by Laura Harris
That doesn’t make any sense. How can you be in a group if you don’t spend any time together?
/You don’t make any sense. You haven’t the faintest idea how dragons live./
You sound like a four–year–old.
/You know less than a four–year–old mountain child./
Are we done?
/If you insist. I was quite enjoying myself./
Corran groaned out a sigh, shaking his head as Frang chuckled. They were in the centre of the town already. The houses here were all stone and one in particular caught his eye. It was an open–sided, pillared hall, so very like the one in Dunslade Town. It was where the children who didn’t have tutors were taught basic sums and letters when they were too young to work. It was yet another thing his mother had insisted he be grateful to King Rhian for, even though he had never been taught a lesson there in his life. There were children inside now, reciting numbers out loud in a tiny chorus. If anyone would have heard of Mr Benson the tutor, the teacher in there would have.
He couldn’t let Tilda know he was here, not when he looked like this and had fallen so far since she had last seen him. The best way to warn her was through her father. He wasn’t too keen on Mr Benson seeing him either, but if it was necessary for protecting Tilda then so be it.
He twisted his leg over the donkey’s back and fell to the floor, wincing as it jarred his shoulder. It was better now – the first day having to get off the donkey had been terrible, he’d only just got back on the next morning. He made his way towards the Learners’ Hall, leading the donkey by its reins so it wouldn’t wander off to find something to eat. The children sitting on the floor were tiny, but every one was enraptured by their teacher. They stared at him with grinning faces as they repeated numbers with vigour, most of them holding up the correct amount of fingers.
The teacher’s voice halted and the children fell silent with disappointed faces. A few of them peered back at him and it was then he turned to see the teacher – and found Tilda’s father staring back. The man had not changed at all since leaving except for the thicker clothes he wore.
“You think you’re meant to stop just because I do? Keep counting!” Mr Benson called out, rounding on the children and holding up seven fingers.
“Seven!” they chorused, except for a few sixes and eights.
“Count as high as you can! I shall be listening!” he said, gesturing at Corran with one hand to follow him into the enclosed room at the back of the hall that served as the schoolmaster’s office. Corran tied the donkey’s rope to a drinking fountain and hurried after Mr Benson. He pulled the door shut behind him, but didn’t have the chance to utter one word of greeting before Mr Benson spoke.
“I don’t know what you’re thinking coming here, Corran! We can’t help you – we won’t! What if people realised who you were?”
Corran stared back at his old tutor in disbelief. What was he talking about?
“We might have lived in Dunslade Town but we are still true northerners! Tilda’s mother came from Cridhal itself!”
“What?”
Mr Benson had always seemed to like him as a pupil. Had that just been an act while he was employed by Lord Huwcyn?
“The whole north knows the Dunslade brothers are here to finish off their father’s work! I’ve had enough parents stop their children coming to Learners’ Hall because your brothers paid a visit, without you making it worse! We have lost the dragons once and will not do that again – you will get no help from me. You should leave.”
“I… I’m not here about dragons. I’m not trying to stop them.” He was surprised to realise his words were true. The smouldering hate that had lived in him for so long, that had flared up into a blaze upon learning Frang lived within him, was gone. When Huw had forced him off that cliff, he had doused it as good as with a bucket of water. How could dragons be any worse than his own family?
/Does this mean you will let me be free?/ Frang asked.
Don’t get your hopes up, he snapped back, and felt the wry but grateful amusement in return.
“So… why are you here? And how did you get in such a state?” Mr Benson asked, sitting down in a chair and looking him up and down.
“Huw threatened Tilda,” Corran replied, skipping the last question. “He… he found out about us, from Glyn. And I don’t know if he said it just to taunt me or if he meant it, but I had to warn her.”
“You came here just for that?”
Corran shifted as he nodded.
“Are you planning to stay?” Mr Benson asked with a cautious frown.
“No, no. And I don’t want to see her. I just had to warn her. You. And I have now, so I should go.”
“Just like that?” Mr Benson said in alarm, climbing to his feet again.
Corran nodded, turning to leave, then paused. “I’m sorry. That you had to leave Dunslade Town, because of me.”
“Corran, we are northerners. We would always have returned here. My father was the schoolmaster in this town before me and maybe someday Tilda will be the schoolmistress. This is home,” Mr Benson assured him, one hand resting on his shoulder. “Thank you for the warning. I do not know what has gone on between you and your brothers, but I wish you luck.”
“Thank you,” Corran muttered. He waited for a sarcastic comment from Frang, but none came. It was only after he had walked out of the door and the children’s number calling filled his ears again that the dragon spoke.
/I am not that insensitive. Touching moment, though. Good to know you possess an emotion that isn’t anger./
Not just anger? Have you seen me at all the past few days? Corran exclaimed, untying the donkey’s reins. It had eaten the contents of a nearby flowerpot. He felt empty. He had done the deed that had kept him going for the past few days. He had focused on it so much he had forgotten the events that preceded it. Now he had no distractions.
/Of course. You are excellent at being depressed as well. After so much time with me in your head I’d have hoped you’d have picked up some humour instead./
Your humour isn’t humour. It’s… stupid.
/Now who sounds like a four–year–old?/
He heard Mr Benson pick up his lesson where he had left it. He didn’t look back as he led the donkey out of the square and back towards Droighair’s main gates.
/If I tell you directions, will you go where I say?/ Frang asked in an unusually sober voice.
Corran considered for a few moments, then nodded. What else did he have to do? He might as well see where this led him. If it took him back to the Firesouls and they killed him for his betrayal, what did it matter? He was leaving Tilda behind, this time by choice, and every footstep hurt more than the last. He paused when he saw a crate and hopped on top of that to pull himself onto the donkey’s back.
“Corran?”
A girl’s voice – so familiar, but it prompted a terrible mixture of longing and misery. He could not turn. He could not react. He could not let her see him. This had ended and there was no resurrection now. It was done.
“Corran, is that you?”
Digging his feet into the donkey’s side and continuing towards the gates was the hardest thing he had ever done. Harder than saying goodbye the first time; harder then Huw’s recent words and Glyn’s silent agreement. He slumped against the donkey’s neck, his one good hand tangling in its mane and clutching it, trying to give himself strength.
She did not call again and he battled tears. So many times he had dreamed of this – of hearing her voice, her beautiful sing–song voice. He had even prayed to the stars for it. And now he got his wish in the worst way possible. He cursed the stars, demanding to know what he had done to deserve this. He stopped cursing them the moment he realised that of course he did deserve this.
/Are you sure this is right?/
I can’t go to her! I have nothing to offer, I’m not the person I was. I am nothing now. She would not want me if she knew that.
Even when he was out of the gates
he couldn’t bring himself to glance back because what if he saw her – and what if she saw him, dirty and disgusting. Shame filled him. With the path left behind and back in the protection of the trees, he allowed the tears to leak from his eyes.
*
“Corran?”
The call echoed through the woods and Corran sat bolt upright from where he had been lying on the floor. He hadn’t got far from Droighair before sliding off the donkey, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to block out everything. It was not going well – and with her voice calling out, all motivation he had scraped up deserted him. He did not run to her but he did not run from her, either. As he looked out into the forest he saw Tilda appear from around a large tree and approach him. She didn’t run either – that was not her, to show desperation for anything – but the look on her face told him that she had missed him as much as he had thought of her.
She stopped a few feet away, staring down at him.
“It is you…”
Her hair was windswept and her cheeks red from running. He found the only thing he could do was grin up at her.
So when the blow came, he was unprepared.
“Ow!” He pressed one hand to his aching shin. “What was that for?”
“Why did you run away?” she shouted, folding her arms tightly across her chest. “I knew it was you, I was sure! But you didn’t reply so I thought I was wrong, but then I went home and Pa told me you’d talked to him. Him! Not me!” Her mouth was in a thin line the happiness from a minute ago had disappeared.
He jumped up, staggering as he jarred his shoulder, and ended up leaning on a tree rather than moving towards her.
“I… I didn’t want you to see me like this,” he mumbled.
“Why, because the great Corran Dunslade can’t get a little bloody? Need to hide until you take a bath?”
He glanced down at his disgusting blood–stained clothes and the smelling bandages. It seemed to him like she was understating it a little but he let it pass. Except how could he explain to her the reasons he had left?
“I’ve just got… stuff to do. I couldn’t stay.”
“Corran, listen to me.” She was more serious than angry now. She approached him and took his good hand. It sent a thrill through him, but the half–grin that appeared on his face just prompted an eye–roll from her. “I’m being serious, this is important. I know what your father’s always said about dragons, but he’s wrong. I know you don’t want to betray him or your brothers, but you can’t just follow because they say so. Dragons aren’t all bad. Pa says some of them used to be like humans – they argued and told funny stories and were sarcastic–”
/I like her. She’s a keeper./
Corran snorted and she kicked him again, scowling.
“It’s not a joke! Look where it’s got you so far,” she added, gesturing down at him. “Firesouls aren’t your enemies! And I don’t care how many flowers you send, I’m not going to be with you if you’re hunting them down!”
“Tilda…” He took a deep breath and continued. “I’m a Firesoul. There’s a dragon in me.”
It was only the second time he’d ever said the words out loud. But whatever reaction he had expected, it wasn’t a kiss. He wrapped his arms around her and didn’t let go, taking a moment to be grateful that Frang had shrunk into the smallest recesses of his mind.
It was an age until she pulled away. His heart thudded. She granted him a small smile and he beamed back, leaning in again to hug her. He didn’t want to let go, but when she tugged at his arm he sank to the ground. He leant against a tree and wrapped one arm around her.
“This is amazing,” she murmured.
“I know.”
“My man’s a Firesoul.”
He turned to stare at her. “Man? You always called me boy before.”
“Firesouls are definitely men,” she said with a dismissive wave of one hand. It landed on his leg and stayed there.
He smiled at her, drinking in the way her lips quirked up in one corner and how her blue–grey eyes narrowed as she enjoyed his gaze. He’d never understood how much he missed her until now. She understood him like no one else could.
“So what’s he like? When did you find out?” She sat up straight, dislodging their comfortable position and rounding on him with a horrified expression. “What did your father say?” Concern filled her and she squeezed his hand.
“I… I don’t think I want to talk about it.”
He didn’t know what this was, what it could be, but if it only lasted a little while he didn’t want to taint it with bad memories. His situation of having nothing to offer her had not changed, but she didn’t seem to mind.
“So what now?” she asked. Tilda was like that – she never pushed him to talk about something if he didn’t want to. Instead she just moved on to the next topic, as if he had never even mentioned not wanting to talk. “We should go to Cridhal, that’s where all the other Firesouls have gone.”
“I can’t,” he muttered, sure the shame was showing through on his face.
She nodded, accepting it without question. “So what? What does the dragon say?”
He frowned and sent the question inward. He wasn’t used to asking Frang anything, but the dragon popped up straight away.
/To the lake./
“To… the lake?” Corran repeated, questioning Tilda and Frang at the same time. He had no idea where ‘the lake’ was, or the significance of it. The only thing that mattered to him was that Tilda seemed intent on coming with him.
“What’s there?” she asked, climbing to her feet and reaching for the donkey.
/My egg./
CHAPTER 23
The lake was clear ahead of them and now Corran remembered it from his geography and history lessons – it was the lake between the border of their country and the Ikjorians. He hadn’t known just how far north they were but the Wall was easy to spot now, looping all around to protect Aulanders and their gold mines. Somewhere nearby, Frang’s egg was hidden.
He felt like a fool riding on the donkey while Tilda walked alongside him, but she had insisted. He’d tripped, once, and that was all it took to convince her that he needed rest. She had refused to go any further until he got on the donkey.
Every now and then he glanced down at her. Sometimes she would look back and smile but most of the time she marched on. He wondered at how he had got himself in this situation and laughed quietly. The bleakness within him following the confrontation with Huw was still there, but now it was buried under a deep layer of content. For as long as this continued, he could forget the sadness and just enjoy being with her.
“What about your Pa? Won’t he be worried?” he asked. He had always been envious of her relationship with her father.
She shook her head. “I told him I was coming after you. He trusts me.”
/Down that hill./
He repeated the instructions to Tilda, still not quite used to taking them from Frang. The dragon had done well so far at not making comments about Tilda but several times he heard the beginnings of sentences that trailed off. Part of him thought that maybe he should try and shield his thoughts better, but most of him was still basking in the glorious imperfection that was Tilda.
/You’re drooling./
Frang!
/I lasted so long though!/ Frang protested. /It was one little comment!/
I’m taking you to your egg, you could at least be grateful!
/Psh, you owe me. I saved your life./
What? When?
/When you were lying on the forest floor ready to die? I sent out that warmth because you were freezing to death and not doing anything about it. And look what you’d have missed if I’d let you die!/
He could have retorted something about how Frang would have died too and that was all he cared about – but the words rang true. A week ago now it must be since he had fallen off that cliff; a week ago he had been hoping to die. With Tilda beside him, even when he had no idea where Frang was taking th
em and without a clue what might happen after this, he couldn’t imagine it.
A thought jumped into his head and he stiffened on the donkey. He had started following Frang’s directions because he had no desire to live and didn’t care if he was led into a trap – but now Tilda was with him too!
/Why would I harm a girl who is encouraging you to side with dragons?/
To get back at me?
/Corran, once I have my egg and am reborn I will never bother you again./
He frowned, uncertain.
/And you still owe me your life anyway./
“Corran, are you okay?” Tilda asked, touching his leg softly.
He nodded, opening his mouth to speak – but froze.
Fighting in a valley at night, a fire raging, his shoulder sliced. Another dragon, wings in tattered ribbons, her soul long departed. No more jokes. No more laughter. Frang nosed her leg, whimpering.
Corran recognised some of the feelings running through him as what he felt for Tilda and nausea rose. This was Frang’s mate, killed in the war. What he would do to anyone who took Tilda away from him in that way…
Frang skipped over it, directing Corran to the next memory.
He barely registered the idea of revenge. Instead he focused on flying, ignoring the constant painful stinging in his shoulder, a single egg clutched in his claws. Their last egg, hidden away from humans, hidden away from Baltair’s horde. He would not abandon his egg. He would stand guard and protect his hatchling–
What happened?
The donkey trotted with Tilda hurrying along beside them. It had never moved so fast before and he ducked down to grab the loose rope and hang on. The trees scattered away on either side, revealing a lake that stretched far out into the distance.
Anguish filled the dragon, painful even for Corran when he was an outsider to it. Was this feeling why Frang had helped him last week when he had been so beaten down?
/I don’t know why I left. I didn’t mean to, I don’t remember why. But I left my body, I abandoned my hatchling./
Corran wished he could hear some of the sarcasm that he so often found irritating, but there was no humour to be found in Frang.