Silent Hall

by NS Dolkart

  “Can there have been any greater crime than the coupling of a dragon and a Goddess? For I am now sure that this was the Prisoner’s crime. Why else would Gods and dragons come together to punish him?”

  “Which Goddess was it?” asked Hunter.

  “I’m getting there,” Phaedra answered.

  “Well, get there faster,” said Narky.

  “Fine,” she huffed. “I’ll skip ahead. Let’s see… all right. ‘The mention of Tarphae’s children in the Book of Awakenings suggests to me that the Goddess in question may have been Karassa.’”

  “WHAT?” Criton exploded. “Karassa?”

  Phaedra nodded vigorously. “Isn’t that amazing? Apparently this Book of Awakenings was an ancient dragon text, full of myths and prophecies. So he thinks that Karassa was Salemis’ lover! Do you realize what that means?”

  “That the plague was meant to kill us after all,” said Narky. “If the other Gods suspected that a group of Tarphaeans would free Salemis, they would do their best to kill every last one of us.”

  Phaedra looked taken aback. “I hadn’t even considered that,” she said. “What I meant was–”

  “That the woman in the forest was Karassa,” said Hunter.

  Phaedra nodded vigorously. “Exactly. She may always be depicted as green or gray, but a Goddess can appear however She likes. You met a Goddess, Hunter, not a fairy. If Karassa was the mother of the Dragon Touched, then all kinds of things start to make sense. For one thing, we know who Her lover is. And it sounds like She expects us to find him!”

  Hunter looked confused. “But if Karassa is the mother of the Dragon Touched, how did they all end up in Ardis? Wouldn’t Tarphae be their ancestral home?”

  “Not necessarily,” Phaedra said. “Salemis is the one who was punished, and his home is near Ardis. So maybe he was the one who took ownership of the Dragon Touched to begin with, and they lived near him. The Dragon Knight guessed that the Goddess was Karassa based on entirely different sources from those discussing Salemis’ crime. It’s possible even the Gods didn’t know which of them had created Criton’s people.”

  “Really?” said Narky. “That doesn’t seem likely.”

  “Why not?” she asked. “The Gods can shield people and information from each other. Otherwise, Ravennis could have squashed the red priest before he ever reached Laarna. If a God is protecting someone, it will take a lot to smite him anyway. That’s why They rely on people to kill each other most of the time.”

  “But if all the Tarphaeans are dead except for us and maybe the king, and Criton is the last of the Dragon Touched, then why hasn’t some God gone and killed Karassa yet? The plague cut off all her fingers, didn’t it?”

  “Not if Katinaras was right,” said Phaedra. “If Karassa is the major eastern Sea Goddess, Tarphae may mean little to Her. She could have lost a battle at Tarphae without being completely overwhelmed.”

  “Did the Dragon Knight have any thoughts about how to find Salemis?” Criton asked.

  “Nothing we didn’t already know about. I still think our best bet is the fairy world, if we could only get there somehow. But if your scroll on numerology was right, then the barrier between the worlds will be unbreakable by now. We’ve missed the window.”

  “I don’t know,” said Narky. “I don’t trust that scroll. It said that the barrier only opened every eleven years at the earliest, right? We know it was wrong about that. We managed to get back out after only eleven days. Bandu, how long were you in the fairies’ world the first time before you got away?”

  “Eleven months and eleven days before Goodweather says run.”

  Criton visibly shuddered. “I don’t think I’ll ever think of that number the same way again. It bothers me every time.”

  “Right,” said Narky, “but my point is, these elevens seem to show up much more often than that scroll said they would. Let’s face it: the scroll was wrong. That barrier isn’t as strong as everyone thinks.”

  “Or maybe,” suggested Hunter, “it’s been getting weaker lately.”

  “Oh, Gods!” moaned Phaedra. “Don’t even say things like that!”

  “It’s possible,” he insisted grimly.

  “It is,” Criton agreed. “But again, that doesn’t help us find Salemis unless we can actually tear the mesh. Bandu, did you ever figure out how to break through?”

  Bandu shook her head sadly. “No. I am not strong enough. The elves do it, when they take the nets. Needs strong magic. Speak magic.”

  “Great,” said Narky. “So we’re stuck, then.”

  “There has to be a way!” Criton cried in frustration.

  Phaedra looked depressed. “If there were, wouldn’t the Dragon Knight have found it? He was one of the greatest wizards of his age, and that was before the purge of the academics!”

  “There has to be a way,” Criton repeated, sounding deflated.

  They lapsed into a sullen silence, and Narky’s eye was drawn back to the cave. He wondered what made people like Criton keep trying and trying, so long after he had given up on things. He supposed it was his coward’s upbringing that kept him from being so optimistic. Still, better not to be like Criton, torturing himself over things outside of his control. Whatever Criton’s successes, he would never be happy or content.

  Then again, would Narky? He couldn’t say he’d ever been happy yet. So what advantage had his fatalism ever really given him?

  “Karassa’s flower,” said Hunter suddenly, pulling it from where he had tucked it in under his belt. The rose had not wilted at all since Narky had first seen it.

  “She gave it to me because She knew we were looking for Salemis,” Hunter said. “It has to be more than just a flower.”

  They looked at it in wonder. It was like some key, a key to the heavens. “How do we use it?” asked Criton, looking downright greedy.

  “I don’t know,” said Hunter, “but She wouldn’t have given it to me unless it was useful.”

  “Give it to me,” said Bandu. She reached out her hand.

  Hunter gave it to her. Bandu sniffed it, then knelt down and ran her hand along the ground. “Not good here,” she said. “Dirt is bad here.”

  She turned, squinting at the mouth of the cave. She pointed upward. “There is better.” She put the rose between her teeth and began marching up the slope.

  They followed her lead, climbing up the mountainside until Bandu stopped, taking the flower from her mouth and panting heavily. They were standing on the edge of a precipice, right above the cave. Narky could see their horses cropping the scraggly mountain weeds far below.

  Bandu knelt again, only inches away from the cliff’s edge, and began to dig with her hands.

  “Careful,” warned Criton. “If you dig too much, it could collapse.”

  Bandu ignored him. She planted the flower in the rocky ground, propping it upright among the dirt and stones. Then she stepped back.

  Nothing happened. “Need something else,” said Bandu. “Dirt is right here, dirt is good, but need something else.”

  “Dragon magic,” suggested Phaedra. “If it took a conspiracy between the Gods and the dragons to imprison Salemis, it’ll probably take something similar to get him out again.”

  “So what do I do?” asked Criton. “I don’t think I should burn it, should I?”

  “Try bleeding on it,” Narky suggested. “It seems like the kind of weird thing Psander might have you do.”

  Criton frowned and looked back to Phaedra, but she only nodded in agreement. He sighed. Wincing, he dug a clawed finger into his left arm. Blood welled up where he had pierced the skin and slowly trickled toward his hand.

  “I don’t think you scratched deep enough,” said Narky. “That’s all going to dry up before it even reaches your fingers. Why didn’t you start at the wrist?”

  “Shut up,” said Criton. “You’re not the one who has to cut himself.”

  Narky rolled his eyes. “I’d rather do it right the first time than have to cut myself
twice.”

  Instead of answering, Criton crouched down over the flower and tried to brush it against his arm. It was a clumsy, awkward-looking motion, but he did at least manage to smear a red mark onto the white petals. “There,” he said. “What now?”

  Phaedra shrugged a little. “I guess we might need something from the fairy side too, if they were in on the conspiracy. Bandu? Can you think of any–”

  Without a moment’s warning, Bandu squatted by the flower and hiked up her dress. Narky looked away as soon as he could, but he still ended up seeing more than he ever wanted to. When Bandu was done urinating she stood up, looking pleased with herself.

  “That’s what you have for the fairy side?” said Phaedra, shocked. “Bandu, a Goddess gave us that flower! That’s the most disgusting, irreverent…”

  She trailed off, and her eyes widened. The flower was steaming. Vapors billowed up from it and the rose itself seemed to dissolve into the haze. Within minutes, the cloud of steam was so dense and so wide that it hid the mountains from view.

  Narky laughed. “I can’t believe that worked! Bandu and her magical piss!”

  “I think that’s a tunnel up there,” Criton said.

  “Where the cliff was?” asked Hunter.

  “Yeah, Criton, you go first,” Narky suggested.

  “All right,” Criton answered, without a trace of humor. “That makes sense. If I fall, I can catch myself and fly back up to join you.”

  There were no objections. Criton took a couple of small steps forward, obviously trying to muster enough courage to step off the cliff’s edge.

  “Go ahead,” Narky heard him mutter to himself. “Just get this over with.”

  The fog was so thick now that Narky could hardly even see him as he took his final steps over the edge. He didn’t need to. Criton gave a sudden startled cry, immediately followed by a loud thud.

  “There’s no cliff here,” he groaned. “I just tripped on something, that’s all. Damn. You’d better watch your step.”

  Carefully, Narky followed. It was dark in the tunnel, and he found Criton more by feel than by sight. When he did find him, he crouched and helped him to his feet.

  “It smells just like Illweather in here,” Narky said, sniffing the air. “I hope we don’t end up staying long.”

  “Let’s see,” said Criton, his pinkish light springing up in his palm.

  The tunnel was made entirely of gnarled tree roots. Narky couldn’t even see any dirt, though the air was so moist and dank here that dark patches of mildew were visible on every surface.

  “Let’s go find a dragon,” said Narky.

  Criton stared at him blankly for a moment. Then, inexplicably, he laughed. “For a moment there,” he said, “I thought I was dreaming.”

  The tunnel stretched endlessly into the distance, fading out of view past the range of Criton’s light. When the others had joined them they set off, climbing for hours – or at least it felt that way – over, under, and above the giant tree roots that sometimes appeared right in the middle of the passage. Finally, Hunter held up a hand to stop them.

  “Do you hear that?” he asked.

  They stopped climbing and listened. At first, Narky could hear nothing. Then he finally noticed the low, rhythmic rumble just at the edge of his hearing.

  “What is that?”

  “It sounds like breathing,” said Phaedra. “Salemis must be close.”

  Narky felt a chill coming over him. “You’re sure he won’t eat us, right?”

  “He won’t eat us,” said Criton. “Keep going.”

  The rumbling grew louder as they continued on, like an approaching thunderstorm. With each step Criton became visibly more excited, while Narky only grew more nervous. It had actually been quite comforting to him to think that the giant fire-breathing serpents of yore were extinct.

  “I wish my mother could see me,” Criton burst out.

  Narky only managed a ‘huh’ in response. The breaths from up ahead were growing ever louder, and for once Narky wished the Gods could see them here. They could use some divine protection right about now.

  The tunnel ended abruptly, blocked by a wall of golden scales, each the size of Hunter’s lost shield. Narky winced. With each booming breath from above, the scales intermittently strained against the roots, creaking horribly.

  “What part of him are we even looking at?” Narky asked.

  “I don’t know,” said Criton. “I’m… what if we can’t even wake him?”

  “Talk to him,” Bandu suggested. “He only listens if you talk.”

  Criton shook his head, though it seemed more in wonderment than disagreement. “Um,” he said, cautiously approaching the heaving wall of scales, “my name is Criton. It’s an honor to meet you. I’m one of your… I’m one of the Dragon Touched. A descendant. My mother’s name was Galanea–”

  “No, no,” said Bandu. “Like this.” She walked up to the wall and pressed her palm against one of the scales. “We are here,” she said. “Wake up. We are here to help you.”

  Even Narky could feel her magic this time, rippling out through her hand and pouring from her mouth, filling all the air with its current. Gods, but that was strong. Psander must have been right about pregnancies and magic. Narky made a note to himself not to cross Bandu if he could help it.

  With a terrible groan from the passage walls, the dragon stirred.

  53

  Salemis

  He dreamt that he had been buried alive, and when he awoke he found that it was true. The roots of the Gods’ ancient nemesis entwined him, coaxing him even now to close his eyes once more and sleep, sleep forever. But no. Someone had called him. After all these years, someone had finally come.

  The prophet shook himself free of the plant beast’s spell and snapped off the roots that had wormed their way into his mouth. “Make room,” he suggested to his captor. Then he lit the roots ablaze.

  The walls of his prison retreated before him, and he shook himself free. His whole body ached. He stretched his wings until they touched against the ceiling, uncurled his tail, and craned his neck until it made a satisfying cracking sound. Then he looked around to find the ones who had woken him.

  They were there, five tiny human figures cowering in a nook by his side. One had scales and claws and smelled of fire. Salemis smiled to see one of his love children here. Yet it was not the dragon child that had awoken him – it was the little pregnant one. There was something about all five of them that seemed strangely familiar, as if he had dreamt of them once but could not remember the dream. As he looked down at them, straining his mind to recall the dream in question, he realized that they were afraid.

  “Don’t be frightened,” he told them. “Speak.”

  Still they stood, petrified, until one of the males spoke up in the high pitched tongue of humankind. “Well, Criton,” he said. “You’re the one who wanted to meet a dragon. Say something.”

  The dragon child Criton took a deep breath, but still said nothing. Finally, he burst out, “I’ve been looking for you all my life.”

  Salemis was amused. All his life? How old was this child?

  “I have been here a long time,” Salemis told him. “How long have you been searching?”

  “Since I was small,” said the child. “At least eleven or twelve years.”

  Eleven or twelve years! How sweet its earnestness!

  “I believe I have been here a good deal longer than that,” Salemis said gently.

  “We know,” said one of the females, a maiden. “You’ve been here almost four hundred years, since before the war.”

  The prophet felt his spirits sink. He had almost forgotten. “The war that killed my kin,” he said grimly.

  “How did you know about that?” asked the one who had goaded Criton.

  “For many years,” Salemis told them, “it was all I dreamed of. I felt it when Hession slew Caladoris, and I felt it when Hession fell. I felt all of them.”

  His words hung heavi
ly in the air. “That is all long gone,” he said at last. “And there is one whose death I anticipated, but never felt. How fares my love?”

  “She lives,” said the other human male, the one who had so far been silent. “She spoke to me in a river, and gave me a flower that helped us reach you here. She asked me – well, commanded me, to tell you that She had not forgotten Her promise, and that you should keep yours.”

  Salemis felt a flood of relief at his words. “She is well then,” he said. “That is all that matters.”

  “I don’t know that She’s well,” said the blunt one, the one with only one eye. “There was a plague on Tarphae. We’re all that’s left of Her people there.”

  “Tarphae?” asked Salemis.

  “Karassa’s island,” the maiden clarified.

  An image of Karassa swam into his mind, tall and gray like an angry wave. “What were my love’s people doing there?” he asked.

  “We lived there,” answered the blunt one, as if this was somehow obvious. Salemis found it altogether puzzling. For one thing, he did not understand why this purebred human would include himself among his love’s people. And what could have brought them – all of them – to Karassa’s island?

  “We were lucky to have been on a boat to Atuna that day,” said the maiden, trying to explain. “The plague struck during Karassa’s festival. We were the only ones who escaped, other than the king. We don’t know what happened to him.”

  “Until Karassa gave me the flower,” said the quiet male, “we thought She might be gone too.”

  The truth suddenly struck Salemis, so hard that he nearly bathed them in mirthful flames. “Karassa is not my love,” he told his confused visitors.

  “What?” cried the maiden. “Then who was it that gave Hunter the flower?”