“Who is our father?” Finn whispered to himself first, barely disturbing the chilly air with it. Then, as anger began to rise in his chest a little more, he sat taller in the saddle and asked it in a more demanding tone. “Wahirangi, who is our father?”
The dragon beat his wings harder, beginning a rapid climb into the cloudless sky. Finn did not know how things went with the Named. Could they lie to their creator? Could their creator demand knowledge from them? He liked the dragon, and he had much to be thankful to it for, but he had to know.
“I think I deserve . . .” he gasped out, finding his head curiously spinning the higher they got. It was harder and harder to think straight, but the dragon showed no signs of breaking off his climb.
“You already know,” Wahirangi replied, seemingly not bothered by the altitude, or the bone freezing cold. “Think on it. Who would your mother go to such great lengths to hide you from? Who has the power to make a creature such as you? Only a scion.”
Now Finn’s head felt as though it were stuffed with wool, but he knew that there were no scions left in Conhaero. He would have said as much, but he had so little energy left in him to do anything.
Wahirangi must have felt he had made his point; he folded his wings, and they dropped like a hawk through the air. For a short but terrifying moment, all that Finn could think about was hanging onto the saddle, and not ending up a smear on the ground.
When they finally leveled off, for a while Finn just breathed, feeling the wind over his skin as a blessed relief, and the sunlight on his face. Yet, he would not be distracted completely.
“No scions remain in Conhaero,” he stammered out, hating how unsteady his voice was.
“One never left,” Wahirangi said, and that was all he needed to say.
Finn leaned back in the saddle. He thought about the Caisah, and the one time he had seen him. It had not been a good view of him, since he’d been wearing a mask and manhandling Talyn. Could it really be that he and Ysel were the sons of the Caisah—the man that everyone knew was immortal and impotent?
Clearing his throat, Finn had to admit to himself that it was quite the turnaround to his past. Only a few months before, he had been considering himself below anyone’s notice, and had to trek to Perilous and Fair in an attempt to be taken seriously. Now, his mother was the last Seer of the Vaerli, and his father the destroyer of that race.
He was just about to compose another question, when the dragon let out an almighty bellow that rattled through his being and split the air in front of them. It was loud enough to make Finn clap his hands instinctively over his ears, lest they be destroyed. It was a very good thing that he was tied into the saddle otherwise he would have fallen to his death. He had never heard Wahirangi make such a sound.
His head was ringing and his body shaking, but he leaned forward to demand why the dragon had done such a thing. His voice died in his throat because his eyes finally saw what Wahirangi had seen first: a sinuous shape on the horizon, with great wings and a head shaped like an arrow blade.
It had appeared out of the clouds, and was descending sharply and quickly toward them. Finn licked his lips. “Is that . . . that can’t be another dragon?”
“You are not the only one with the power of Naming,” Wahirangi hissed, as his head oriented toward the ominous shadow. “There are others . . .”
“Who would that be, then?” he asked softly, resting his hand on the long knife sheathed at his side—though he knew it for a ridiculous gesture. “Is this who you mean has corrupted the other Named?”
The dragon was silent a moment, pumping his wide wings to climb higher. An eagle, Finn remembered, always struck from above. Wahirangi had no desire to be the prey. “Indeed. The Phage,” the dragon growled. “A sect of the Vaerli long hidden, but always looking for a way to trap and use Kindred.”
“Never heard of them,” he replied. “I’ve studied all the myths and legends of all the races of Conhaero—even the Vaerli. How can they . . .”
“No one speaks of them.” Wahirangi’s voice usually was clear, like a bell, but now there was a guttural, angry tone to it. “They Name Kindred for their own purposes, and feed off their power.”
“How can they do that?”
Something rumbled deep within the dragon’s chest, a threatening storm ready to break free. He banked left, catching an updraft that lifted them above the clouds, and for a moment they could not see the other serpentine shape. Wahirangi’s head swiveled around, so he could obviously pierce the clouds with his superior vision. It did not make Finn feel any more secure.
“They found a way to manipulate the Pact,” the dragon finally replied. “They turned our Gifts to the Vaerli around on us. Twisted them to make us prisoners. Unnamed Kindred are all in peril when the Phage are near. Named with strong Namers, we are another story.”
The last part ended with growl that ran through Finn’s legs and into his chest. Wahirangi was gathering himself for something. The talespinner had always heard stories of the implacability of the Kindred, but now he was beginning to understand how all that changed when they were Named. The shape of dragon came with a set of parameters that he had a feeling he was about to discover the meaning of.
Carefully he checked the tie around his legs that held him into the saddle, and wrapped his fingers tight around the pommel that rose between his legs. Then, leaning forward, he tried to keep his heart from leaping out of his own chest.
All around were damp clouds and gray light that let him see only a few feet in front of him. Wahirangi, his neck stretched out before him, could see more, and that was all the talespinner could rely on. Still, it would have been nice at this point to have at least some of those Vaerli gifts that he was apparently entitled to. All he had were his knives and a growing dread.
He dare not say anything to Wahirangi, because it was obvious that the dragon was intent on something, and besides that the talespinner did not want to break the thick silence that was all around.
When Wahirangi wrapped his wings around his body and dropped through the air, Finn managed not to scream. The air raced past his face, and everything grew numb. The talespinner was thrown backwards as Wahirangi collided with something. For a moment Finn worried it was the ground, but then a coil of granite gray skin lashed against his dragon’s shoulder, and he realized that they had found the interloper.
Finally, Wahirangi had managed to find the high air and had taken advantage of it; plunging down with his taloned feet, he had latched onto the menacing creature, and was now engaged in striking at it with his saber long teeth. The beast’s wings were tangled, and both riders and dragons were falling. Finn could hardly breathe or think as the air whistled around him. The snarls and screams of the dragons would have driven anyone mad, and Finn was trying his best not to be crushed as they wrestled back and forth.
Wahirangi had not taken the opportunity to ask his rider if he should attack, so his rage had to be at boiling point. Finn could only hope that the dragon’s sense of survival was as strong as his towering anger.
The talespinner managed to work loose his knife on his left boot, and twisting around plunged it again and again into the gray flesh of the dragon. He had no idea if it was doing any good or not, but at least it was something.
As he did so, he caught a glimpse of the other dragon’s rider, and what he saw chilled him to the bone. Eyes that looked as though they were full of pitch glared at him over the rough gray of her dragon’s hide. She was a child, but like no child Finn had ever seen, and though they were falling to their death, this vision before him terrified him more. A suggestion of something else lurked around her shoulders, as if shadows clung to her, writhing.
Finn lost sight of her as the beasts plummeted to the ground, twisting and trying to get the upper hand. Wahirangi’s talons eventually tore loose from their grip of the rough hide of his foe. Both dragons spread their wings and managed to catch air before catching the ground.
Finn was jerked free in the co
mmotion, and lost his knife as the dire dragon pulled away and began to furiously try to gain height. Wahirangi quickly moved to do the same. The strong thrusts from his wings snapped Finn back in his saddle, and he had to struggle to regain his seat. He would have asked what the plan was, but he was afraid he might bite off his own tongue in the process. Also, there seemed little point in trying to argue with an angry dragon.
Instead Finn crouched low, readjusting his fingers on the pommel again. The gray dragon with his back spines appeared out of the cloud to their right, and his head turned in their direction like a snake ready to strike.
The figure on his back shouted something, though what it could have been was lost in the rush of air. The dragon’s head snapped back. The meaning of that action suddenly flashed across his brain, but Wahirangi apparently knew it better than he did.
Flames rushed toward them, curls of red and gold meant to incinerate and destroy them, but at the last moment Wahirangi banked sharply to the left, turning his belly to the onslaught. The legendary toughness of the dragon skin turned away the edges of the flames, but Finn felt the reflected heat wash over him.
As he climbed, Wahirangi snarled his defiance to his enemy, and then dipped sharply, banking down toward him, with his own flames jetting from his mouth. How much dragon fire the beast beneath him had, Finn was unsure of; the legends differed on the answer to that. Certainly Wahirangi did not seem to have any shortage as he shot toward their enemy. Was it Finn’s imagination or did the creature actually look worried?
He dropped away from them, folding his wings tight and angling directly below, toward the sea, swooping low over the waves.
Finn leaned forward, prepared for the pursuit. Wahirangi, however, circled for a moment rather than following. In those seconds their adversary disappeared into the clouds and the distance.
“We aren’t going after her, Wahirangi?” the talespinner asked. He could feel his blood pumping hard in his veins and was ready for more action. He had already lost one knife but was ready to lose another.
The dragon swiveled his golden head about and regarded Finn with his opalescent eyes. “I too would love to give chase, but there is something that tells me this attack has another reason.”
Finn leaned back in the saddle and rubbed at the spot on his arm where the fire had come the closest. “They mean to distract us from finding Ysel?”
“Possibly,” the dragon said, turning himself about to once more follow the coast. “Her Named creature is very young to engage in battle with me. We grow in strength fast, but by the taste of her blood she has been Named only recently. Perhaps for this one purpose.”
“Do you think they are close to finding Ysel?”
“They sought both of you through time,” the dragon reminded him. “So there is no reason to think they would give up now.”
“Then that unholy child will just have to wait. We shall meet her and her dragon again,” Finn said with confidence.
“She is not yet come to her powers,” Wahirangi growled in warning. “And the strength of her dragon will only grow as she does. We were lucky this time. Once she has harnessed more Kindred they will both be a greater danger.”
Finn shivered at that idea. “Then we must find Ysel, and before they do.”
“Indeed,” the dragon agreed. “And let us hope we fly faster and better than they do.”
“I do not know what you expect to achieve by this,” Baraca said, adjusting the patch over his eye. “The fight for the world is here with us.”
Nyree, her skin softly glowing with the silver lettering of the pae atuae, stood at his shoulder, looking at Equo, and it was her eyes that he could not meet.
“I understand that the Caisah has done terrible things,” Equo said, “and he deserves to be punished, but the time has come for my people to return and take up the song once more.”
“You mean to fight with us?” Baraca asked, his voice full of disbelief. “You people were never much for the fighting before.”
“And neither are we now,” Varlesh broke in. He had taken a seat in the tent of the rebellion’s leader, but he did not look much impressed. “We were the friends and allies of the Vaerli. It was to them that we owe our allegiance.”
“The Conflagration is coming,” Equo broke in, looking to forestall any arguments. Baraca and Varlesh had never been best friends when the rebellion’s leader had been human. Now that a scion had somehow filled him, it didn’t seem to have made any difference. “All of us must stand up, or the world will be consumed by fire once more. Nyree, you have the gifts of the seer—you must understand why we have to leave.”
Her eyes, dark and full of stars, raked over him. He missed what they had been. When her eyes had been as his were, there had been some chance that perhaps she would fall in love with him, as he had her. Now, he knew she was lost to him.
“The Conflagration is coming, as you say, Equo,” she said, her gaze no longer locked on him, “but it is imperative that we destroy the Caisah before it arrives. You can help that happen.”
Equo exchanged a look with his brothers; his other selves quite literally. Si, the deepest part of their triumvirate, did not look moved by her pleas. “The Ahouri will be there at the end,” was all he would say.
It did not look like it pleased the seer.
“Go then,” Baraca barked, “leave us for your kin if you must, but I think it is a fool’s errand. The Caisah is the greatest threat to this land.”
They departed from the tent as if they were dogs being chased from a town. Equo, for one, would not go with his tail tucked between his legs.
“I am sorry.” Varlesh’s hand came down gently on Equo’s shoulder. “Nyree meant a lot to you, I know.”
“She means a lot to all of us, if you think about it,” he replied, trying to keep the mood light. “I just wish I believed her visions.”
As they walked to the outer edges of camp, Si kept nodding, his face an unreadable mask. Deep within him, Equo felt a curious lightness. It felt as though every step he took away from Nyree and Baraca was the right one.
Si glanced at him and smiled, as if his other half was only now beginning to reach a conclusion that he had done so long ago. Equo could have kicked himself. Had he been blinded by love and an ancient belief in the infallibility of the Vaerli for all this time?
He grabbed his brothers by the arms and pulled them behind a tent, beyond the reach of prying eyes. “Nyree,” he paused, gathered his thoughts. “Nyree . . . do you think it is possible that she did not get her talents back from the Vaerli?”
Varlesh’s brow furrowed. “Where else would she get them from?”
“Think on it,” Equo went on. “Nyree has been the made seer of her people since the Harrowing, but she has never got her gifts back until now. Do you not find that strange?”
Si glanced up at the sky, and didn’t seem to notice that his other two brothers were paused, waiting on him. “The Kindred have not returned the gifts.”
That was for certain. If they had, then things would have been very different in Conhaero.
The three of them stood closer; they all knew that there was one group of Vaerli that could be responsible. “The Phage,” Varlesh growled, his voice so low it barely disturbed the hairs of his beard.
The three of them considered. The faction of the Vaerli, the ones who had advocated Naming all the Kindred they could, of using them to overcome the Caisah. It was not a name that they had uttered in hundreds of years.
Equo frowned. “It would make sense though. Think of all the signs: the Kindred on the move again, the Scions appearing. If this Conflagration is happening, then the Phage will be able to use their trapped Kindred. They could have broken loose.”
The Phage had been imprisoned below the sacred Salt Plain—some said by the Caisah himself. In the days after the Harrowing, legend and myth were fairly mixed up. If the Conflagration was coming, the normal rules could be bent, if not broken.
“If that is the case, t
hen the Ahouri must stand against them,” Varlesh said, and a song seemed on the edge of his tongue. “But Brothers, should we go tonight? Nyree knows of it. Perhaps we can put it off—”
“It must be tonight,” Si interrupted him, his voice stern and his dark eyes flashing in the torchlight. “Tonight or not at all.”
Equo and Varlesh shared a tense look. “Very well then,” Equo said, “but can we leave Nyree here, with Baraca? We know her, we know that she wouldn’t be part of the Phage knowingly. Whatever and however she got her powers back, I know she is innocent. Perhaps we should take her with us?”
“Do you think we can take her away?” came the chilling reply from Varlesh. “We are not what we once were, brother. If we plan to stand against a scion and the made seer, we must go much further into the healing process.”
“And so must all the others,” Si added. “We must all be united, or we will fail.” They stood together under the wheeling stars and considered.
“Then sing,” Varlesh slapped them each on the back. “Let us sing into forms that can carry us from here—and let them be mighty forms, too. Echoes of the greatest of this world.”
They had already announced their presence to everyone who had ears to hear—there was no use pretending otherwise. It was time for the Ahouri to show what they could do.
The song was of flesh and bone. It was of joy and freedom. None of the three of them cared that the whole camp could hear them. The Form Bards’ song wiped away everything for the three of them. They became lost in its depths, losing all awareness of their bodies.
The Ahouri called all of life and creation and chaos, part of the One Song. Everyone was a note or a rhythm in it.
The song wrapped around them, taking what they were and making it into something else. Equo felt himself ripped apart and the sensation was deeply satisfying. They had not turned the Song on themselves for a long time, terrified that it would draw the attention of the Caisah.
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