by NS Dolkart
“Eramia, of course,” said Salemis. Her name flowed so sweetly off his tongue. “Eramia is Love Herself, and Her people are my people: the dragon children, whom we made together.”
The humans all looked at each other, their expressions revelatory. “Eramia,” breathed the one-eyed male.
The quiet male, Hunter, turned to the maiden. “But if it’s this Love Goddess and not Karassa who sent us here, does that still explain the plague on Tarphae? I’m confused.”
“Me too,” the maiden admitted. She turned back to Salemis. “Were we at least right about the Dragon Touched? Did the dragons and the Gods punish you for fathering them?”
“They did.”
He did not elaborate, and the little ones had the grace not to press him. Even now that they were all gone, his kin’s betrayal stung. He wondered if the war had been their punishment.
He looked down at the one called Criton, and at the human girl who, from the smell of her, carried Criton’s child. Is this what You meant, he wondered, when You said that my people would live on until the world’s end?
God Most High did not respond. He so rarely did. I thought You meant the dragons, Salemis silently admonished Him.
“Um, Salemis?” asked Criton suddenly. “Is God Most High asleep? He hasn’t been active since they imprisoned you.”
“The Gods do not sleep,” the prophet answered him, “least of all God Most High. But even so, one might never see His works in a lifetime. To Him, the ages of the world pass in the blink of an eye. The lives of humans could pass as if unnoticed.”
“But you’re His prophet,” Criton said. “If you come back with us, that should get His attention well enough, right?”
Salemis pulled idly at a root. “The sky between the worlds is too strong for me,” he explained gently. “Eramia’s help might have been enough to open a crack for you to slip through, but I am far too big for that. It took the entire Draconic Council and three powerful Gods to send me here, and that was with help from the Yarek.”
The humans looked at each other in confusion. “What is Yarek?” asked the pregnant one.
Salemis gazed down at her with tenderness. “Before this world came to be,” he told her, “the Yarek was the Gods’ greatest enemy. God Most High defeated the Yarek in ancient times and tore its body and soul in two. Then He built the first world out of His adversary’s body, upon these roots that form the world’s skeleton. The Gods and my kin brought me here, but it is the Yarek that opened its arms to imprison me. Above the ground, its kind and cruel halves hold an unending rivalry; but down here, all the roots intertwine.”
The girl nodded. “Goodweather and Illweather,” she said.
“Yes,” Salemis agreed. “So they call themselves now. But in their dreams, they are one. They have been growing stronger since I was banished here, feeding off me as I slept. Even if I had once had the strength to tear through the mesh myself, I cannot do so now.”
The maiden shook her head in frustration. “Surely there must be some way to get you out of here! Eramia wants you back, I’m sure. Maybe if you threaten Illweather, it will help too.”
These humans were so sweet in their optimism! Their determination made Salemis feel sad and old. “No,” he told the maid. “I do not have the power that the council had, nor does Eramia have the power of the three Gods who imprisoned me. If we relied on the Yarek’s power to make up the difference, it would gain a toehold in your world. Its power is best left contained.”
“What about Goodweather?” asked the pregnant one. “Goodweather is kind to me. If Goodweather has toes in our world, it is not bad.”
Salemis remained silent, considering. “Possibly,” he said at last. “But even with help from the Yarek’s kinder half, it would take more than Eramia’s working to part the sky widely enough for me to fit through. God Most High could do it single-handedly, if He would, but that is not His way. He demands much from His followers. You would need to go back and find more help.”
“Psander could help,” said the one-eyed one.
“Why would she?” asked the quiet male. “We’d have to be able to offer her something.”
“She’s desperate to keep out of the Gods’ sight,” the loud one replied. “If she thought she could climb in here while Salemis was climbing out, she’d be sure to help us tear the mesh.”
“Narky!” cried the maiden. “You wouldn’t trick her into coming here? To the fairies’ world? It’s more dangerous than home!”
“Not for her,” said the one called Narky. “How long do you really think she can stay out of the Gods’ sight? If Eramia’s been watching us for any length of time, She’s seen us disappear whenever we reach Silent Hall. Ravennis probably knew about Psander for months, and it was just her luck that He didn’t want to do anything about it. I think she’ll jump at the chance to get away from the Gods once and for all.”
They were seductive, these little ones. Salemis was starting to believe that he might once again walk the earth, and see Eramia face to face. They could resume their marriage where they had left off – no longer in secret, but standing proud before the heavenly council with God Most High as their protector.
Salemis could see his return in his mind’s eye. The lower Gods would be disorganized now – They would not be able to contain him. The Gods had not known cooperation since the war. He had dreamt of their struggles with each other, and his dreams never lied.
No, with Eramia at his side and God Most High above, Salemis would never again find himself outmatched. Caladoris, Pelthas and Magor had caught him off-guard last time, it was true. But Caladoris was gone now, and it had taken the Mountain God’s special genius to bring the Gods of Justice and the Wild together.
Here he stopped himself. Could this really be what God Most High wanted? For the sky’s barrier to weaken and the worlds to intermingle? For the Yarek, long defeated, to rise again in the new world?
The humans had continued talking while Salemis sank into his thoughts, and when he emerged, the boy called Narky was crossing his arms and smiling.
“You have to admit it’s about us, though,” he said. “If Salemis doesn’t count as Criton’s true sire, I don’t know who would.”
True sire. The words were so familiar, somehow. Yes! He had dreamt of these children before – but that must have been hundreds of years ago! He remembered it well now: a human knight had come searching for him in his dreams, dying and desperate. The words had come to Salemis then, and he had relayed them to the dying knight. A set of verses, yes. What had they been? In his dream-state it had all seemed so clear.
“We talk to Goodweather,” the pregnant girl said. “He helps us. Goodweather is kind – is not bad in our world. Better than Gods.”
“Don’t say that, Bandu,” the girl Phaedra scolded her. “Goodweather might be the good half, but it’s still half of a primordial beast. If it took God Most High to defeat it, then even the good half would be dangerous in our world.”
“Worse than Magor?” the girl retorted. “Worse than Mayar? Gods are not so good. Gods hate us. Goodweather saves me. Goodweather is my friend.”
“God Most High will judge the other Gods soon,” said Criton. “That’s what the Oracle of Ravennis said.”
“Maybe Goodweather is part of the judgment,” one-eyed Narky suggested. “Or maybe Salemis is. Bandu is right – our lives under the Gods haven’t been all that great. They certainly haven’t been safe. If Goodweather is as kind as Illweather was awful, then its presence can only be an improvement. Besides, our prophecy was about changing the world, wasn’t it? ‘Ending one age and beginning another,’ or however it was that that scroll put it. So let’s do it! If Salemis’ return will wake up God Most High, with us on His good side, I say we do whatever it takes to make that happen.”
“It’s not just about our benefit,” answered Phaedra, but she didn’t rebut him further.
“I trust Bandu’s judgment,” said Criton, giving the girl a longing look that Salemis found c
urious.
“All right,” said the male they called Hunter. “How would we get to Goodweather, to ask for its help?”
“The Yarek can hear us as we speak,” Salemis told him. “We need only ask.”
The prison walls twitched in anticipation. When Salemis asked them for help with the barrier of sky, they answered immediately: If you plant my seed in the new world and help it grow, it shall tear a hole in the sky large enough for you to pass.
Salemis passed the message onto the humans, only to find that Bandu, at least, already understood. “How do we get seed?” she asked.
The roots offered to send it down to them, but Bandu shook her head. “No good,” she said. “We talk to both now, all together. We don’t know maybe it sends Illweather seed. We need to go up and see Goodweather alone.”
This girl was clever, and she knew the ways of the elves. Salemis was pleased that his descendants would come through her.
“If the roots will let us through,” he suggested, “I will carry you up and we shall verify it together. Would you accept that?”
Bandu nodded and the ceiling gave way, parting to let the sun shine in upon them. It was miles to the surface, but that hardly mattered. Salemis reached out and gently lifted Bandu in his claw.
“I will be careful,” he reassured Criton. The boy looked like he needed it.
“Wait for us here,” he told the others, and then with a few beats of his wings, rose up toward the sun.
Higher and higher he climbed with Bandu in his grasp, until at last they burst out into the sky. The castles became visible as he rose further, easily distinguished from one another by the weather that hung over each.
“You are wise for such a young child,” Salemis told Bandu, as they approached Goodweather.
The girl said nothing, or perhaps her answer was lost in the wind. When they reached Goodweather, a crowd of fairies rushed out of the castle to stare at them, pointing and gibbering in fearful confusion.
“Burn them,” said Bandu. “They are wicked.”
“I know,” Salemis answered. “This whole world is wicked. The Gods didn’t build a mesh at first between them and this world. It filled with too much magic, and all its inhabitants were driven mad. In the end, God Most High had to build a solid firmament to spare the lower Gods from its chaos.
“Even so, I will not burn these elves. The time for killing will be upon us too soon as it is – I will not start it early.”
He could sense Bandu’s disapproval, but it did not bother him. She was still young. She would learn.
He landed on Goodweather’s roof and set Bandu down there. “We are here for the seed,” he told Goodweather.
But can I give it to you? the castle asked. You know what this world is made of. Illweather’s seed was endangered some months ago, but the elves recovered it. The planting time is nearly upon us. If I give you my seed, Illweather’s roots will outgrow mine and my influence on this world will diminish. Balance must be maintained.
“You agreed to the bargain before,” Salemis pointed out.
The leaves twitched. Where you spoke to us before, our beings are intermingled. Illweather wants to accept your bargain. That alone makes me wary. Illweather always strives for power, never for balance. Keeping balance is my greatest mission.
Bandu sat cross-legged on the mossy roof and ran her hands along its surface, almost caressing it. “You are kind to me before,” she said. “You save me. I want you strong always. But you are wrong, Goodweather. You are wrong.”
I am not wrong, little one, the castle maintained. Balance is essential.
“No balance now!” Bandu insisted, growing frustrated and pounding the moss with her hands. “Where is balance? Illweather is wicked. Elves are wicked. Even animals here are wicked. Only you are good!”
“The girl is right,” said Salemis. “This world was lost to madness a long time ago. But Illweather has no say in the new world. Even the elves hardly touch it, except now and then. In the new world, your influence will be felt. The new world needs balance too.”
I will need permission, Goodweather confessed. Without the queen’s blessing, the seed cannot grow. God Most High has punished us by making us subservient to these creatures.
“Then let her come up to speak with us,” Salemis said, his eye on Bandu as she hurriedly stood up. She looked terrified.
The queen of the Goodweather elves emerged from a staircase in the center of the living castle’s roof. Though her beauty meant nothing to him, even Salemis felt her power. The scent of it tickled his tongue.
“To what purpose have you called me, Goodweather?” she asked, gazing up at Salemis without much concern.
This emissary of God Most High wishes to return to his land, to plant my seed in the younger world and tear a breach in the heavens so that he may escape.
“I see. And what does he offer us in return?”
“People,” said Bandu, coming around Salemis’ side. “My world has people who want to come here and do not know you. Children, and big ones like me who can make more.”
“Well,” laughed the queen, “if it isn’t our very own wicked little thing, all grown up. You would sell me your kin, for the sake of this dragon?”
Salemis felt the clash of wills as Goodweather’s queen forced her way into Bandu’s mind, and Bandu beat her partially back. “They have a wizard,” the girl admitted. “She saves them from you, I hope. I hope, but I don’t know. You don’t know too. If you help, then you see. Maybe you eat the wizard and her people. Maybe they eat you.”
The fairy queen smiled and nodded. “You offer me a war with children of your land, and a chance to grow my own supply. I accept. Plant your seed, Goodweather. May you reap the fertility of the young world just as I mean to.”
She turned away, waving a dismissive hand to Goodweather. A moment later its acorn fell, landing almost in Bandu’s lap. Bandu scooped it up and rose unsteadily to her feet. “Thank you,” she said to Goodweather. To the queen she said, “I hope you lose.”
They left then, before anything could get in their way.
“You did well,” Salemis told the girl.
”I know,” she said.
When they returned, they found Criton and the other humans waiting anxiously in the mouth of their narrow tunnel, squinting upwards as if afraid they would miss the dragon’s arrival. When Salemis set Bandu down next to them, their relief was palpable.
“Here is Goodweather’s seed,” Bandu said, presenting it.
“Great,” said Narky. “So all we have to do is plant it?”
“And infuse it with Godly power,” Salemis agreed. “Eramia will help, but I don’t know that Her strength will be enough. It took three Gods to get me here; it will probably take at least two to let me out. I’ll widen the breach from this side, once the job is started.”
“Will a hole that big take long to repair?” Phaedra asked. “We wouldn’t want our world exposed to this one for too long.”
“The sky repairs itself,” Salemis told her. “Even a small hole cannot last very long – a larger one will collapse even sooner.”
“In that case,” said Narky, “we’d better get out of here. If the way back closes on us now, we’re all in trouble.”
Salemis agreed. “Good luck,” he called out, as they disappeared back into the tunnel. “I will be waiting.”
54
Bestillos
The High Priest of Magor finished with the sacrificial knife and threw it on the platter for cleaning. “Magor is not concerned with wizards,” he said.
“He would be if He knew more about this one,” said the Atunaean. “It’s the wizard Psander who ordered the Boar of Hagardis slain.”
Bestillos turned to face him, wiping the blood off his hands. The grizzled nobleman met his gaze without blinking. “The wizard promised my prince that he would retake Atuna for us if we brought him the boar’s carcass,” he went on. “I had deep reservations, but I followed my prince’s orders.”
/> So the truth was coming out! Bestillos reached back down toward the platter, playing idly with the knife’s hilt. “It was Tana, then, that killed the boar?”
The Atunaean shook his head. “No. It was the islanders Psander hired to help us.”
Bestillos stared at him, as images of the black dragonspawn rose before his eyes. “Tell me about the islanders,” he said.
The Atunaean smiled, happy to deflect attention from himself and his compatriots. “There were five of them,” he said. “Three men and two girls, and not a one of them over sixteen, I should say. Tarphaeans who left home before the plague. Suspicious, I’d call it.”
It was the same group, Bestillos was sure of it. The dragon spawn had ridden behind a girl during their shameful escape from Anardis.
“One of the girls was a tracker,” the Atunaean continued. “Ugly girl, but useful. The other one was good-looking and useless.”
“I’m not interested in the girls,” Bestillos told him. “Tell me about the others. There is a tall one, yes?”
The Atunaean looked at him suspiciously. “You’ve met them before?”
“No, no, only seen them from afar.”
“Well then,” said the gray warrior. “You probably know that the tall one is Dragon Touched. He hid it well, but he changed when the boar came at him. Other than him, there’s the one that actually killed the boar, though I’d say it was more luck than anything else. He didn’t even have a weapon ’til we gave him a spear. The last one has his sword and his fancy shield and scaled armor, and thinks he’s really something with them. Acted like the big protector for the others, but I didn’t see him do anything in the fight. If it were me, I’d worry most about the Dragon Touched and the ugly girl.”
The priest of Magor smiled. “No man worries me. Only tell me where I can find them.”
“I can’t say for sure,” the other man answered. “After all, that was months ago. But I’ll say this: the islanders are young and homeless, and Psander is a clever man. He probably still has them running errands for him, just like he did then.”