Last, he added spirit. If nothing else, spirit would guide him. With the shapings readied, he pulled through the sword piercing the rock. Brilliant white light spilled out. Power surged through him, fed by his elemental bonds, augmented by the strength of the sword.
Carefully, Tan layered the shaping onto the hatchling. It settled slowly, gently, onto the fallen draasin. As it did, the thread of life grew even more distant.
He grasped for it and wrapped it in a shaping of spirit. It was the shaping performed by the First Mother as she had worked with Amia to heal Cora. Tan had never attempted it himself and felt as uncertain as he had when first learning to shape, but to save the hatchling, he had no choice but to try. To this, he added water and fire, an odd combination of shaping, but one that his connection to spirit told him was needed. He pushed more and more elemental power into the draasin, straining to fill an emptiness that reminded him of what had been required to heal Cora.
He didn’t have enough strength.
Tan pushed spirit into the void along with water and fire. Earth was not needed, but his connection to it strengthened him. Wind fluttered through the draasin, moving in and out of his lungs, as if breathing for him.
Still nothing happened.
The flicker of life faded even more, held in place by the shaping of spirit. Tan clutched it in his shaping, a sudden surge aided by Amia coming to him. He sensed her with him, mingling in his mind, guiding the spirit shaping. Trained as she was by the First Mother before her death, she had more skill than he could ever hope to accomplish. Tan might have observed, but they had quickly moved beyond anything that he had the capacity to understand.
Amia helped him hold the thread of life in place, but she wouldn’t be able to grant him any additional strength to aid the rest of his shaping.
Drawing through the sword wasn’t enough.
How would he keep the hatchling alive? How would he call him back to life?
Tan stared at the hatchling, an idea coming to him. Asboel would be angry, but to save the hatchling, there didn’t seem to be any other choice. For that, Asboel would have to understand.
He needed more strength, something that the draasin, would respond to.
A name.
It would have to be fitting, but how could Tan assign a fitting name to an elemental? They had always come to him with names. And Asboel claimed that it was too early for the hatchlings, that they would claim them in time, but there wouldn’t be time, not if this failed.
He thought of what he remembered of the hatchling, the playful way that he nipped at Asboel, or the way that he’d approached Tan, so unafraid, and what Asboel had shared. None of that was enough to name the draasin.
Holding onto his shaping, he pressed through the spirit bond he shared with Asboel. The draasin was aware of his presence and Tan couldn’t shield his intent from him. He scavenged for memories of the hatchling, searching for anything that might be able to help.
Maelen—
Tan ignored him. He found snatches of memories, of the deeply blue-scaled hatchling pouncing on his sister, of him crawling over Asboel, of the bold way he attempted to sneak from the tunnels and away from the den. This mixed with memories of him nestling against Asboel, or of Asboel watching Sashari feeding him.
Still, none of it was enough to provide a name.
I need Sashari’s memories, he told Asboel.
Maelen, this will not work. What you seek—
Tan caught Asboel’s eyes. I will not let him fail without trying, Asboel. Now. Sashari. How can I reach her?
It was sharper than he’d ever talked to Asboel, but now was not the time for apologies. Now was the time for him to save the draasin, and he couldn’t do that without their help. He would save the hatchling if he could.
The fire bond, Maelen.
I do not share it.
Asboel breathed out slowly. You have always shared it.
Tan had always had a connection to the draasin, but it had been to Asboel primarily. There had been a vague sense of awareness of the other great elementals, but it was different with them than what it was with Asboel. With Asboel, he merely needed to reach through their shared connection.
But could he reach through more than only the bond, but to fire as well? Was that what Asboel was telling him?
He had to try.
Amia… hold the spirit shaping if you can.
She didn’t respond, but she assumed control of the shaping. Questions raced through his mind without the time for answer. What must it cost her to help him from the distance? How difficult must it be for her? Had her time with the First Mother strengthened her skills so much that this shaping was not beyond her capabilities?
Tan shifted his focus over to fire. Normally, he drew fire from a combination of elemental power as well as what he managed to shape from within, but he suspected that he would need his own shaping ability to reach through the fire bond. Borrowing from the draasin would not grant him that connection.
Focusing inward, he listened for a sense of fire. When it came, he noted a quiet simmering that flared as soon as he reached for it. It recognized him, and as he touched upon it, questing through it as he’d learned to do with spirit that pooled within him, he felt a recognition. With a sudden understanding, he knew this was what had changed when he’d drawn fire inside of him. He had twisted this part of himself. Had it not been for the nymid, he would have remained twisted, forever turned into something like the lisincend.
He pushed the thought away. He would try to focus on that later and understand what it might mean for him. For now, he would try to understand how to reach through that connection.
Tan used that simmering fire and listened. There was something to it so very much like the earth sensing that his father had long ago taught him. Heat was all around, and he found himself drawn to it.
He could sense it from the draasin most strongly, surges of orange and red that reminded him in some ways of how he had perceived the world when twisted by fire. Cianna burned brightly as well. Connected to fire in this way, he could practically smell it burning off her. Unlike when he’d been twisted by fire, this connection felt natural. Controlled.
Beyond the elementals and the fire shapers, there was fire in the earth around him. At first it was a vague sense, but the more that he focused, the more that he recognized the touches of elemental power. Had he more time and less urgency, Tan suspected that he could reach for each of the elementals, perhaps finally speak to them as he did to the draasin.
And he understood. All of fire was connected. He saw how Cianna’s fire stretched toward Sashari, but it also reached toward Tan. Asboel and Sashari were connected, but thin streamers stretched toward the other tendrils of flame around them. And Tan connected to Asboel, but there was connection to Sashari as well, weaker, but no less real.
Tan pressed through this.
Fire seared within him. He touched it upon Sashari and awareness of her burned. He sensed her surprise but didn’t risk the time to explain, hoping only that Asboel would already have told her the need for what he attempted. The fire bond was different than what he shared with Asboel.
I need your memories of him.
Sashari hesitated, and then she opened herself even more. For him, Maelen.
The sound of her voice in his mind was lighter and higher than Asboel’s, but there was strength to it as well. Simmering beneath the surface was the urgency she felt—and unfamiliar terror.
Tan borrowed from her memories, taking what she offered of the hatchling. So many of them were memories of both of the hatchlings. Their birth, the way they crawled from their eggs, the deep blue hatchling coming first, always bolder than his sister. Their first feeding. Even from birth, the draasin knew fire, spewing it onto the food offered to them before tearing at it with the abandon of youth. The pride she felt as the draasin crawled around her. The way Sashari introduced them to Enya. The interest the other draasin had in the hatchlings, curiosity mixed with another unrea
dable expression. Anguish when she thought them dead, different but similar to what he found within Asboel. Relief in learning that the hatchlings still lived. And then the move beneath the city, hiding and protected by the elementals drawn to the place of convergence. The first hunt, the fallen hatchling again showing his boldness, the way that he’d taken down a small deer, and the pride that Sashari had shown when he had.
Other than a sense of boldness, Tan didn’t know enough to name him. It would not be enough.
He sank back on his heels, holding to the connection with the elementals, feeling defeated. Amia pulled the hatchling toward him with her shaping of spirit, binding them together. Tan sensed the flickering of life and knew the hatchling would not be long for this world.
Connect to him, Amia urged.
I’ve tried. Asboel shared all that he can.
Not Asboel. The hatchling.
But he’s too weak.
He sensed her shaping him, but didn’t know what she was doing. It was subtle and gentle and washed over him with a great strength. Relaxation flowed with it, as well as an idea.
Tan assumed control of the spirit shaping that Amia worked. He added fire, drawing carefully through the fire bond, and pressed this through the hatchling. Awareness came slowly, weakly, and matched the fading life of the draasin.
Slowly, steadily, Tan poured out all that he could, drawing on the fire bond, on the spirit bond with Amia, pulling strength from the surrounding elementals as he pressed through the sword buried in the stone, augmenting the shaping.
The connection solidified. Not enough to know whether it would work, but enough that Tan could reach into the draasin.
The hatchling was too weak to resist. Tan slipped among his mind, spirit and fire mingling and allowing him to access the draasin’s memories. He needed something—anything—that would help him find the right name, but feared taking too long, that he’d already missed the opportunity to help.
Faded memories were there. The first feeding. Crawling on Asboel. Heat and fire all around him that Tan suspected came when they’d been abducted by Incendin, but, perhaps surprisingly, no harm. The stark walls around him without light, and then sitting atop a tower, massive stone chains holding him in place. The request to add to the fire atop the tower, and the joy the draasin found in doing it. That nearly shocked Tan out of the connection. Then the reunion with Asboel and Sashari. The move beneath Ethea. The first hunt again, this time from the draasin. There was joy, but also a desire to help his sister. The emptiness of the tunnels when Asboel and Sashari had gone, and the overwhelming curiosity to crawl out and explore, to see if the hunt could be done without Sashari. A call, like a summons he could not resist. The flight and then the capture, fire taken from them. And the attempt to escape, doing what he could to save his sister.
Tan was startled away then. The draasin was not only bold, but proud and caring, much like Asboel. There was much of his father in him, but he was different in significant ways. He didn’t fear the connection to others. The draasin had seen how Maelen had helped, and other than the chains, had not minded working with Incendin.
Would that be enough to find his name?
It would have to be. It was all that he had.
Tan thought about a name, praying his choice would have the necessary power. It had the potential to decide much of the draasin’s future. Any name he chose had to be fitting.
The fluttering sense of the draasin faded even more. There wasn’t any more time for him to wait. Delay meant that he would lose the draasin altogether.
He considered what he knew of Ishthin. The ancient language was at the heart of Asboel and Sashari’s names. It was the heart of the name Asboel had given him. Whatever he chose had to match the draasin. Bold. Caring. Unafraid. And fire.
Amia pressed to the forefront of his mind. Asgar.
The word circled in Tan’s mind, the translation coming to him, the gift of understanding Ishthin coming from Amia months ago. As he considered the word, the way that it felt when using it for the draasin, he decided that it fit.
Now to bind the name. He feared that would be the hardest part. Shaping together each of the elementals, he pulled on fire most strongly. He borrowed spirit from Amia and pushed this through the connection with the sword, and then through spirit and the fire bond.
The sense of the draasin faded.
Tan grasped toward it and, on a powerful surge of shaping, said the name: Asgar.
The sword flared brightly, mixing with the shaping, powering the connection to the draasin. The name itself seemed to flash, burning with power. Tan drew on it, adding this power to the strength of his shaping, mixing spirit and fire and merging it with the name.
Then he waited. Tan didn’t know if it would work—if it could work—but there was nothing more that he could do.
He released the power that he’d been holding, letting it out from him, and sagged to the ground, energy drained completely. His eyes fell closed and he couldn’t tell if he blacked out.
Maelen.
Tan rolled toward Asboel—his friend—and met his eyes. I’m sorry, Asboel. Maybe I’m not strong enough.
Asboel made the strange clucking sound that Tan had learned was laughter. You should look through my eyes sometime, Maelen. He rested his head next to Tan. Asgar. He lives.
Tan blinked, but it had grown dark and his vision didn’t completely clear. He sat up slowly, looking over at the hatchling. The hatchling breathed. It worked?
You served the Mother, Maelen.
You approve?
Asboel snorted again. You have done well.
3
Into the Den
Tan stood along the shores of the Valish River as it flowed toward Ethea. Here, on the banks of the river as it wound from Vatten and into the capital, the river wasn’t nearly as wide as it was where it spilled into the sea far to the north, but it moved swiftly, whitecaps forming around the massive smooth stones scattered through the riverbed, as if long ago tossed by earth shapers.
The river had cut through the earth over the years, leaving a deep canyon cutting through this part of the land. Steep, sheer walls rose up nearly a hundred feet on either shore, black stone peppered with streaks of silver and red. The steady rushing of water echoed off the walls, bouncing up and out of the cavern. High up along the wall near him was the shadow of an opening. This was where the draasin entered into the tunnels that eventually reached all the way to Ethea.
“Why are we here?” Amia asked.
In spite of the shade of the canyon, her blue eyes caught the light, making them practically glow. Her golden hair was pinned up behind her ears and a wide band of gold circled her neck. She still had not replaced the silver band the Aeta Mothers wore.
Tan wondered if she ever intended to reclaim the silver. Memories of what had happened to her weighed heavily on her mind, preventing her from wanting to reclaim her past, but she was now First Mother. Without the band of silver, she was more of the kingdoms than of the Aeta. Even her dress leaned more traditionally Ethea, a simple yellow gown still more formal than should be worn when traveling with Tan. She had not yet retaken the colorful garb of the Aeta, if she ever would. She might be First Mother, but she stood in that position with one foot outside the People.
“We still haven’t found the other hatchling,” he said.
“Asboel still searches?” Amia asked.
Tan nodded. “And Sashari remains here. I think she wishes to be out with him.”
“You know her thoughts now, too?” She asked it with no suggestion that he should not.
“The fire bond is easier now that I know what it is.”
Even here, down near water, Tan sensed fire. Now that he understood how to reach it, he could access the connection within him, much as he’d once reached for his connection to spirit. Reaching for the fire bond took focus, and strength of will, but awareness of fire blazed within him.
All around, fire came from the rocks baking in the sun, lea
ving them warm. The veins of color running through the rock caught and stored more of the sun’s heat and let it radiate away. Strands of greenery growing along the shore had threads of fire burning within. Even the reeds nearly covered by water carried fire. Perhaps Asboel had been right: fire was life.
“You did well.” She took his hand and pulled her toward him, kissing him gently on the lips.
He kissed her back, welcoming her to him as he slid a hand down her back, thankful for this one moment of quiet. These days, such moments were few. Lately, it seemed as if he were destined to battle constantly and not have the quiet life he dared dreaming of having with her. Perhaps if they managed to stop the Utu Tonah, they could finally settle, though even then, Tan doubted he would have peace. The elementals would still call to him, demanding his aid. And given the gifts that he possessed, how could he not help? That was the reason the Great Mother had granted them to him. So he would take these quiet moments and enjoy them.
“I fear that Par-shon has the other hatchling,” he said. That was the only explanation that Tan could come up with. It didn’t solve how Par-shon had managed to reach the hatchlings. Reaching them would have required drawing them from the caverns. Perhaps when Asgar was fully healed, they could understand what happened.
Amia pressed against him, hugging him tightly. She radiated peace and relaxation, though Tan didn’t know whether that was shaped or simply from the fact that they were together. “I trust that you’ll find her.”
“And if he’s bonded her?”
Amia tensed. Such bonding would make the Utu Tonah incredibly powerful, but they didn’t know what that would mean. Tan could barely count the number of bonds the Utu Tonah had stolen when they’d faced each other the last time.
At least Enya had already bonded, providing some protection. Separating a bond from the draasin was not easy. But the hatchlings were different. The young could bond, but would it be with the same strength as the older draasin? Even Asboel didn’t seem to know.
Serpent of Fire Page 2