Nyree commandeered a new bundle of clothes from the stunned creature and pulled them on quickly. Equo noticed how her hands were shaking. “Indeed. We are only minutes from the mesa cave.”
The surroundings were thankfully not those weird tilted trees, but blasted scrublands.
“Is this the Chaoslands?” Equo asked Nyree, keeping his eyes averted as she dressed.
Lacing up her bodice, she nodded. “The very edge, though. I can feel the Road in the distance, so the mesa cave is not that far.”
Varlesh was nervously watching the sky. “Crone's whiskers, we're cutting it close.”
Si was solemnly patting the twitching nose of the still-trembling donkey. “Wings, meet their match.”
“Here's hoping you're right,” Equo said, and pulled the hood of his cloak up as a warm wind began to whip over the hills.
They trailed after Nyree in silence. Watching her closely, Equo noticed that she was not moving as quickly as usual. Now and then, she would stop to wearily push her dark hair out of her eyes. So coming through the White Void had not been without its toll. He would not cheapen her choice by saying anything, though.
Cresting a small rise, the group could see down the rest of the blasted landscape. A broad valley opened up, at the end of which was a huge tabletop rock formation. While this dark red lump of stone was interesting, Equo found his attention drawn to the tent city that had sprung up around it.
“Must be half the Portree tribe down there,” Varlesh, still puffing slightly from their ascent, gasped. “By the Crone's whiskers, if the Swoop finds them…”
Nyree was already running down the slope with one hand holding her skirts above her knees. The three men exchanged a glance, but if the Vaerli could abandon her pride, then so could they. The donkey protested, but soon all of them were dashing down the hill. Despite the ridiculous nature of the moment, Equo found he enjoyed the run; he stretched his legs, the air raced through his throat, and the wind pressed against his face.
They all staggered to a halt when they reached the valley floor. Varlesh bent over with his hands on his knees. “That wasn't fair—the damn donkey slowed me down!”
Before they could have an argument on just who had won their impromptu race, Equo looked up and realized they were surrounded by young Portree—all armed and all looking less than hospitable.
Before things could turn really ugly, the crowd parted and the tall, burly figure of Baraca strode toward them. The man looked very different from the young, angry Manesto Equo remembered. Time had battered the rebel leader; his forked beard was now pure white, his face profoundly weather-beaten, and most obvious of all was the patch over his right eye. Yet despite all that, he was still taller than anyone else in the crowd, and with arms thick with great cords of muscle. Such a distinctive person could never go into any town unrecognized, but then life in the wild had always been his choice.
Looking them up and down, Baraca took extra interest in Nyree's new tattooed arms. “Welcome to my secret gathering place, Seer.” The rebel's face might not be pretty, but his voice was a deep, handsome baritone.
Varlesh bristled. “And what about us, you old bear? Are we welcome?”
The two large men glared at each other like angry combatants, making fake feints at each other, before roaring and embracing. Varlesh had always got on best with the rebel.
“Lost something, I see,” he shouted. “Lucky for you that we're out there keeping an eye on you.
While he began to tell the rebel why they were all here, Nyree slipped up to Equo. “There's something different about him, don't you think?”
“Not really; the same old Baraca. He's a bit older and the eye patch is new.”
“He is here,” Si whispered, taking a hesitant step forward, “and now the wings are too. All is in place.”
From the cage on the donkey's back, the eagle screamed, though from delight or fear was impossible to tell. Nyree and Equo turned their faces to the sky. Si was right; out from the clouds were coming the black mass of the Swoop. Dropping down out of the light Equo saw death coming on silent wings.
The warm thermal winds of the mountains had betrayed them, and now there was nothing left to do but fight at Baraca's side.
A Kindred had not been Named since the Harrowing. It was an indisputable fact that Talyn knew. It was also indisputable that it had been done, and by someone not Vaerli.
Glancing across at Finn, she realized that he really didn't understand. As a talespinner he knew the stories, yet he could never understand the raw power of the Kindred and what it truly meant to harness that. Finn was listening to the approach of beating wings, and he had no idea he was a walking impossibility.
Yet, how beautiful he was in that moment before realization hit: bright and fresh and totally unaware of his power. He was so wide open to the world, as she couldn't remember being even when she was a child.
Locked away behind that guileless smile were mysteries she hadn't spotted. The Caisah had perhaps seen deeper into her bounty than she'd given him credit for. Whoever or whatever he was, Finn was an undoubted power to contend with.
The light was being bent now as the Kindred he had Named made its true presence felt. It smashed the air above them, and for a long moment Talyn could not bring herself to look up. If she did, everything would immediately change.
For Talyn, awe had been removed from her life, just like real joy. She'd been a walking ghost all this time, and as long as her eyes stayed down she would not have to face the certainty; she could continue to lie to herself.
However, even a stalwart Vaerli has curiosity, and when she did finally join Finn in staring up at what he had wrought, it was everything and more.
For, Finn had not just been content in Naming a simple being. He had given it a quite specific and powerful name.
He couldn't have known what he did, or the price that would have to be paid later. Perhaps something in the flame of this Kindred called out for greatness and he'd only voiced what he sensed. It was a Name that only two in the past had dared to give. The second had failed in his conviction, knowing what power he was trying to bind, and his torments were Vaerli legend. The other was Ellyria herself, but such bravery was only to be expected of her.
Tears poured down Talyn's cheeks as she stared up at Finn's dragon, and unconsciously her hand caught at his. Such beauty tore away all concerns for safety and life. It pierced through Talyn until it felt as though death was a worthy sacrifice to see such a thing.
Now she understood why no dragon had flown the skies of Conhaero for generations; it was simply too much.
Sunlight streamed off polished golden sides, the air thrummed with the power of its wings, and the eyes of darkest magic stared down at them. Such intelligence and joy beamed from those opal eyes. He was unlike any scaly reptile or any other creature she had ever seen. He was larger than the great ships of the Portree and darkened the Salt with his billowing shadow.
Every line was smooth and beautiful like some exquisite drawing by a master artist. The dragon turned his proud head gracefully down toward them.
Talyn finally remembered to breathe. Her body suddenly seemed very small and insignificant. “Oh, Finn…” Those were the only words she could find. She might have been angry a moment ago, but somehow the dragon had taken her emotions.
“I cannot have done this…” Finn's voice was shaky.
The dragon dropped closer, until they were almost blinded by the light shining off its crystal belly.
Talyn squeezed Finn's hand. “Tell him his name, quickly, the name you thought of for him in your heart of hearts. The Name you called him forth with!”
“Name?” Finn stammered. “I never Named it.”
The dragon's eyes flashed like twin suns.
“How did you call it to you just now, it must have been with a name!”
Finn worked his mouth several times before managing to get out, “Wahirangi CloudLord.”
It was not the name a Vaerli would
have chosen, but it was apt from a talespinner. It appeared the newly made dragon was not displeased—for it didn't kill them on the spot. He sighed, a sound like many distant bells, and settled down in front of them.
“Talyn the Dark,” said the creature in a voice so warm and deep that she wanted to run immediately to it and be loved. “Only now do you really begin to see why this little one was so important.”
“You, too, have risen in importance, since you were in my head,” she replied as evenly as possible, while trying to keep her tone deferential. She might be a Vaerli, but they were a penny a dozen compared to dragons.
Wahirangi's chuckle was like warm treacle. “I will confess that my change in circumstance is a surprise to me as well. Perhaps almost as much as to Finn himself…”
“You…” Finn paused and ran his eyes up and down the great length of gleaming dragon. “I can't be responsible for you!”
“So say you, but it doesn't negate the fact that you did indeed give me a Name; something that I never expected to have. The change is,” the dragon gave a shake of its head, sending salt flying, “invigorating.”
“But I don't know Kindred magic,” Finn protested. “How could I do this, when I have no idea how?”
“This may be revealed—with time.” Wahirangi raised one golden curved claw. “There are layers of secrets on you, Finnbarr. I could sense their depths from my moment within you.”
“Yes, yes,” Talyn said impatiently, “he is a mystery on a mystery. So now you can save him by getting us off the Salt.”
“I agree.” The dragon lifted his head, smelling the wind. “Things have woken here, more than just I. It is best I take you from this place immediately.”
He held out one iridescent front leg, and they clambered cautiously up to sit in front of his shoulder blades. Beneath Talyn's hands, Wahirangi's skin was not at all a scaly reptile's. Instead, it was very warm and smooth like the most beautifully well-oiled and supple leather. Despite herself, Talyn stroked the hide. No, she corrected herself, it was even finer than that, more like the strongest silk covering steel.
Finn positioned himself behind her and, as when he'd ridden Syris, struggled to find a place to put his hands.
She guided them to her waist. “You best hang on. This Kindred may not yet have learned to be a dragon.”
“I would not let you fall!” Wahirangi tossed his head and let out a snort.
Talyn had to remind herself that their lives were now in his hands, and it was not the best time to argue. With a surge of muscle the dragon leapt into the air, the great wings snapped open, and suddenly they were flying. It was a moment of amazement and beauty.
Talyn found herself grinning even as the wind battered her face and her stomach lurched. From here they could see everything, even if at this precise moment “everything” was the vast white of the Salt.
“Truly incredible,” Finn shouted into her ear. “I must tell this tale. No one can have seen such a sight.”
“None but Ellyria herself and the Swoop,” she replied, “but if you tell it do you think anyone would believe you?” Behind her he was blissfully silent.
“Where shall we go?” Wahirangi's query rumbled through them as he circled higher.
Talyn had forgotten all about her mission for a brief time. Thinking on it now made her realize some difficult truths. It was unlikely that Wahirangi would surrender Finn to the Caisah. It made collecting her bounty all the more problematic.
Ellyria's dragon had been, in legend, both clever and resolute. He'd been a mighty adversary, so there was no reason not to imagine that this one was any different. Even with Syris at her side she would be no match for a dragon. It would require cunning and daring to collect her bounty now. Still there was a little time until she would have to make that decision.
“We need to find the Bastion entrance,” she yelled to Wahirangi. It was galling when the dragon curled his head back to look to Finn for confirmation. She felt his nod against her shoulder blade and her teeth clenched.
The dragon climbed higher, making her ears pop and her stomach lurch, but from this greater height they had a better chance to spot the doorway. It should be a slight mound in the expanse of the Salt.
“It will take me a little time to find it,” Wahirangi roared. “I have yet to get used to these new senses.”
“No hurry,” Finn yelled back, “I could fly all day.” He gave an almighty whoop of delight as if he was a child.
Still, Talyn knew what he meant. It was beautiful: nothing but the brilliant blue sky and the wind. Up here not even the Caisah could reach her.
As Wahirangi circled the Salt, Finn put his mouth close to her ear. “It has been bothering me for days, Talyn, but you really don't remember me, do you?”
“Should I?”
“It wasn't that long ago, even for me…” His voice was muffled, but she couldn't ignore the melancholy in it.
“Time is a funny thing,” Talyn murmured, not about to explain the constraints of immortality to him.
“We have met before. More than met,” his fingers brushed the top of her ear, gently pushing her hair behind its curve. It was an intimate gesture.
“I do love you, Talyn the Dark.” He held her face and looked right into her eyes. “Reject it if you want. It won't change.”
How could she stand against such honesty? He was not lying. He knew full well what she was and had done. She thought for a moment of the little girl with the golden voice, and what sort of woman she would she have become. Would he have loved her if she was that person? Or did he only love her for her shadows?
Looking into the eyes of her love, Talyn realized he accepted all of her: dark and light, past and present. It was something she had not expected, to be loved in such a way.
It should not be. Vaerli should love only Vaerli. Manesto only Manesto. It was the way she had been raised, and by keeping to brief sexual encounters she had managed to avoid moments like these.
Finn had been a mistake, and falling in love with him was certainly not in her plans. That didn't change a thing. Her blood rushed at his touch and all reason seemed to flee before him.
With a long-held-in sigh, Talyn launched herself forward, banging against his mouth. Tasting iron, she flinched back. Finn was laughing and grinning through a cut lip.
“I'm so sorry!” Talyn stroked his face. “I am new to this. I just…”
“It's all right.” He took her hand gently in his own. “It is only a little blood, and I have plenty to spare.”
He leaned forward and kissed her, gently this time, showing her how. He tasted of blood and sweat, and she thought irreverently of the Phaerkorn and their rites.
“Shall you be my gewalt?” Talyn asked lightly.
“That would not be such a bad fate.” Finn's fingers traced the edge of her face before running gently through her hair.
Lights flashed in front of Talyn's eyes. It was impossible. She was nemohira, yet Finn had somehow managed to bring back a memory she had chosen to forget. He had broken the discipline. He was more dangerous than she'd thought.
The foolish thing was he didn't even know he had done it. He was still talking—unaware of the confusion he had caused. “I thought you would never forget me or those weeks by the sea.”
If Talyn was not careful, he could drive more up from the depths of memory, and such recollection could well bring on madness.
So she had to stop him. “I did not forget by chance. I chose to forget. I am nemohira, which means I select those memories that are important. The rest I discard.” Her voice was chill even to her own ear.
“You chose to forget me?” She didn't need to turn to know Finn's face would be full of hurt. “I thought perhaps you were playing a game with me at the masque…even later…”
“Well, I was not,” Talyn said shortly. “If I had needed to remember those things, then I would have. They were obviously not important enough.”
She did not voice the other choice—the one she r
ealized immediately. Her forgotten self could have discarded those times with Finn to forget love and to be able to go on with her mission. It was what she would do. It was what she had done.
He was wounded by that, for his body stiffened against her, and his hands that had lain with such surety on her waist were now held clumsily. It explained much. Her past self had loved Finn enough to drive out his fear of her. It was why he had dared to meet her eye and why he had been unafraid even when she bound his eyes.
It would have been nice to remember making love to him, to recall the feeling of his skin against hers, but obviously that memory would have been linked to all the others. She'd been wise enough to discard them all.
“Memory is illusion,” she reminded herself, “and my cause the only reality.”
“That isn't why you forgot. You thought I was a weakness. You think of me as soft, but there are many ways to be both good and strong in this world. You rely too much on just strength.”
Talyn said nothing. What was there to say to the truth?
Wahirangi began to spiral down, his sharp eyes having finally spotted the faintest circle of white against white.
The last time Talyn had been this close to the Bastion, there had been much more color on the Salt.
All the Vaerli came to the gathering, where leaders were chosen and sacred rituals performed. It was a duty to meet at the Bastion every tenth year. The place had been full of children. Talyn recalled laughing and chasing Byre around the camp, breathless with excitement and full of sugared treats the adults gave away easily. Practitioners of all the Vaerli arts made the air alive with the beauty of stories, song, and dance.
These memories Talyn had kept. They maintained her determination and kept her vengeance hot. “Take us down there,” she commanded.
Wahirangi did not drop immediately. Only when Finn leaned forward and asked did the dragon fold his wings and dive. They landed as lightly as a cat on the Salt, and the dragon made no more noise than a feline.
Slipping quickly off his back, Talyn took a look around the spot where she had last seen her tribe. It couldn't have been quieter. It was exactly the thing it had become—a graveyard.
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