Bone, Fog, Ash & Star

by Catherine Egan

  But the witch was gone. The Dragon rose above them and they cringed in its shadow. The wings came down and the wind knocked them to the ground. It soared away, lost quickly in the spray, leaving Nell and Charlie to scramble to their feet, push their damp hair out of their faces, and look around at the marvelous world they found themselves in.

  “It’s incredible,” said Charlie.

  “Even if I dinnay get back in time for my test,” said Nell, “it’s worth it, aye, just to see this.”

  “You’ll make it back,” said Charlie. “You’ll ace that exam and get a huge scholarship to Austermon and become the best cetologist in Di Shang. I cannay imagine anything stopping you, Nell, short of the end of the worlds, and praps not even that.”

  And there, finally, with the Immortal Dragons filling the sky, atop a shining cliff at the end of the world, she put her arms around his neck, pulled him to her, and kissed him.

  ~~~

  The Dragon took Swarn further east, to a plateau ringed by smoldering dark calderas. There sprawled a monster of unspeakable size. Swarn had felt the power of this creature calling to her before they had come across the first of the Dragons in the Far Sea. She thought she had felt it from as far away as Lil – perhaps she had felt it her whole life. This was the Lord Dragon, first among the Immortal Dragons, the Child of the Ancients. It lay across the plateau and did not stir as the Dragon that bore Swarn to it landed a short distance away. Swarn had been riding on its foot, her arm clinging to the ridges of its bony talons. When it set down, she leaped to the ground and strode towards the Lord Dragon, knelt and bowed her head. The Dragon blinked slowly, wrinkled lids closing over eyes like black lakes and then rising again. Swarn had been pleased to find that the strange, archaic language of her cliff dragons was indeed derived from the language of the Immortal Dragons and that she could communicate with them. But with the Lord Dragon, there was no need of language.

  Master of the Flame.

  This was the Dragon’s greeting to her.

  Lord Dragon, why do you call me master? I am only your servant, was her reply.

  If my servant, then I am Master of the Flame. But our land is without fire. The sea comes and encroaches and our power wanes.

  Can you repel the Faeries? Swarn asked the Dragon. They are coming for the Gehemmis.

  The Lord Dragon showed no sign of perturbation.

  Those who come are Faeries only in name. The First among the Faeries, my brothers and sisters, are gone further west than even the Faeries of Tian Di know. They are stronger, greater, purer than the Faeries of this world, who are but shadows of what they will become. Likewise are we but shadows of what we were, since the Mage stole Flame from us. Without Flame, we are too weak even to fly across the Far Sea to Tian Di. Some Dragons go by sea to seek our stolen Flame, but they do not return. I think that on the journey, they become creatures of the Deep and forget their first allegiance. Tian Di was a wasteland that became a world, now two worlds, and our world disappears slowly, swallowed by the sea. But you have come to us, Master of the Flame, and so there is still hope for us.

  Yes, hope. Swarn felt it fill her up, like taking a deep breath of air after being long submerged underwater. She thought she was beginning to understand.

  So the old stories are true – the Dragon Mage stole the source of your power, the Flame, and used it to Make the mortal dragons.

  It is true. Though we are Immortal, a Dragon without Flame is barely worthy to be called Dragon. Our Realm is robbed of Magic and we are weak. How the Mage took our Flame, what Magic he employed, we do not know. How to regain it, also a mystery. But I have felt you coming. I know what you command. What can you offer us, Master of the Flame?

  All her life, Swarn thought, her flesh had bound her Magic too tightly. Her power had been struggling from the day of her birth to be free, to exist as a force only, to perform this task. That was the battle within her, the endless struggle against her self, Magic pushing against constricting bone and skin. Stirring within her now was a Magic she had never learned, something that had dwelled within her all this time, waiting for this moment.

  I offer myself. To return the Flame will require Great Magic. It will require all my power. All that I am.

  The Lord Dragon blinked his black lake eyes at her slowly.

  You will become one with the Flame.

  She felt something unfamiliar opening up within her: joy.

  Yes. But in return, I ask for the Gehemmis.

  If you do this, you can never return to what you were.

  She found herself holding a folded sack of thinnest dragon scale, small enough to fit in the palm of her hand. (Goodbye, palm of my hand, she thought, and tried to stop herself from whooping with laughter). She opened the sack and looked at the black dust inside.

  Ash, said the Lord Dragon. What was burned in the Making.

  ~~~

  Charlie and Nell passed the earlier part of the day in a state of stunned, joyful wonder on the cliff. As the day waned, however, they grew damp and cold from the spray that filled the air as well as terribly hungry, and Swarn had still not returned. So it was with great relief that they spotted her standing on the head of a Dragon flying towards the cliff, wings spread so far they seemed to have no end. It landed on the cliff and Swarn strode down between the two vast ponds of its eyes, along its long nose, and leaped to the ground as if casually jumping off a roof.

  “Thank the Ancients you’re back!” Nell began eagerly, rushing forward, and then she stopped, her mouth dropping open.

  “What in the worlds…” murmured Charlie, just behind her.

  Swarn was changed. Her white hair shone like strands of pure light. Her skin, which had always looked like worn old leather to Nell, was smooth and dark and glowing. Her eyes shone like black jewels and her flesh almost seemed to flow, as if she were not made of bone and muscle anymore but a kind of liquid that held her shape.

  When she spoke, her voice resonated, clear as a bell.

  “This is the Gehemmis of the Dragons,” she said, handing it to Nell. “You must take it to Eliza.”

  “OK,” Nell faltered. She took the folded sack in her hand. “Are you nay coming?”

  Swarn smiled – not her usual wolf-like grin, but a real smile.

  “Tell Eliza to have patience. She is young and has borne much, but we all become what we must. Wish her farewell from me.”

  “Farewell? Swarn, what’s happening?”

  “Balance is being restored,” said Swarn. She threw back her head. A terrible screeching sound burst from her throat. Swarn’s dragon’s head shot up and the creature came to her swiftly, bowing its head towards her. Her high, wild keening continued. The dragon swayed its head almost as if it was dancing to the awful sounds she made. Charlie and Nell backed away, putting their hands over their ears. Then Swarn’s dragon emitted a long sigh and green flame poured out of it and onto Swarn.

  “No!” shouted Nell, starting to run towards them, but Charlie grabbed her and pulled her back. Swarn did not appear to be burned by the flame. It flowed into her, flickering in her and around her. The dragon was keening now, the two of them swaying and wailing together, until the last of its fire flickered out of its mouth and it dropped its head, exhausted. Swarn screamed a command. The green fire burned in the air all around her, burned on her skin and her hair without consuming her. The dragon turned to Nell and Charlie and bowed its neck.

  “Come on,” said Charlie. “It’s time for us to go.”

  “But…” Nell gestured helplessly towards Swarn. “What’s going on?”

  “I dinnay know,” said Charlie. “But we’ve got the Gehemmis. Whatever happens next, I dinnay think we want to be part of it.”

  Nell scrambled up onto the dragon’s neck behind him. The dragon took to the air, flying up through the spray. Nell looked back at Swarn. She was glowing brighter and brighter with green flame, her chanting rising and filling the air. She became a white light at the center of the flame, and then the chanting
crescendoed and she burst into fire. The green fire ran along the dark cracks in the rocky cliffs and leaped from the smoking calderas. The land of the Immortal Dragons was suddenly alight, and all the Dragons were roaring together.

  “What just happened to her?” cried Nell, but she could not hear her own voice.

  Swarn’s dragon shot straight up, followed at a distance by the Immortal Dragons. Over the edge of the cliff of falling water, they could see the legion of approaching myrkestras, line after line stretched across the sea. Swarn’s dragon continued to rise, straight up into the clear reddish sky, high above the Faery army. Below them, the Immortal Dragons roared, their green flame bursting onto the green sea.

  The sea surged up and Swarn’s dragon still rocketed skyward, out of reach. The sea turned back in a giant wave that grew rapidly, higher than a mountain, higher than ten mountains, and still Swarn’s dragon rose above it. Nell and Charlie clung to the dragon’s neck, dizzy and terrified, as the sea chased them ever upwards. The rows of myrkestras began to scatter and rise, but not fast enough. The sea roared towards them, loomed over them, then hurtled down and swallowed them.

  The sea roiled and churned, fire and water, and when it settled Charlie and Nell and the cliff dragon were alone in the sky.

  STAR

  Chapter

  ~23~

  The Vermilion Bird’s feathers were softer than anything Eliza had touched before. She longed to caress it, bury her face in its softness, but she did not dare. It was a being of great power after all, and great intelligence too. It might be proud enough to throw her off if she were so presumptuous as to stroke the feathers she held now in a firm grip.

  The Yellow Mountains fell away almost immediately. A voice like a soft brush of wing told Eliza, Don’t look. Steam rose up from the Dreaming Wasteland. The black dragons circled and sang far below them. Eliza closed her eyes. She drew breath into her and pushed it out in a slow, circular rhythm.

  “The battle is won or lost in your breath,” Swarn had taught her. “If you control your breath, you control yourself, physically and mentally.”

  The song of the dragons drifted up, beautiful and sorrowful. Eliza felt tears sliding out from under her closed lids. She felt the pull from the Dreaming Wasteland, a tug at the heart. Clinging to the Vermilion Bird, she tried not to think of letting go, for at that moment it was sorely tempting. To slip from the soft back and fall. Finally, to let go and fall. Into that song. Her grip loosened and the voice came again, soft as smoke: Do not listen.

  She breathed in time with the gliding swing of the soft wings. Her only thought was Don’t fall off. She forgot her purpose, her destination, everything but Don’t fall off. As if this was all of life, as if she had never done anything else.

  And then she was not on the back of the bird. The sweet, sad song was gone. They were not flying. She breathed. She waited until she was sure. She had not fallen. She had arrived. She opened her eyes and marveled.

  She was at the foot of a staircase made of light. Levels upon levels of the Hanging Gardens were suspended in the blackness of space all around her. The light moved, changing shape. Brilliant spires became bright forests, which in turn became a waterfall of light flowing into yet something else. The shining stairs passed up through all these levels, and Eliza climbed them. She did not feel tired here, though the steps seemed to go on and on. Climbing was effortless; she was nearly weightless. The stairway led her into a vaulted cathedral of light. Luminescent pillars soared upwards. The light formed latticework and intricate detail along the pillars and the walls and around the vast ceiling. There was faint music, notes absolutely pure, and she walked among the pillars looking for its source before realizing that this sound came from the light itself.

  She heard her name. Coming towards her among the pillars was a being of pure light. The being was as tall as a Giant, but far more shapely and graceful than those brutish creatures. Any features it might have had were obscured by the light that emanated from them. It was as if a star had taken the form of a colossal Faery.

  The being called her name again, in a voice that was neither male nor female, neither song nor speech. It was a beautiful voice, gentle, sure, so full of warmth and kindness that Eliza felt immediately safe. She felt welcome.

  Eliza, are you lost?

  “No,” said Eliza. “I came looking for you.”

  A pealing laugh seemed to come from every direction at once. The Hanging Gardens fell away suddenly. Lights plunged and doused themselves in the inky blackness of space, the pillars around her tumbling to nothing. Everything before her and behind her was collapsing, disappearing. Eliza dropped to her knees. She was perched on the edge of a long strip of light stretched far out over black space, like the edge of a plank stretched out from a pirate’s ship. Somewhere in the emptiness out there, an echoing roar – the Panther waiting, poised.

  The Sparkling Deluder (for who else could it be?) curled softly in the darkness as if the darkness was a nest. It looked at Eliza, or so it seemed, though Eliza could not find eyes in the flare of brilliance that was its face.

  Eliza, do you want to tumble too?

  There was menace in the voice now, and amusement. The gentleness with which it had spoken her name had been deceptive. This was a being who meant her harm.

  “No,” she said, and her voice shook. “I want to be safe.”

  She was startled by her own pronouncement. It seemed she had never spoken words so true, so completely from her heart. For this was all she wanted, all she wanted in the worlds right now: only to be safe. Not to be perched at the edge of space, not to tumble at the whim of this being.

  That’s all anybody wants, when they lack it.

  The Sparkling Deluder reached towards her with a shining hand. The hand went right through her, into her body. It was the strangest sensation, as if her flesh were not substantial, merely a clamour of atoms being pushed aside. The hand withdrew, a black raven in its palm. The Sparkling Deluder opened its hand wide and the raven took off, disappeared into the black.

  I could pull them out of you for the rest of time and there would still be more, I suppose.

  “I dinnay know,” said Eliza.

  You don't know what you are. You see, I was right. Lost, poor thing.

  Eliza felt a cold sweat breaking out along her hairline and her upper lip. She couldn’t look at the wheeling blackness waiting to swallow her. There was nothing out there, no way back to the worlds she knew.

  “Please,” she croaked, her voice failing her. “I’m frightened.”

  The darkness seemed to sway and beckon. The hand swept through the darkness, dusty particles of light tumbling from it and winking out.

  The Immortals are stirring. The Faeries of Tian Xia are looking for the Gehemmis. They wander the Dreaming Wasteland and their armies are lost in the underwater realms, disturbing the Deep. The Dragons are rising in the East and who can say what they will do now their power is restored. Amarantha walks the world again. All this because of a mortal girl on a quest to save the boy she loves. Can you see it?

  “I cannay see anything,” said Eliza.

  The Sparkling Deluder pointed with one bright finger and drew a circle of light in the air. Through the circle, Eliza saw Tian Xia, the lake of the Crossing, the Far Sea to the east. She longed to leap through it, just to be in the worlds again. She could leap, become a raven, be safe. But no, she couldn’t leap, she could hardly move, clinging to this strip of light over black space, terrified.

  The Warrior Witch has given herself to the Dragons, said the Sparkling Deluder. Look.

  The view through the circle of light changed. Eliza saw a world of soaring white stone half-obscured by a mist of sea-spray. Dragons of unfathomable size nested there. And she saw Swarn, brilliant with green fire, burst into a shower of light.

  Grief, Eliza knew, could come in many ways. It could be a shadow that clung to you, or a fist around the heart. It could come all at once, washing over you like a wave and then disappear
ing, or it could approach with soft footsteps and linger close and quiet. It could gnaw at you with tiny teeth or crush you like a block of stone. Now it came like a blade, bright and sudden, twisting. She cried out in startled pain, then closed her teeth over it and breathed. Like Swarn had taught her, Swarn whom she would not see again. She breathed slowly, forbidding the sobs that clamoured in her chest, forbidding the tears that rushed to her eyes. Later, later she would weep for Swarn, if there was a later for her. For now she had to keep still, breathe, be ready.

  “She was my friend,” said Eliza.

  Yes, I know. The Sparkling Deluder emitted a high whistling sound, like a sigh. You don’t need to tell me. I’ve been watching. And you came here, all this way, for the Gehemmis. What good does it do, the struggle and the pain?

  “I dinnay know what you mean,” said Eliza.

  You see everything up close. You have no perspective. It’s not your fault. It’s the nature of what you are. But I will show you the larger picture and then we will see if you still care so much about finding the Gehemmis.

  The darkness seemed to fold, cave in. The Vermilion Bird shot out over the Yellow Mountains, wings spread wide.

  She could see everything at once, or so it felt. It was not like watching, exactly, for there was no passage of time. Simply, she saw everything in fullness and at once, from no particular direction or perspective.

  Foss lay like an ashen shadow on the narrow bed where she had left him, the last faint glimmer of his eyes gone out. Ferghal knelt by the bed and wept over him. The Blind Enchanter dug a hole among the flowering bushes outside the house, sweat gleaming on his muscled shoulders. He slung Foss’s brittle and deflated body over his shoulder, carried him out and put him in the ground. Ferghal followed him out, still weeping. They covered him with flowers and shoveled the dirt overtop.

  “Nay Foss!” Eliza cried out. “Please dinnay take Foss!”

  Who has taken him? Who are you calling out to? He has simply ceased to be.

  Eliza found herself standing on the strip of light again, suspended over the empty universe. “The river,” she croaked. “I’ll bring him back.”