by Jen Crane
“Rowan Gresham,” Eiven gave a disapproving nod.
I sucked a breath in through my teeth. “Well. No. Ewan Bristol.”
“I thought you were seeing Mr. Gresham,” Bay said.
“I was. Now it’s Ewan.”
The two exchanged a look.
“Oh, please,” I said. “None of this is any of your business. But what is your business is that psychotic asshole circling the skies so he can find and steal me.”
“He wouldn’t harm you. He’s just confused. He has a har—”
“He has a harder time with all of this than you, I know. But it’s worse than you think. He’s already tried to kill me and Ewan. He’s got his mind set on this. He thinks because my father was an omni we can produce a breed of dragons not susceptible to Brandubh or something. I’m telling you, he thinks to keep me here, that I’ll eventually see things his way.”
“He’s no’ wrong,” mused Bay.
“What?” I yelled before catching myself and saying more quietly, “You can’t be serious.”
“No, no. I only meant about you. He’s no’ wrong. You seem to be impervious to Brandubh.”
“Okay, neither of you seems to be taking me seriously.” The too-big sleeves of my borrowed robe flapped wildly as I waved my arms in distress.
“I’ll go talk to him,” Eiven said. “Try to calm him d—” Stryde’s massive wings knocked dust from the cabin’s rafters as he thundered overhead. He screamed in frustration. He knew I was inside.
Without another word he shot a column of fire down the cabin’s ancient chimney, sending chunks of mortar, charred wood, and a cloud of ash throughout the house. I coughed and sputtered while attempting to rub the dirt from my stinging eyes. But those minor concerns were soon forgotten. Stryde sent another plume through the house, and the fire made it through.
A blanket thrown over the back of an old chair ignited, which caught to the chair itself. In mere seconds, flaming pieces of fabric fell onto the rug, causing it, too, to erupt in flame. Bay grabbed wildly for blankets and water as flames licked everything in their path.
Eiven’s typically docile demeanor was gone. In its place was a terrifying mask of rage. His big body began to thrum with anger, with power. I scampered away from him and lost my footing, but he never noticed me. He was intent on the dragon demolishing his home and threatening Bay and me.
Eiven shook a finger at his son. “Stryde Drakontos,” he roared to the skies and stepped onto the small front porch. “Get control of yourself.”
I huddled in the bedroom behind a wall. I had nowhere to go and sat rapt on the scene unfolding in front of me. Bay had managed to douse the last of the flames and stood, heaving, just inside the door.
“You think you can control me, too,” Stryde hissed through our brains. He circled one last time before landing on the ground with a thud that rocked the cabin.
“Someone needs to,” said Eiven. “You’ve set our cabin on fire. You’ve scared this girl to death. Try to calm down, son. Just go gather yourself. Take a long flight, work through your frustrations. Come back when your head’s back on straight.”
“My head is straight,” Stryde seethed. “For the first time. I’m through being shit on. I’m done following orders. I’m doing things my way now. If you don’t like it, get out of the way.”
“Son, you’re upset, and no one can blame you for that. But you’re not thinking right. Go clear your head. Come back when you’ve calmed some.”
“You think I don’t know what you’ve planned?” Stryde flapped his mighty wings causing tiny dust tornadoes. “You think I don’t know you want her for yourself.”
What the hell is wrong with these people, I thought. Will this nonsense ever end? For the most part, I’d found Thayer to be quite civilized considering its people descended from animals and still got furry on the regular. But these lunatics insisted on sniffing my butt, on peeing on me to mark their territory. And I was sick of it.
“Now, you’ve got the wrong idea, son,” Eiven said gently. “And I’m sorry to tell you she doesn’t see you like that.”
At Eiven’s words Stryde opened his wide mouth and screeched so loudly I covered my ears inside the house. The sound didn’t just grate my nerves, but caused a visceral panic to rise within me. The scream was ear-splitting, like someone was being crucified.
The furious shriek went on so long I wondered what was happening outside to keep Stryde so enraged. I pulled my hands from my ears and discovered Bay was screaming, too. She wailed over and over, the only reprieve when she stopped to inhale a breath. Her cries were frantic, hysterical. I crawled on all fours to peek around the door, my knuckles white as I gripped the wooden trim.
What I saw stopped my heart’s beating.
Eiven had fallen to his knees on the porch, the pain and the force of Stryde’s deadly fire too much to withstand. I watched with wide, horror-stricken eyes as Eiven fell heavily over onto the ground.
Bay threw her head and shoulders back in anguish and sank to her own knees. Hot tears ran down her cheeks, leaving skin-colored streaks among the black she’d collected from fighting the house fire.
Bay continued to scream even as she began to change. Her granny-like features disappeared into hard edges moments before she burst through the roof of the tiny cabin, sending chunks of wood, pieces of the house flying into the forest. She shot toward Stryde with determined fury, but he evaded her. She pulled up hard and chased him into the sky, all the while releasing that mournful cry. In seconds, the two disappeared into the night sky.
I rushed from the house to Eiven’s unmoving form. As I got closer, it was clear he was gone.
The substantial force of Stryde’s fiery attack had decimated my sweet uncle. He lay in a charred black mass on the porch, his outline the only thing still distinguishable.
The smell of creosote, of death, caused bile to pool in the back of my throat and I gagged as sweat formed on my forehead and above my lip. My eyes watered and welled over; whether a physical or emotional response to the grotesque murder of my uncle, I didn’t know.
The old gray robe provided some relief as I covered my nose and attempted to breathe through my mouth. My hands hung limply at my sides as I stood over what was left of Eiven, at a loss for what to do. In the end I did nothing but weep.
A noise in the distance pulled me back to the reality of the volatile situation. If Stryde could obliterate strong, sturdy Eiven, he’d have no problem with me. Resolved to escape, I ran through the woods. The forest was so dense with fallen trees and underbrush that I tripped on the over-sized robe twice in my haste. With raw knees and scraped arms I continued to run, finally making it far enough from the cabin to stop and catch my breath.
Where to go? Not back to Ewan and my friends. And I couldn’t abandon Bay by tracing to the protective wards of The Root. I had to save her, to get her away from Stryde before he killed her, too. It was also essential his damage be mitigated by keeping him far away from people. The woods were the best place for that.
Beads of sweat rolled down my forehead into my eyebrows as I thought frantically, trying to form some kind of plan. When I pulled the sweat-soaked sleeve from my face my back tingled with awareness. Chill bumps began at my scalp and erupted all down the skin of my body. Someone was watching me.
Stryde was suspended silently in the air behind me like a maniacal avenging angel. My knees lost their ability to hold me upright, and I grasped a nearby tree for support.
“There you are,” Stryde said pleasantly. Like he hadn’t a care in the world. Like he hadn’t just killed his own father in a berserk rage.
“Stryde, just let me go.” My voice cracked as I pleaded, “Please.”
“Don’t cry dear one,” he murmured through my mind. “Everything’ll work out fine. Don’t you see? We can be together now.”
Enraging him further was a deadly move, so I said nothing. My hands, my entire body began to shake. I closed my eyes in an attempt to compose myself. When I fina
lly opened them again, from the corner of my eye I saw something small and brown rising from the tree line behind Stryde. I dared alert him to Bays approach, but instead worked to keep his attention on me.
“How can this work, Stryde? Tell me.”
He began to ramble nonsensically, going on in partial and scattered thoughts about our fates together. He became agitated again and twitched almost rhythmically, but it had worked. Stryde had no idea Bay’d swooped in behind him.
As she neared several gaping tears in her large wings were visible, as were singed and raw places on her face and spiny back. Her battle with Stryde had been a tough one—for her.
Stryde’s crazed eyes snapped to a squint when he realized my attention was somewhere behind him, and he flung his heavy neck around.
“Thought I killed you, old woman,” he seethed.
“Stryde,” Bay’s voice was hollow. “How can you be so pitiless? Your own father is dead. I’m the only family you have left, child.”
Stryde blinked his reptilian eyes rapidly, like he’d been caught in the rain, then raised his wide neck and roared, “I’m sick of the past. Sick of you, of what we call a life. Sick of hiding, of hurting. I deserve a future. And I’m going to make one.”
After expelling those ominous words he made a deliberate inhale of deadly breath. He opened his hinged mouth to cauterize Bay, too.
I snapped.
The loss of my kind uncle had cut me deeply. I’d had enough of Stryde’s attempts to manipulate me, of treating me like a damned incubator. While his attention was focused on Bay my dragon rippled to life. I welcomed her power, her speed, her defensive armor. I embraced the sharp tremors that resulted in leashing her need for vengeance.
Stryde’s head swung in my direction with a measured drawl. His wild eyes betrayed no fear in facing two dragons. Only anticipation of the fight, the violence. He was lost; I knew that. But Bay tried one last time to lure him from the jungle of madness he’d wandered into long ago.
“Stryde,” she said gently. “It’s time to go home, child. Enough—”
Stryde’s abdomen expanded on another inhale, his great onyx scales glinting in the moonlight.
Without further thought, I roared my fear, my rage, and something inside me cracked. The imaginary fissure that had formed that day in the clearing gaped to expose the entire well of my fire. The magical missile flew from my open mouth with a force so powerful I braced myself to stay upright.
I hadn’t aimed well—hadn’t truly expected for my flame to ignite. But it had, and had set fire to a small stand of trees. The flame missed Stryde completely and only succeeded in pissing him off.
When he thrust his powerful back legs and wings to vault toward me, I knew I was dead.
I always heard that your life flashes before your eyes in the moments before death, but that’s not what happened to me.
The experiences I’d never had called to me like a tragically lost lover from beyond the grave. I yearned for them, lamented the unfairness of losing my life so early in the game—of being snatched away when I was just beginning to scratch the surface of who I was. I loathed Stryde for taking them from me, for snuffing my life so soon. I vowed to return and haunt his demented ass until I drove him completely over the edge.
The morbid, angry thoughts flashed in the infinitesimal time before Stryde bit down on my armored throat. He aimed for my body, too, and the sting of his sharp talons as they penetrated even the tough scales of my side was excruciating. My esophagus constricted beneath his mighty jaws and I saw only blinding white just before my vision went black.
* * *
Stryde’s grip on my throat had slackened as he opened his mouth in a gasp. I was completely freed when he threw his head back and shrieked in agony. Full mental function hadn’t resurfaced, but I didn’t wait to ask questions and scrambled quickly away.
He was…smoking. He looked to be on fire from the inside out. His long neck thrashed wildly and he clawed at the soft ground, sending chunks of mud and debris through the trees. His crazed eyes were wide with shock, with pain, and—finally—with fear.
Then they held no emotion at all. Stryde’s jade eyes closed just before his big body fell to the forest floor with a thud that shook the trees around us. He didn’t rise again.
“Bay,” I called and rushed toward her. “You’re hurt.” She was bleeding in several places, her wings as singed and holey as melted canvas.
“I’ll be all right, dear,” she said, but her eyes had lost the light behind them. They were flat. A million miles away.
“Is—is he…dead?” His body betrayed no real wounds. He wasn’t bleeding; nothing appeared broken. I’d seen him smoking, but it was far different than the death Eiven had faced.
“Aye,” she said, her gaze still distant. “I tried everythin’ I knew. Broken as he was, I loved him still. Poor dear. He didn’t know how to pursue happiness.” Her head hung sadly. “When he came for you—after what he did to my Eiven—”
Bay closed her eyes as pain twisted her features. She came close to breaking down, but never did. After a moment she went on, “I knew he’d kill you, too.” I took no pleasure in nodding my agreement.
“But, are you sure he’s gone? He’s not burned. I didn’t see you bite or fight him. What did you do?”
“Tis called the fire within. It’s magic as ancient and evil as we dragons. It’s the nucleus of our own fire called up by a spell. Few have ever manipulated it; even Stryde did not know it. Fewer still ever will, for the dragons are no more.”
“That’s some wicked shit,” I thought.
Bay swung her burdened eyes at me and nodded. “Aye. I’d hoped to never use it again.”
“I—I’m sorry. I know you loved him. I’m sorry for your loss. Sorry you had to do that.”
“I’m so tired,” she said. “I’d just like to go home and rest.” At my shifty eyes and pained expression she remembered what waited for us at the cabin. She heaved a ragged breath and closed her eyes. “Will ye help me bury them, dear?”
“Of course. I’ll carry Stryde, too. You can change back. Try to heal.”
Bay found a large scrap of the robe I’d worn and attempted to cover herself with it.
Stryde’s body had begun to cool, and had reverted to his human form. His face was so peaceful in death one would never suspect the trauma he’d just endured or the madness he’d displayed moments before. His sleek black hair lay scattered over the side of his slack face.
I clasped his limp body as gently as I could with my back legs and extended my wings in flight, carrying him along the tops of the trees toward the cabin hideaway.
Chapter 29
At the sight of my uncle Eiven’s incinerated body my grip tightened on Stryde. Being angry would do no good now, but I couldn’t help the feeling. Such a tragic, stupid loss—untimely and premature. And now the family I was so happy to discover, that I had such high hopes for, was reduced to only one: my granny, Bay.
She’d be alone now in this reclusive hideaway. Alone with her grief. No one could be expected to deal with that loss, on top of everything else she’d endured, and come out normal on the other side. I wasn’t sure what I could do to help, but was committed to finding some way to comfort her.
The task at hand, though, was laying my uncle and his son to rest.
There was an area large enough just west of the cabin, and I lay Stryde down there.
Withering into my normal self, I stretched my aching back and arms. My body was tight from the overwhelming stress of the night.
Inside the house was one of my uncle’s old shirts, a pair of shorts, and work boots. A nearby storage shed held shovels, and I drug them to the burial site.
Bay ambled into the clearing as I stood over Stryde attempting to estimate how big the hole should to be. Could Bay and I even dig a grave? I thought. Shoveling was tough work. I knew from the days of gardening with my mother.
My mother. She would want to know her brother had died. Hell, sh
e’d want to know that her own mother still lived. But I couldn’t tell her. There’d been no word from her in the weeks since she’d left.
But while the scars I had from her abandonment were still tender and pink, they were healing, and I didn’t cry when I touched them anymore. I hoped she’d found some peace. I hoped she’d been able to work through her issues. I hoped she’d come to the conclusion that she was wrong to leave, and come back. None of this seemed likely, but an eternal optimist can hardly just stop hoping.
“You picked a fine spot, dear,” Bay called, pulling me from my reverie. Her voice was hollow, perfunctory as she sank onto one of the log-hewn seats around the fire pit. She seemed unfathomably old at that moment. And tired. Her shoulders hunched so far that her neck disappeared into her body. She sat unmoving and I didn’t disturb her. Instead I supported myself on the handle of the shovel and relived the few memories I had of Eiven, and even of Stryde. Bay was likely doing the same.
With obvious effort she finally stirred and limped toward the cabin, reemerging in her own clothes.
“I don’t know how—do I just start digging? I’ve never done this before.”
“Aye, I’ve experience enough for us both,” she said. “One shovel of earth at a time, dear. That’s how you do it.”
And so we dug. Bay’s weary body was resilient, determined. Together we carved a small, deep hole.
“That’ll do,” she said.
“But, it’s not nearly big enough. I can keep going if you’re tired.”
“I’m tired, it’s true. But Stryde is already starting to wither away, and Eiven—”
Bay’s voice broke and she fell to her knees. I didn’t rush to her; leaning on someone for support wasn’t her style. I looked away and let her grieve in as much privacy as I could offer.
She finally let go. She wailed and gnashed at her hair and neck. She bent to the ground and beat her fists into the rich, black earth until she could move them no more.
Eventually she dragged herself back up, and her arms hung loosely at her sides as she knelt in the dirt. She turned her face skyward leaving her misery open to the heavens.