Ashes And Spirit (Book 3)

by A. D. Trosper

  Redenya and Atlena looked at Mckale with envy in their eyes, and Atlena asked, “What’s a bondmate?”

  “Like a husband only more. It runs much deeper than a husband and wife relationship,” Maleena answered as she grabbed her catcher strap and pulled it down from the saddle. She controlled her desire to roll her eyes. Those two wouldn’t care if it were a Shadow Rider standing in front of them, they would still be salivating even with their husbands standing next to them. “Arrah, you will have to wear one of these as well.” She pulled the second strap down and tossed the end to him.

  He caught it and stared at her in confusion. Maleena buckled hers around her ankle. “Put it on like this and make sure it’s secure. If you somehow come out of the saddle, it may hurt to hit the end of it, but it will save your life.”

  Arrah bent and began to fasten his. When he was done, she gave it a sharp tug. It slid several inches. “Not good enough. You need to buckle it tighter.”

  Mckale regained his saddle after speaking briefly with the evacuating villagers. Tellnox launched into the air with an impressive leap and down sweep of his wings. The Slide opened. Atlena and Redenya glared daggers at Maleena as they moved toward the swirling opening.

  Maleena sighed. Those two would never find pleasure in her company. Even if she snatched them from the jaws of a Shadow Dragon, they would still hate her. After helping Arrah into the back saddle, she climbed into her own then showed him the proper way to fasten the safety straps. She pointed to the two polished wooden handles that rested on the pommel of the back saddle. “These are for you to hang onto. I strongly urge you to refrain from trying to hang onto me or even touching me.”

  “I saw what happened to Delin. I’m not stupid enough to try it.”

  Nydara took off in a smooth movement since this was Arrah’s first time. Maleena sensed the rush of thrilled excitement in the young man. Nydara glided over the town and then landed again.

  “Why are we landing here?” Arrah asked.

  “I need to do something.” Maleena didn’t explain further. She removed the safety straps and jumped down. Her gaze swept over the tiny, abandoned cottage huddled among the tall weeds and grass that partially covered the broken windows. The front door hung from one hinge, flapping like a broken bird.

  She waded through the tall grass until she stood on the threshold. Inside, her vision from that rainy night so long ago had come to pass. The Kojen had left nothing untouched.

  Maleena stepped inside and gazed around. The doors to the two sleeping rooms had been ripped from their hinges and lay scattered in broken pieces. The musty scent of mold and the reek of rodent nests pervaded the space. She crossed the room to the large hearth, brushing her fingers through the thick dust coating the stone.

  The emptiness settled around her like a heavy weight. Through the broken back door, she could see the barn. It too had suffered the ravages of Kojen and time. Maleena couldn’t bring herself to walk out there. Arella’s death was still too fresh. She couldn’t bear facing the stall the mare had occupied, no more than she could cross the room to the doorway of her grandmother’s room. She didn’t want to see the damage the Kojen had done.

  This wasn’t home and hadn’t been for some time. Even so, the condition of her childhood home tugged at her heart. The way it sat forgotten with no family to brighten it up. It was still sturdy despite the damage. Maleena could only guess why no one had claimed it after she left. Was association with her so horrible they would leave a good house to go to waste? The answer lay in the jumbled mess of broken furniture and torn quilts strung across the floor.

  A bit of dirty white cloth peeking from beneath the shattered wood of what had once been a small table drew her attention. She stepped gingerly over the bits and pieces of her past and picked it up.

  It was the lace she’d been working on the night she met Mckale. Who knew that her ability to weave lace would one day help her weave magic? Maleena turned the stiff, delicately woven threads over in her hands. She glanced around one more time and whispered, “Goodbye.”

  She wasn’t sure if she was saying it to her grandmother’s memory or her past. Either way, it was time to go. When she stepped through the doorway and into the bright sunshine beyond, she still held the piece of lace in her hand.

  After tucking the lace carefully into the coin purse hanging from her belt, she fastened the catcher strap and pulled herself into the saddle. Nydara, who left her in privacy while she revisited her past, now reached out. “Is everything all right?”

  Maleena looked at the house again as a warm breeze drifted by. The branches of the big tree in the yard swayed as if waving farewell. She knew in her heart that she would never see the little cottage again. Maleena turned her attention to the silver scales of Nydara’s neck. “Everything is perfect. Let’s go home so Arrah can hatch his egg.”

  Nydara lifted off and pulled herself into the sky with strong strokes of her massive wings. Maleena didn’t look back down. The Slide opened. They soared toward the caldera as the dragons on the ground bugled a loud welcome. She smiled at the warm sense of homecoming that washed through her. This is where she belonged.

  Kirynn walked down the wide, familiar street in Boromar. It took no more than a simple request for the Queen of Boromar to agree to take in the remaining Calladaran population. While Taela remained closeted away to work out the details, Kirynn had excused herself to make a long, overdue visit.

  The steep ground progressed in a succession of steps leading up from the large bay that spread out at the base of the city. She paused to watch the boats on the water. Seagulls soared overhead, punctuating the air with their strident calls, and the scent of seawater wafted on the cool breeze from the ocean.

  The tall, graceful buildings with their gleaming white walls and tiled roofs lined one side of the street, leaving the other side open. Just below the level of the street she stood on, the rooftops of the buildings lining the next road presented a colorful display. Some of them had as many as six colors of tiles, others were made of several different shades of the same color. It was beautiful. Once, it had been home.

  Closing her eyes, she let the breeze blow over her. Perhaps it would blow away the sadness clinging to her heart if she stood there long enough. She hadn’t cried again since that day in the woods, but she couldn’t shake the lingering melancholy.

  Sighing, Kirynn opened her eyes and continued walking down the paving stones to the only person that might be able to help. As she walked, people smiled and greeted her. After learning a year and a half ago that none of the young people found to use magic in the nation had been killed but instead quietly sent to Galdrilene for training, the people of Boromar had embraced the dragons and their riders. Many happy reunions had taken place and the populace was at peace with it all.

  It was a stark contrast to other places they had visited where attitudes ranged from cautious welcome to hostility. One day, maybe everywhere would feel the same way as Boromar. That time seemed a long way off with an ocean of war and lost lives between it where she stood now.

  A narrow, three-story building came into view. The familiar gleaming white structure with its bright blue shutters and door brought a small sense of peace to her heart. Here, everything had always been good. Hard, but good. The roof, predominately blue with yellow, red, and green worked in was just as she remembered, as was the small garden out front.

  Taking a deep breath, she pushed through the small gate that surrounded the garden and walked up the path to the door. It swung open as she mounted the steps to the wide front stoop. In the doorway stood an imposing woman with red hair that flowed loose around her shoulders. A dress clung to her lithe body, and although her entire face was highlighted with face paint, it was barely visible and only enhanced her natural beauty. Scarcely a hand’s width taller than Kirynn, she regarded her with cool green eyes that held only the faintest hint of warmth.

  The woman raised one perfect eyebrow. “I wondered if you would find your way here.
”

  Kirynn offered her a formal nod. “How could I not…Mother.”

  “Mother? You haven’t called me that in years. Do you plan on standing on the stoop all day, or are you going to come in?”

  “You haven’t invited me in yet, Dahliynn.”

  Her mother stepped back, opening the door farther, and waved her in. “This will always be your home, Kirynn. You hardly need an invitation to step over the threshold.”

  “As you say. Still, it has been a long time—”

  “Six years,” Dahliynn interrupted. “Not since you attained the right to the braid.”

  “I didn’t mean to stay away so long.” Kirynn walked past her into the sterile yet comfortable interior.

  Her mother closed the door. “You had your orders. I would have been offended if you had dishonored yourself and this family by coming home to visit.” She paused then continued, “However, it would have been nice had you visited sooner once you became a Dragon Rider. At least that is what I heard you are now.”

  “Yes, I am a Dragon Rider. Syrakynn, my red, is currently resting on one of the larger towers of the castle.” The thought of the dragon brought a small smile to Kirynn’s face. “I wish I could have come sooner too. Situations in other nations prevented it.”

  “Another thing I understand perfectly. Don’t misinterpret this as a scolding or intention to cause guilt. I’m merely stating my wishes. As we both know, wishes and needs rarely align themselves.” Dahliynn motioned toward the chairs in the sitting room. “Have a seat. There is much to catch up on, and I have many questions.”

  Kirynn nodded and settled onto an uncomfortable cushioned chair as Dahliynn walked down the narrow hall to the kitchen located in the back of the house. Though her mother wasn’t warm like Marda, Kirynn found comfort in the older woman’s logical and colder view of life and the world. She often told her as a child that the world was to be lived in how it was—not how one wished it to be. “If wishes were wings, sheep would fly free from their pens,” was Dahliynn’s favorite saying.

  A hard woman with a hard heart that still managed to love, her mother was exactly what she needed now. Kirynn’s three older brothers had died in the war with Kanther. Her father had died shortly after she gained her braid. Her grandparents were all gone. Only she and her younger sister were left. No one Kirynn knew understood loss and how to get past it as well as her mother—with the exception of Emallya but the time of seeking her advice was gone.

  Dahliynn returned with a tray of tea and scones. She set the gleaming silver tea service down on the low table between them and poured tea into two matching cups. The scent of rosehips rose with the steam. They both remained silent until Dahliynn settled into a chair and they had both taken a sip of the hot liquid. After the pleasantries, her mother said, “Tell me everything. I want to know it all. Or at least what you are at liberty to tell.”

  Kirynn took a bite of scone and washed it down with another drink of tea as she collected her thoughts. “There is a lot to tell.”

  Dahliynn leaned back in her chair. “Unless you need to rush off, we have plenty of time.”

  “I have nowhere to be at the moment.” Kirynn took another sip of tea and began to tell her mother everything that had happened since she had fled in the night after setting a man’s head on fire.

  Kirynn watched the familiar patterns of light through the windows as the sun moved slowly across the sky. It felt somewhat comforting as she retold the events of the last few years. When she came to the battle of Shadereen—to Welan—Kirynn stopped. She sipped her second cup of tea, stalling while she gathered her emotions under control.

  Finally she whispered, “They’re all gone. Every one of them except a single child—”

  “And you can’t think about it without feeling such deep sorrow that your insides feel broken,” Dahliynn finished.

  Kirynn looked at her mother in surprise. “How did you know?”

  “You were cushioned from the deaths of your brothers and father by distance. It was just something that happened. You have watched friends die in the heat of battle. But you’ve never watched people you cared deeply about cut down with no protection. It’s bound to leave scars that hurt. Scars I know well. I carry many of the same within my own heart.”

  “How do I shut it out? I can’t keep carrying it.”

  Dahliynn sighed and set her cup down on the tray. “Kirynn, you will always carry it just as you do physical scars. They don’t go away. As far as shutting it out, it’s possible if you look at the situation differently.”

  “How am I looking at it?” Kirynn frowned. How else was she supposed to look at it? She shifted on the hard chair and tightened her hands on the teacup.

  Dahliynn answered, “There is danger in changing your perceptions. As it is now, you hurt for a small group of people. If you change, it’s possible to find a balance, or you may experience deeper grief.”

  Kirynn suppressed a flash of irritation at her mother’s cryptic meaning and held back her sarcastic reply. Dragon Rider or not, braid wearer or not, her mother would give her a sound thrashing if she spoke to her that way. “I’d like to find a balance.”

  Dahliynn appraised her in silence for so long Kirynn began to wonder if her mother would tell her. Finally, Dahliynn nodded. “I do believe you can achieve balance. Not everyone has the strength. You, however, are made of a stronger mettle than many.”

  “So help me find it again.”

  “Very well. It is because you only think the people of Welan are worth grieving for that you are looking at it wrong.”

  Kirynn started to protest, but Dahliynn stopped her. “Don’t try to deny it. Your normal way of thinking is what allows you to kill efficiently. You view people as pieces on a battlefield—some will fall and some will move to the next battle. It allows you to shut yourself off from things that give others nightmares. There’s nothing wrong with this.

  “The problem is when you stop thinking of people as pieces and get to know them. You can’t change that now and likely wouldn’t if you could. Now you must learn to change how you view the pieces as a whole because if you don’t you become a hypocrite.”

  “A hypocrite? Because I cared about the people of Welan?” Kirynn’s voice rose louder with each word.

  “Not because you cared about the people of Welan, but because you don’t care about all of the other people you think of as pieces.”

  “Of course I care about them. Why do you think I fly into battle with Syrakynn? For my health?”

  Dahliynn chuckled. “My dear child, you don’t fly into battle because you care about the pieces on the board. You do it because it’s your duty. Because that’s what you’ve trained your entire life to do.”

  Kirynn blinked, stunned by the accuracy of the statement as it hit home.

  “What you haven’t realized, and this is where changing perceptions becomes dangerous,” Dahliynn paused and looked into her eyes, “is that every piece on the board is Welan.”

  “How is every piece like Welan?” Kirynn challenged.

  “Because they’re all people. If you took a moment to know them, you would find everyone had likes and dislikes, spouses, children, mothers, fathers—everything that Welan had. To grieve for Welan but not others strips their humanity away, reducing them only to pieces. You are struggling because the people of Welan weren’t pieces to you. To put it in perspective, you have to quit seeing the rest as pieces, and instead, as people.”

  Kirynn’s mind and heart shrank away from the idea, however, she forced herself to understand as her mother suggested.

  Dahliynn nodded as she watched Kirynn process the information. Her mother continued, “The majority of Calladar is dead. Were their lives any less than those lost in Welan?”

  Unable to speak, Kirynn simply shook her head.

  “Many died in Trilene last year. Are they less than Welan?” Dahliynn asked. “Whether someone wades willingly into battle with weapons they’ve trained to use, or they simpl
y pick up a pitchfork and try to defend themselves, their lives are no less than any others. You need to reduce the people of Welan to pieces or elevate every life lost to the same as Welan. Either way, your perceptions will change.”

  Kirynn remained silent as she struggled with the sudden grief that threatened to overwhelm her. She looked at her mother with tears in her eyes that would never be shed. “I don’t think I can do either and find a balance.”

  Dahliynn suddenly stood, a fierce expression on her face. “You don’t know if you can? Of course you can. You are Kirynn Izenar, wearer of the braid, rider of a red dragon, and my daughter. You can and you will because I accept nothing less.”

  “How do I see everyone as more than pieces and not find more grief?” Kirynn also stood.

  “Because you will begin to realize that every life is worth something and no matter what, in the end, everyone dies. In war, in childhood, in bed, and in a myriad of other ways. How someone dies does not make them special, anyone can do it. It’s how they lived that matters because not everyone lives even while they’re alive.

  “You find your balance when you stop grieving their deaths and start celebrating their lives. Stop weeping for one and not another. Suck it up and look at it differently.” Dahliynn bent and grabbed the tray. “I will check with the cook on the evening meal. You need to think about what I’ve said. It’s time to set your grief over death aside, my daughter, and find the joy in lives you knew. Else you will be crushed under the weight of what you have seen and what is to come. It’s all right to feel sadness over the loss of life. It isn’t all right to let it consume you.”

  Kirynn sat down again, her thoughts reeling. Never had she felt so off-kilter. Every death she’d seen took on new meaning, new grief, and at the same time, the weight of Welan lifted.

  “She’s right, you know. The focus has to be on the lives saved rather than on those lost. Otherwise, you never know anything but despair,” Syrakynn sent.