by Jensine Odom
“It’s alright,” I say, tentatively touching his shoulder and ducking into his line of sight. “I know it’s going to take time for everyone to unlearn the things they’ve known their whole existence. You’ll be ready in your own time.” I smile, turning to look behind me at the next leg of our journey.
“Xerxia?” Turhion entreats, and I look back at him questioningly. “I would like to know what your mind feels like.” He nods, as if convincing himself.
“Alright.” I straighten up and reach a hand out, waiting patiently.
Turhion takes a deep breath and steps closer, hesitating for a moment before laying his warm palm against mine.
“Ready?” I ask.
Every line of his body tenses as if readying for battle, but he nods. Holding his unsure gaze, I let my mind flow out to nudge his. His eyes go wide as his mind pushes back hard, and I pull my consciousness away, giving him a moment.
Turhion recomposes himself with determination. “Again.”
Once more my mind brushes his and it gives, but only a little. Just enough for me to get a small glimpse of what he’s feeling. Fear is at the top, and a sense of certain wrongness comes in a close second. He’s not ready, but he’ll break himself just to appease me.
I pull away completely and drop my hand with a small smile. “Baby steps,” I reply at his confused look. “We’ll try again later, when we make camp.”
Relief floods Turhion’s face and the tension he was holding in his shoulders seeps out. With a short bow he rejoins Kerric, his younger brother beaming proudly.
With that small triumph bolstering my mood, I turn and lean against the tree once more. I gaze out over the small valley we have to traverse to reach the next mountain, squinting as the sun breaks through the clouded sky.
It’s somewhere between mid and late morning, and although we’ve made it fairly far, we still have a long way to go. There’s this valley, thankfully dotted generously with trees, which leads to the next mountain, then the wide-open plains beyond that. Finally, there’s the mountain range that’s our destination. If we can at least get into those foothills by dark, I’ll be happy.
Caedryn moves up beside me and I shift my weight to rest against him while we wait for the rest of this spot shower to clear up, ignoring the angry screeching coming from a squirrel high up in the tree.
“Do you want any patrols up while we cross to the next mountain?” I ask Caedryn when the rain finally lets up.
“I don’t think we will require any patrols this time. There are enough trees to remain under cover, if we need.”
“Alright.” I smile up at him, pulling him into a quick kiss before straightening up to look at everyone else. “Let’s get going, shall we?”
Zebulon and Tristin jump from under the tree with sticks held like guns, running and sliding to cover as they make their way down the hill pretending to shoot zombies. With less dramatic flair, the rest of us move out behind them, and the irritated squirrel jumps to the lowest branch, chattering in triumph at our backs.
✽✽✽
The storms break up as the day continues to warm, leaving the sky filled with high, cotton ball clouds. The air is thick with moisture, and the only relief from the humid heat is a breeze that kicks up periodically, cooling the sticky sweat on my skin.
Everyone walks in silence as we skirt the small mountain, but even if they were talking, I wouldn’t know. My mind’s preoccupied with thoughts of the future. I know I’m going to save as many Honorless and Knights as I possibly can, and hopefully before I meet with Drustana in battle, but I don’t know how well my new people will tolerate each other, or how well they’ll adjust to the new way of life.
What if I work so hard to save as many as I can only to have them turn on one another, or outright defect to Drustana’s side only because they can’t see the truth? Or even worse, create a third faction to oppose both Drustana and me. I don’t think this broken world would survive a dragon civil war.
All I know is I can’t let dragonkind go back to the way things were, and if I keep faith in that, just maybe I’ll be successful.
Then there’s my family. Dragons are immortal, or close to it. Humans, not so much. Tristin’s already a dragon, and soon I’ll be one too, but Zebulon and Mary are human. What happens to them after all this? Tristin and I will have to watch them grow old and die while we stay the same.
There’s a chance Zebulon’s at least partially immortal because of Dagabrjota, but that still leaves Mary. She can’t be a part of this fight, either, or she’ll die. Maybe I can convince her to stay in the Santa Fe settlement. I might just have a shot, too. She’s been uneasy with this whole situation and distancing herself from Zebulon recently.
Even now Mary’s walking with Kerric, a soft smile on her face as she quietly talks with him instead of being with Zebulon. Not that I blame her at the moment. Zebulon’s currently riding his dragon form brother and brandishing his sword.
Turhion glares at them, clearly thinking their shenanigans are a bad idea, and Baldure tries to hide his smile. I laugh at their idiocy, but can’t get mad at them. Our ability to make the best out of every situation is how we’ve survived this far, and to be honest, I’d be doing the same thing.
I catch Caedryn’s eye and give him a playful look, gesturing to my brothers. He glances quickly between us and shakes his head, chuckling as he steps beside me. With a laugh, I loop my arm in his.
Before I know it, it’s midday and we’re sitting in what sparse shade we can find at the edge of the trees, eating while we stare out at the seven or so miles of prairie that spans between us and the next mountain chain.
Standing beneath a juniper, which looks more like an acacia tree thanks to some cows, I watch the deep blue shadows of clouds race across the golden grasses, munching on a bag of teriyaki flavored beef jerky. Caedryn comes to stand beside me, and I offer to share my snack. He bites into the fairly large piece he chose, then immediately spits it out.
“What is wrong with this meat?” he asks, glaring at the rest of his piece like it’s rotten.
“It’s teriyaki flavored,” I manage to answer around my laughter. “I can get you a piece of deer, if you don’t like it.”
He hands back the beef jerky with a decisive nod, and I rummage to the bottom of my bag for the deer jerky, not thinking about the marshmallows I just tossed on the ground.
“Hey,” Zebulon yells indignantly, snatching the somewhat squished sugary treats and stuffing one in his mouth.
“See, that’s why I took them away in the first place.” I shake my head at him, handing Caedryn his piece of jerky. “I bet they’ll all be gone before we even reach the mountains.”
Zebulon just glares at me, eating another marshmallow, and walks off only to have Tristin steal them away from him. Zebulon tries in vain to grab the bag back from his larger brother as Tristin stuffs as many marshmallows in his mouth as he can.
Baldure grabs the bag from Tristin as he sweeps it in yet another arc over his head, and before either of my brothers can react, he tosses it neatly to me. I give Zebulon and Tristin a triumphant smile and stick the remaining marshmallows back in my bag. It helps to have a giant on your side.
“If everyone’s ready, we should be going,” I say, swinging my backpack and bow across my shoulders again.
“I’m not comfortable with the lack of cover for so long a time,” Caedryn voices his concern once more. “We should stay here until nightfall, then cross the plains.”
“We’ve done this plenty of times, with only a couple dragon encounters. We’ll be fine,” I reassure him, knocking on the tree beside me just in case.
“Yeah, the odds are in our favor,” Mary adds unhelpfully.
“We’ll have a patrol up, too. If they see us, we definitely see them. Besides, our stores are getting low. We need to hunt, and this tiny mountain is pretty much tapped as far as game goes.”
“And I do not want to eat rabbit again,” Mary interrupts me.
“Or grasshoppers,”
Zebulon adds with disgust, scrunching his face.
“Won’t any dragons out there still be able to see us at night?” I ask pointedly. “The moon’s still really bright.”
I have confidence we can handle anything we may encounter on the plains, Alarr adds for my side.
“I will take patrol,” Baldure offers with a nod.
“See? We’ll be fine. Now, who’s flying with Baldure?” I look to the other dragons.
For all his trying, Turhion still looks a bit uneasy, and despite his indifference, Kerric doesn’t look all that thrilled, either.
“Fuck it.” Tristin shrugs, and starts to step up, but Caedryn stops him.
“I will fly with Baldure.”
I look at Caedryn, brows raised in question. He’s got something planned, but I can’t figure out what. Caedryn doesn’t reply to my silent inquiry, simply nodding to Baldure. Without a word, the two men step out and shift, Caedryn a brilliant black and silver; Baldure a deep emerald green with a golden sheen, patternless like Caedryn.
They take off, kicking up a small dust devil in their wake, and circle around us a few times as they gain height. They’re joined by a third dragon, my heart speeding up until a quick orange flash in the sunlight gives it away as Sitrian. After another large sweep, Caedryn calls the all clear and the rest of us step out of the shade, the high-noon sun shining hot down on our shoulders as we begin our trek across the plains.
An odd excitement races through my veins the farther out we get. We had said we were never running the plains again, because the last time we were out here Mom and Caitlin died.
Wide Open Spaces
THE wild grasses sway in the breeze, filling the air with their sweet fragrance as we make our way along the thin, winding coyote trails, keeping a constant eye out for cactus. Sitrian flew off some time ago, but Baldure and Caedryn continue to keep watch high above us, flying in and out of the clouds that float by.
As I had said we would, we’re doing just fine. Save for a jackrabbit popping out of a sagebrush and scaring the crap out of me momentarily, nothing has happened, and we’re already nearly to the strip of black asphalt that winds through these plains, the orange barrels and mechanical dinosaurs from a half-finished construction job scattered along its length. We’ll be back in the mountains, and back under cover, in no time.
Cresting a hill just before reaching the road, we come across one of the ranch houses that are sparsely sprinkled across these grasslands. This one’s new to us and looks to be very abandoned. Most of the windows are broken out, the wooden porch is in disrepair, and a coyote just ran out the front door that hangs precariously on its hinges.
Zebulon and Tristin look at me, the same question on their faces. This is a nice house, or it was in its prime, and this is what we’ve been doing for the last year. I know we shouldn’t stop, but we could use supplies, if there are any. I nod to the boys, sending them racing inside.
“We’re making a stop to check this house,” I tell Turhion and Kerric, turning to follow my brothers. Alarr, relay the message to Caedryn and Baldure, please.
Caedryn is not comfortable with this delay.
We won’t be long, I assure him.
Unfortunately, the first impressions aren’t very promising. There’s nothing in the cupboards, and what furniture not used for fire food has been torn to shreds by various creatures for bedding, some of their scat littering the floor.
Undaunted by this initial find, we head deeper in, eventually coming to a staircase. Zebulon, Mary, Turhion, and Kerric all keep heading down the hall, but Tristin and I stop, glancing up the stairs. With one look at each other, we head up, the wooden stairs creaking under our feet.
We scare some bats from their roost in the first room we come to, the little winged mammals screeching unhappily as they fly out the busted window. This room’s not in any better shape than the living room, with a shredded mattress sitting in one corner, and neither is the next room. It’s piled high with trash and animal droppings, and something furry just scurried into a large hole in the wall.
Across the way is the third and final room, its door shut tight. This looks more promising.
Standing just outside, Tristin and I ready our weapons, hoping for nothing but prepared for anything. With a nod, Tristin kicks the door in. I jump in first, Tristin quick on my heels, screaming like a mad man for dramatic effect. There’s no one here, though.
Compared to the rest of the house, this room is immaculate. The mattress is still intact, if severely dusty, and the wooden dresser is in good condition. Small trinkets line its surface, from a small wire tree with a few necklaces hung on it to a hand sculpture that boasts two golden wedding rings, one stacked on top of the other.
I resist the urge to take everything, reminding myself we’re not scavenging for some time, if ever again, and move on.
Two out of the three windows are busted out, spent shell casings and bullets littering the floor in front of them leaving a trail towards the bathroom, its door slightly ajar.
“What’s behind door number two?” I joke with Tristin and nudge it open with my bow.
The stench of rotting flesh buffets us and Tristin gags, fleeing farther back into the room. Spurred on by my morbid curiosity, I let the door swing closed again and pull a bandana out of my backpack to cover my face against the smell.
“You check the closet for anything useful,” I tell Tristin, and he makes another dramatic gagging noise as I head cautiously into the bathroom.
More used bullets are scattered across the tile, matching holes in the roof, and sitting in the bathtub across from us is the owner of the gun, long dead from a very apparent gunshot wound to the face; the wall behind him is stained dark red with blood, and what I would assume is his brain matter.
Maggots and carrion beetles crawl across him, but there are no other obvious wounds, save for the hole in his head. Just another poor soul who couldn’t handle surviving and went a little crazy, judging from all the failed attempts.
I find his gun sitting in the tub next to his body, an older model Magnum revolver, kind of like the one my dad used to have. Using one of the still neatly folded towels beside the tub, I gingerly pick it up and carefully clean the dead guy goo off.
It looks to be in usable condition. I snap the cylinder open and check the chambers; eight spots, seven bullets left. I finish cleaning the gun completely and head back to Tristin in the next room. If Mr. Memento Mori in there didn’t spend all the bullets, I want to find them.
I find Tristin still rummaging around in the large closet and walk up behind him. “Find anythin’ good?” I ask, affecting a heavy southern drawl.
He turns to me, looking like a kid on Christmas day, and matches my accent. “Why, yes I did!” Coming out of the closet, he holds up the shotgun he found, along with an ammo case full of shotgun shells and magnum bullets. “Now, if we could just find that Magnum,” he says, jutting his chin out and looking comically perplexed around the room.
“Funny story…” I lift the revolver up on a finger.
Tristin jumps for joy, squealing like a little kid, and takes the gun from me, looking it over as I had. Should I tell him it was just covered in dead man? Nah.
He places a new bullet in the empty chamber, spins the cylinder dramatically, and snaps it shut. Then, getting slightly carried away, he cocks the hammer back, and before I can tell him don’t, he does; shooting out the one window that isn’t broken, sending glass flying and rattling the walls, as well as my ear drums.
I glare at him, but he just laughs, refilling the empty chamber again as the rest of our party comes stampeding up the stairs in a panic.
“Xerxia?!” Turhion yells, reaching the top first.
“In here,” I call back, and footsteps thunder towards the room.
Turhion bursts through the door first, followed quickly by Kerric, both holding swords at the ready. Zebulon’s next, holding a nifty crossbow to his shoulder, and after that is Mary, peeking around the corner
with her frying pan held high. If there were someone in here with us, I don’t know if they’d be scared, or amused.
“What happened?!” Turhion asks sternly, and sheaths his sword, finding no immediate threat.
I gesture with my thumb at Tristin, who’s laughing hysterically now. “Genius here fired the revolver I found.”
“So, you guys are good?” Zebulon asks, lowering his crossbow. “And what’s that smell?”
“We’re good, and that smell would be the dead guy.” I point to the bathroom, but before I can warn them about his condition, Zebulon and Mary walk in.
“Eew,” Mary yells, and they both come back out in short order.
“Yeah… So, you found a crossbow?” I ask Zebulon.
“Yeah!” He hands over the weapon for me to look at. “You found a revolver?” he asks in return.
“And I found a shotgun,” Tristin adds excitedly, holding up both the revolver and the shotgun for added effect.
“We found a dead person, too. Or, at least, part of them,” Mary adds with distaste. “There’s the skeletal remains of a hand poking out of some rubble downstairs.”
“I think it might have been the entrance to a bunker,” Zebulon informs me.
“Can we clear the rubble?” I ask hopefully. Where there’s an abandoned bunker, there’s abandoned prepper foods, especially if there was a cave in.
“Maybe? Come see for yourself.”
“Lead on.” I motion for Zebulon to go first.
“Here.” Tristin hands me the magnum.
“Nah. You keep it. I’m good with my bow.”
Tristin’s eyes light up, and he sticks the gun in his belt, then straps the shotgun onto his backpack. On the way out the door I give in and grab the necklaces off the tree and the wedding rings off the hand. If I can convince Mary to go to the settlement, she’ll need some things for trade.
Zebulon’s waiting for us below, standing beside a pile of concrete. As he and Mary mentioned, a skeletal hand pokes out from a small hole, bits of tattered flannel hanging around the wrist.