t need to get up for me,” she said.
“If my head is on the pillow, I’ll go right back to sleep.” He patted the bed next to him. “Have a seat?”
“Krey, you should go right back to sleep. For as long as you can.”
“I’m feeling way better already, thanks to the trog healer. My head only hurts a little. Come on, let me give you a proper goodbye. Then I’ll nap like a good boy, I promise.”
Zeisha smiled and sat, facing him. “Since you’re awake, we should talk,” she said softly.
His grin disappeared. “Okay?”
She drew in a deep breath. “Krey . . . I can’t fly with you when the army comes.”
His internal battle was clear and fierce. His mouth gaped and shoulders drooped in momentary disappointment. Then he caught himself, squaring his shoulders and smiling again. “That’s okay. I’ve always told you it’s okay. I know you hate fighting, and I’m glad you’ll be safe with the other—”
“That’s not it,” she said, taking his hand. “Yes, I hate fighting, but . . . I love these people. I don’t want to hide. I want to protect them. And I love flying with you—you know I do. But I can’t use my magic in violent ways. I need to use it to protect the trogs instead.”
His head tilted to one side. “How?”
She told him all about her dream to make thorn shields. “Don’t be too impressed,” she said when she saw his smile. “We tried, but it didn’t work. Maybe if we had a week to prepare . . .”
“So what’s your plan?”
“I don’t know.” She shook her head hard. “The shield idea . . . it felt so right. I thought maybe it was from God, not from me . . . you know?”
He squeezed her hand. “And now you don’t know what you’re supposed to do?”
She shook her head. A curl bounced into her eyes, and he tucked it behind her ear. “I hope I figure it out before the army gets here,” she said. “All I know is, I can’t fly on your back and kill people with my vines. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. Really.”
“It doesn’t feel okay. When I got this shield idea, I thought I’d finally figured out who I was—at least when it came to how I should use my magic. Now I’m lost again.”
Krey pulled her into a tight hug. “I know who you are,” he said into her hair. “I love who you are.”
The words rang strangely hollow to her. A year ago, in Tirra, they would’ve been exactly what she needed to hear. What had changed?
It’s not enough. I need to know myself. I need to love myself. She’d thought she was getting there, but yesterday’s failure had torn up her self-confidence, as if the thorns she’d grown had somehow gotten tangled in her spirit.
Zeisha clung to Krey, letting his warm arms distract her from her confused thoughts. At last, she pulled back. She needed to go, and she couldn’t leave without a kiss, not when Krey might be waging war by the time she returned.
He must’ve been thinking the same thing, because he brought his warm lips to hers. Their mouths fit together as perfectly as ever, and the kiss brought her the exquisite mixture of comfort and passion that characterized so much of their time together.
This was the same boy Zeisha had grown up loving. These were the kisses they’d shared for years. But in a way, it felt like she was kissing a different person—or like he was.
A strange thought slipped into her mind. Maybe we aren’t just kissing each other goodbye. Maybe we’re kissing our old selves goodbye too.
Zeisha pulled back. “I have to go. And you need to sleep before the army gets here.”
“You’re doing great,” he said.
“Maybe I’d believe you if I knew what I was doing at all.”
“You’ll figure it out. I know you will.”
She gave him a tight hug, then left.
It was late morning when Nora finally told the dragons it was time to go. Eira had spent the last five hours preparing her people for the upcoming battle.
Eira and Nora climbed onto Osmius as Zeisha and Sarza mounted Taima’s broad back. “Are you okay?” Nora asked Eira.
The elderly trog turned her head. “Of course.”
Well, then. Nora had envisioned having to support a frightened woman throughout the long flight. Good thing Krey’s not here; I’m not sure his sanity could survive a two-hour dragon flight. She didn’t realize she’d shared the thought with Osmius until his rich laughter filled her mind.
They rose into the air. Taima, who always took too many risks with her passengers, flew upward at a sharp angle. When Sarza cursed loud enough for all of Deroga to hear it, the female dragon shifted to a more gradual ascent.
It didn’t take long to exit trog territory. Nora marveled as they flew over a great swath of wild land that had probably once been an urban park. As they neared Burig Bay, she saw massive warehouses, ten times bigger than the one that had housed the militia.
Boats and ships still inhabited the docks at the edge of the bay. Once-bright surfaces were discolored, and a few masts had broken. A tree grew from a small boat that had been pulled onto shore.
Past the docks, a Skytrain track sloped down from above the city and ran through a large building on the shore. Where the track exited the building, ancient scaffolding held up a small section, extending over the water. Apparently it had been under construction on The Day. All Nora could think was that if she had a choice of how to cross the bay, she’d ride a dragon over a train any day.
Soon, the only thing Nora could see was pristine, blue water, sparkling with sunlight. The unending expanse lulled her into a near-trance. It felt like they’d been traveling forever when Taima’s rich voice jolted her back to alertness.
The new human insists she must speak with Eira.
Sarza? Nora and Osmius asked in unison.
Yes. The pushy one.
Nora laughed.
I shall fly under you, Taima, Osmius said. He accelerated to catch up with his mate, then swooped down to fly beneath her. He positioned much of his body under Taima’s right wing. Sunlight shone through the translucent skin of the great wing. Where the light hit Nora, she glowed, like someone had brushed gold dust on her skin. Now that’s an effect I wish I could use for parties, she thought.
Taima’s wing didn’t cover Eira, who was in front of Nora. The trog lifted her head, her white braid falling to the side. “What do you need?” she called.
Nora couldn’t see Sarza through Taima’s wing, but she heard her shout, “I had a vision!”
“While in the air?” Eira asked.
“Yes! When we talk to the prime minister, we have to ask to meet with—” The wind swallowed the rest of Sarza’s message.
“Who?” Eira called.
“Anya!” Sarza shouted even louder.
“Who is that?”
“I have no idea!”
“Very well!” Eira said.
Osmius dropped a few mets, slowing to again fly behind his mate. Nora-human, he said, his deep voice resonating in her mind, Look ahead.
She did. The water of Burig Bay no longer extended to the horizon. A land mass, gray and shapeless from this distance, awaited them. The nation of Cruine.
Preet, the Cruinite capital, sat on the shore of Burig Bay. A river ran through the city. Not too far north was another river, along which sat the ruins of a preday city. It was smaller than Deroga, but Zeisha still found it impressive from above.
Eira had assured them that the Cruinite government was peaceful, almost to a fault. She and other tr
og representatives had visited years ago to conduct trade negotiations. She seemed certain no one would shoot down the dragons as they approached. Still, Zeisha’s pulse quickened as they descended toward a large, green lawn in front of the nation’s rather modest capitol building.
No one attacked, but guards in dark uniforms shouted warnings as the massive reptids landed.
“We are trogs,” Eira called as soon as the dragons had touched down.
“Please hold your hands up,” a female guard shouted from several dozen mets away. They all complied.
“May we dismount?” Eira asked.
The guard gave them permission to do so slowly.
Taima and Osmius settled in the grass as their passengers approached the guard. After a short, animated conversation, the guard gestured for one of her colleagues to join her. When he arrived to keep an eye on their visitors, she ran toward the capitol building.
The male guard carried on a polite conversation with them while they waited. Cruinites had a slight accent that Zeisha found elegant. I wonder if they feel the same about the way we talk?
After at least half an hour, the female guard returned to escort them inside.
The capitol building was constructed of dark-gray stone. Just before the group reached the plain, wooden doors, the dragons rose into the air, their wings snapping.
“I wonder where they’re going,” the guard said.
“It was a long flight,” Nora said. “They’ll get water and hunt for some food.”
The guard turned sharply to her. “Hunt? What do they eat?”
“Wild animals,” Nora assured her.
“Oh . . . and how do you know that’s why they left?”
Nora grinned. “They told me.”
The guard’s eyes grew rounder than Zeisha would’ve thought possible.
The guard led the visitors through the capitol’s corridors, passing dozens of busy staffers along the way. She stopped at a single door that, like the rest of the building, was plain and functional. “Wait here.” She went inside and soon returned. “The prime minister is ready for you.”
They followed the guard into a waiting area. A smartly dressed young man with very short hair held open an inner door for them. Passing through it, they found themselves in a good-sized office with bookshelves lining three of the walls. The fourth wall held a lit fireplace.
A short, bald man was standing in front of a blocky, wooden desk. He introduced himself as Prime Minister Osk, then shook his guests’ hands as they told him their names. “Make yourselves comfortable, please,” he said, gesturing to a comfortable seating area in front of the fire.
Zeisha sat next to Sarza on a couch upholstered in smooth, black fabric. Nora and Eira took two stuffed chairs. Eira perched at the edge of hers, like she feared getting lost in it if she sat back. The prime minister sat in a wooden armchair with pads tied to the back and seat.
“I suppose you’d like sustenance after such a long trip?” he asked. Then he cocked his head with a half-smile. “Or perhaps it wasn’t long at all, since you came by air?”
Eira’s stern voice answered, “We will have water only.”
The prime minister gestured to the young man who had let them in. Moments later, they were all holding well-made glasses full of clear water. The assistant left the room, shutting the door softly behind him.
“I did not expect trade negotiations today.” The prime minister’s smile was casual, but Zeisha saw keen intelligence behind it.
“We are not here to negotiate trade,” Eira said. “As my letters say, the Cellerinian king wishes to take Deroga as his own. Even now, his army marches to the city.”
Osk’s brow furrowed with empathy that appeared genuine. “I am sorry. However, we cannot interfere. You know how much we value the peaceful relationship we have with the Kingdom of Cellerin. Our small army is only to be used for defense, and only as a last resort. I have sent letters to King Ulmin, asking him to reconsider his actions. They remain unanswered. I’m afraid that is all we can do.”
Eira opened her mouth to speak, but Nora’s urgent voice was the one that filled the room. “Prime Minister Osk, the king is my father.”
Osk sat up straighter.
Nora continued, “My father’s mind . . . he’s not all there anymore.” She swallowed. “I’m afraid we’re headed toward civil war, with him on one side and me on the other.”
“However,” Eira said firmly, drawing all eyes to her, “we know you cannot send your army to help us. That is not why we come.” She gave Nora a short glance that seemed to say, Focus, Princess. “We come here,” Eira said, “because Sarza tells us to. She is a seer.”
The prime minister blinked and turned to Sarza. “A seer.”
“Yes,” Eira said. “Sarza says we must request an introduction to someone named Anya.”
The revelation about Sarza’s ability had barely made Osk flinch. The name Anya, however, elicited a sharp gasp.
Sarza spoke, her voice sharp with impatience. “Obviously you know this Anya person. Where are they?”
Osk licked his lips and clasped his hands. His mouth opened twice, but no sound emerged. At last, he spoke directly to Sarza, his voice strained. “There is no reason you should know of him—unless you are what you claim to be.”
“So Anya’s a guy? Where is he?” Sarza demanded.
Osk’s throat throbbed visibly as he swallowed. “He is a man. However, Anya is not a name. It is a title.”
They all stared at him.
“The Anya,” Osk said, “connects us to the Well.”
34
Did you hear about the man who lived in a closet?
No, it’s not a joke. Last week, a seventy-four-year-old man was found living in a two-by-two-met storage closet in a large office building. His sleeping area took up the back half. He had a comfortable chair and stacks of books in the front half. The man fed himself at night from leftover food in the building’s kitchens. He claims he lived there for twelve years because he “wanted some peace and quiet.”
I’ve lived in crowded Deroga all my life, and I feel bonded to this man I’ve never met. If journalism doesn’t work out for me, maybe I’ll become an eccentric hermit instead.
-“The True Tale of a Happy Hermit” by Genta Ril
The Derogan Chronicle, dated Cyon 28, 6293
Osk offered to escort his guests to the Anya’s home. It wasn’t too far, he assured them. Traveling by wagon, they’d likely arrive by the next afternoon.
When they insisted on riding on dragons instead, the prime minister’s intense fear of massive reptids became obvious. Zeisha’s companions argued vehemently that they didn’t have time to travel by land.
While she agreed, she felt no need to engage in the conversation. When Osk had first spoken of the Anya, a strange peace had settled on her. It seeped into her stomach, her heart, and her very joints. I’m where I’m supposed to be.
At last, Osk agreed to fly with them. They ate a quick lunch, provided by the in-house kitchen, then walked out to Osmius and Taima. Zeisha was quiet through lunch, and as she mounted Taima, she felt lighter than she had in years.
Osk rode with her and Sarza, since Taima’s back was larger. Zeisha spoke quiet words to the prime minister, giving him tips on how to stay secure and assuring him that the dragon would keep him safe. As she spoke, some of the panic left his eyes.
The flight was longer than their trip across Burig Bay. It was late afternoon when they flew over a small forest and at last hovered above a house set in a clearing at the base of a mountain range. There were no other homes in sight.
The clearing was small, and one of Taima’s wings clipped the roof of the house on her way down. Her passengers dismounted, then moved out of the way so Taima could fly away and Osmius could land. Zeisha laid a hand on Osk’s arm. “Are you all right?”
He turned. “Yes. Your assurances helped.” His eyes narrowed, and his head tilted just a bit. He examined her closely. “Why did you come on th
is trip?”
She couldn’t keep a small smile off her lips. “I’m not sure. Why are you asking?”
He gave her an enigmatic smile. “No reason.”
Osmius landed, and soon, all five humans stood before the stone house. Osk knocked on the narrow, wooden door.
At least three minutes passed, during which Osk knocked two more times. Zeisha’s companions shifted on their feet. She stood still, feeling even more tranquil than before.
The door opened on smooth hinges. Before them stood a man who looked older than any person Zeisha had ever met. Despite his stooped back, he was of average height. He leaned heavily on a cane. His muscles appeared to have wasted away, but his shoulders were still broad. His clean-shaven face was so wrinkled that Zeisha had a fleeting thought that if someone stretched his skin out, it would measure three times as large as the area it now covered. Most of his head was bald, but long wisps of snowy-white hair hung from the back of his head. His skin had so many age spots that Zeisha struggled to determine what the original tone had been. Light-brown eyes, bright and intelligent, peered at them all. “Hello,” he said.
“Our Anya.” Osk bowed his head low.
“You know I need no such honors,” the Anya said in a voice that wavered with age. “Please, come in.” He turned, the movement painfully slow.
Zeisha’s peace remained, but it was colored with anticipation. After Osk’s comment about the Anya connecting them to a well of some sort, he’d refused to explain what he meant. This elderly man was clearly important. But how?
The Anya’s tiny living room held only one piece of furniture, a small couch. He sat on it. “Would anyone like to sit with me?”
Zeisha found herself walking that direction. After taking two steps, she stopped. What am I doing? If anyone’s going to sit, it should be Eira. Or maybe Osk.
The Anya smiled at her, an expression that was charming, despite his age-darkened teeth. “Please.” He gestured to the seat.
The Vine Eater (The Magic Eaters Trilogy Book 2) Page 29