Fractured Everest Box Set

by D. H. Dunn

  The comment hit Upala like a blow, but she did not turn away as her instincts told her to.

  “You are both correct,” Upala said. “May I ask your name, fair woman?”

  The Rakhum seemed surprised by this question, the anger leaking out of her gaze like air escaping.

  “Janal,” she said with a nod. “And this is my daughter, Tira.”

  “It is good to meet you both,” Upala said, bowing. She looked past the pair, to the smoldering fields beyond them. Whatever crops might have been planted there were ruined, but she supposed the field could be made fertile again.

  “There is nothing I can say to you both, except that I am sorry for all that has happened. This land, these beautiful fields and mountains, they belong to your people now. There will be no more Manad Vhan, no more Dragons. Only Rakhum, as it once was.”

  “You are leaving?” Tira took a step forward, looking up at her with her eyes wide. Upala could see the fear in them. “Who will protect us?”

  Upala knelt down, placing her hand on the girl’s small shoulder. She looked into her deep, brown eyes, hoping to ignite a fire there that she had needed at this girl’s age, but never found.

  “You will, Tira,” she said, her voice full of conviction. “You and your mother. All the Rakhum. Protect yourselves, and believe in each other.”

  She smiled, gently placing one finger in the center of the girl’s chest.

  “If there is a lesson I have learned in all of this, Tira, it is that power comes from here. Your heart. Inside each person lies a passion that is the equal of any Dragon. You just have to believe in it.”

  A shadow in the moonlight crossed over head, leaving the three of them momentarily in deeper darkness. She looked up, watching the Thread circle above them.

  Upala stood, leading the girl back to her mother.

  “Remember what I said, Tira.”

  The girl looked back at her and nodded, taking her mother’s hand as they began to walk away. The woman looked back over her shoulder at Upala once, her expression difficult to read. Upala could not be certain, but she thought she recognized gratitude.

  If she was right, Upala decided maybe it was all right to think she deserved it.

  The night wind blew through the remaining stalks of corn and wheat that dotted the fields at the end of the Rakhum settlement. Upala was sure that it made a pleasing sound as the crops waved back and forth, but she could not hear it.

  With its bulk carefully placed between two of the less damaged fields, the Dragon seemed to wait in the shadows for her to speak.

  Very well, Upala thought to herself. At least this was one time in her life when she saw a Dragon at night, but her eyes were open.

  “You wished to speak with me alone,” Upala said. “Why?”

  The Thread stood before her, the wounds suffered from the battle inside the Vault of Terminus clear upon its blue and lavender skin, even in the moonlight.

  He towered over her, yet his movements were without menace. Wings folded casually behind him, he swished his long tail back and forth, his whiskers twitching as he considered her question.

  “To see if you would come,” the Thread said, his thin voice calm. “I have seen inside your thoughts, Manad Vhan. It is my gift. Thus, I know the traumatic memories you carry. But I cannot see your heart. To come to me, alone. Defenseless. It shows me your offers are true.”

  “It is,” Upala said. “I wish to help. To build a bridge between us.”

  She looked over the creature, watching as the moonlight danced over the purple and azure scales of his body, reflecting off him like he was the sea. The Thread was, in his own way, beautiful.

  “Bridges are difficult constructions, Upala of the Manad Vhan. Neither of our peoples have been adept at crossing the chasms of understanding. Trust is hard when so much damage has been done.”

  “Then let us start here.” Upala took a step forward. “Let us see what stones we can place for a foundation.”

  Another step brought her face to face with the Thread. She could see the sharp teeth, longer than finger as they poked out from underneath its snout. Yet she also saw his eyes, a sea of hope and worry twisting within them.

  “Tell me your problems,” she said. “Take a step.”

  The Thread drew in a deep breath, Upala’s dark hair moving slightly towards the great beast as he did so.

  “Very well.” The tone of his thin voice was still mixed, guarded. “There are short term concerns. The Worm is injured, and afraid. I must locate him. I must also attend to the Weight’s remains, to see that in death he is at least treated with the proper honor.”

  One of those casualties had come at the hands of Terminus, but it had been Drew that injured the Weight. And together they had killed the Voice.

  “We have lost so much.” The Thread’s eyes closed as he hung his head. His voice was soft, and broken. “When we had so little to lose.”

  “I am truly sorry.” Upala’s mind cast back to the last image she could recall of the Voice, the beast twisting to see the wall of snow coming at them both. “I am sorry about the Voice and Terminus. Given their deeds, there are those who would not understand your loss, but I mourn for my brother.”

  “Yes,” the Thread said. “This is a common ground between us. Alas, there was no help for my sister’s madness. Only Terminus seemed to be able to control her. As for Terminus himself, he and I … we did not desire the same outcomes.”

  “Yet you returned with other Dragons,” Upala asked. “How did you free them? How did you access the Vaults without the Hero’s armor to open them?”

  The Thread nodded, gazing off into the dark mountains. Upala wondered if he were looking in the direction of the other Vaults, or if he even knew where they were.”

  “I had an arrangement with Orami,” he said. “As part of this, all Vaults will recognize my presence. I do not require the Hero’s armor for entrance.”

  She sighed. The Dragons should be able to free themselves, even if the idea might bring back the fears of her childhood. Like many things she had been afraid of in her life, the real Dragons had been more complicated than the monster the little girl inside her was afraid of.

  The Thread cared as much for his kind as Merin had for her children. He deserved to know all that she did, and then he would decide what to do with that knowledge.

  She took a deep breath.

  “There is another if your kind,” she said.

  “A fifteenth Fear. Forgive me, a fifteenth Dragon.”

  “Could it be?” he asked. The Thread’s neck coiled upwards in his surprise. “Though I saw the images in your mind, they were the nightmares of a child. I did not give them credence. I have not sensed any others. It should not be possible for there to be another of my kind.”

  “Your machine, back on Sirapothi. The one Nima showed you. I saw the remains of an egg upon it. It had hatched.”

  “The young woman,” the Thread said, his voice growing wistful. “This Nima. She showed me images of the machine, but not with the detail I see in your mind now. I cannot – It is beyond my understanding how this device could exist on Sirapothi. Terminus destroyed it himself, here on Aroha Darad.”

  More mysteries, Upala thought. Along with more examples of destruction and damaging anger.

  “The device does exist, Thread. I promise you. But the Dragon birthed by the machine is not on Sirapothi. It is here. I have seen this Dragon with my own eyes. It killed my parents, a long time ago.”

  “Not the nightmares of a child,” the Thread muttered. Upala was unsure if the Dragon was speaking to her or himself. “Birthed by the machine, on Sirapothi? But Orami and I never solved-“

  He stopped, taking a deep breath before looking down at her, a stern look coming into his eyes.

  “Upala, I thank you. I admit I do not yet comprehend this, but I will seek this Dragon, and the machine. Yet my brothers and sisters trapped within the vaults come first. I promise to you and the Rakhum, though I will free the ot
her trapped Dragons, I will permit no further death to come from us.”

  “I understand,” Upala said. “And I believe you. When you are ready to look for this Fifteenth Dragon, please come find me. I wish to help.”

  The Thread looked back at her in surprise, then nodded.

  “I accept your offer, with thanks and the hope of future trust.” The Thread began to spread his wings, wide stretches of lavender and deep blue that hung over Upala like a canvas.

  He turned his neck back towards her, looking down with an expression she registered as confusion.

  “But why?” he asked. “After all that has happened. If this Dragon, this Fifteenth Fear as you call it. If it killed your forebears, it may have evil within its heart, like the Voice or Terminus. Why would you help me find it?”

  Upala looked up and smiled. She thought of Drew and Merin, of the hope she saw in the eyes of the Rakhum, of the sunlight she now felt warming the long night her soul had lived through, its golden rays pushing through the fading clouds of her fear and guilt.

  “Because, my friend. Hearts can change.”

  Chapter 34

  Upala knelt in the dirt of the pollen-kite fields, her hands pressing the soil around the small sapling she had planted. In the east the dawn sun cast its warmth upon her, bathing her in light that felt pure and cleansing.

  She took a moment to gaze around the shattered farmland, which still looked like a battlefield. Just two days earlier she had fought the Voice only a few fields over, those lands still lay buried in snow.

  Here there had been similar destruction, with smashed wooden buildings and broken Rakhum lives. Much of the debris was now cleared, Merin and Trillip having led a team of volunteers the day before to try and bring some semblance of life back to the land. Upala had wanted to help, but she had lain alongside Drew all day, suffering through the Speaker’s ministrations of her wounds.

  She was covered in so many bandages and salves she suspected she sounded like a collection of fabric when she walked. It was a sound that Drew had to describe to her, as she could not hear it. Despite her own healing and the Speaker’s best efforts, the ringing in her ears had not ceased. She could still understand people if she focused, but if too many spoke at once she quickly became lost.

  As the sun warmed the field, Upala found she was not bitter about her injury. It was a small price to pay, and she still owed the people here a great deal. All around her were small gatherings of Rakhum, each planting young trees or flowering plants to commemorate those they had lost.

  This had been a suggestion of Nima’s, it was a custom she had learned from Lhamu’s people on Sirapothi. A field of calm, Nima had called it, and Upala found she quite liked the sentiment.

  The tiny tree she had pushed into the dirt was for Kater. She had asked that Drew give her this moment, and of course he had respected her desires. She could not ask the others to grieve for someone who had caused them so much pain, yet she would not deny herself this need either.

  “Brother,” Upala said. She winced at the sound of her own voice, now nearly lost amongst the chorus of chimes in her ears. She was damaged, but she was alive and still had opportunities to bring more good into the world. The small tree cupped in her hands represented Kater’s true loss, the death of his second chance.

  “You had it wrong,” she said to the sapling. “I guess we both did. I wanted to run, you wanted something I did not understand. Fighting for glory. We should have worked together, stood together. We could have been proud of each other, and we could have helped these people instead of using them.”

  The wind picked up silently, blowing a small piece of blue cloth across Upala’s vision. It looked like a scrap of clothing. She could see blood stains on the edges.

  “I am sorry you did not get the chance to see what more you could do, Kater. I will try though, I will try to make it up for both of us.”

  She continued to kneel in the dirt and watched the wind slowly blow the scrap of clothing farther down the field, off toward the west. She pondered the mountains that marked the edge of this land. Sinar had come from there, had spoken of the City of Sands. A city of Manad Vhan. She found herself pondering questions she had never before asked.

  What others of my kind might be like, what their society and customs would be. Would they know of my parents? Were there Rakhums there too?

  “It is nice, this planting of trees.”

  Upala stood, surprised by Merin’s muffled voice behind her.

  The tall woman faced her, her short hair blowing in the growing breeze. There were streaks of gray in Merin’s dark hair she had never noticed before.

  “I am sorry if I am disturbing you.”

  “No,” Upala said, shaking her head. “It is nice. And I am glad to see you.”

  Merin knelt, looking for a moment at the tree Upala had planted. It swayed in the breeze, but she had dug its hole well and deep and it would withstand the wind. She blushed at the realization her tree honored the man who killed Merin’s husband.

  “Using our losses to build something new,” Merin said, nodding and pressing a little extra dirt down around Upala’s planting. “I think it is a good concept.”

  Something new, Upala thought. She looked over to where Drew and Nima were standing and talking, Nima having planted a tree earlier. Upala had not asked Nima who the tree was for, but she suspected it was for Tanira. She, least of all, could not begrudge Nima’s honoring someone who had caused others pain.

  Drew stood with her, waving at Lhamu as the Caenolan girl ran to them. She thought of Drew and the changes he had helped her make in herself, and she in him. A small hand of fear clenched around her heart at the thought of a portal back to his world. For all the mysteries of machines and far off cities, she could not conceive of the idea of exploring them without him. They would have no color, no magic to them. Not anymore.

  Merin was looking out over the damaged remains of Rogek Shad, the community now a maze of smashed tents and broken buildings. Rubble and work was everywhere, and it would take a strong person to lead these people out of it.

  “Merin, Lhamu told me they asked you to lead the new community. I am glad to hear you will be going forward with reunification.”

  Merin looked at her with a mixture of shock and amusement. “I cannot imagine how that girl might have heard that, but it is only partially true.”

  While Upala had lay in her cot in the healing tent, Lhamu had seemed omnipresent. Possessing of an energy level and curiosity that exceeded even Nima, the young Caenolan girl seemed to be everywhere, questioning everyone and apparently hearing everything.

  “It is true that they asked me,” Merin said, crossing her arms, “but I declined. They have in Trillip someone who is well suited to the role, and who has much more passion for reunification than I do. I will be available to Trillip, should he need me.”

  “I will be honest, I had a hard time picturing you in meetings and committees. That may have been the Merin who was my administrator, but since the Under, I have come to know Merin the warrior, the protector.” She put her hand on Merin’s shoulder, looking into the woman’s eyes. “I admire that Merin a great deal.”

  She saw one tear run down Merin’s cheek. Upala expected the woman to brush it away, or hide it somehow, but she simply let it stand.

  “I am Merin the parent now,” she said. “I protect and teach Arix and Lam. If I am patient enough, I hope they will protect and teach me as well. For now, that will suffice.”

  Upala smiled. For all the weight Merin had carried through these crises, she and her family deserved peace as much as any of them.

  “And what of you, Upala. What do you do now? Back to your studies of Manad Vhan lore, or perhaps the machine in Sirapothi?”

  Upala looked again at the vistas to her west, where, far away, the lands of her people and her family’s history lay. She turned her head, looking to the east where Drew stood, talking to Trillip.

  “I do not know.”

  The
evening wind blew into the large tent, carrying the smell of smoke from the nearby alleys of Rogek Shad. Though the air carried a chill from the nearby mountains, Drew found himself feeling warm inside.

  The structure was nearly empty, the people of both communities gathered in Nalam Wast for a gathering of mourners that seemed to be part funeral and part reunion. Drew, Nima, Upala and the others had been present for a time, sharing in the mixed emotions. There had been tears, but there was also hope, a prospect of a better future that Drew sensed had not been present for these people in a long time.

  Hope was also a feeling he had found within himself.

  Drew stared down at the three objects on the long table, a small wooden box, a shoulder plate with an embedded crystal, and a dented metal helmet. They all seemed so simple, so commonplace as to be barely worth noticing.

  Yet it was these simple items that had caused all their problems, and could do so again. He was sure that was why Trillip had asked them all to come to the large tent in the center of Rogek Shad.

  “How is that box staying there?” Nima asked from Drew’s right. It was a good question, if it did indeed contain the heart of Terminus then it should be sliding off the table, trying to reach its former body.

  “We nailed the box to the table,” Trillip said, Drew nodding at the practicality of the solution. “Once we figure out what to do, we will carefully move it to a new box.”

  Drew chuckled. What to do? That’s the question of the day, isn’t it? He had slept most of the previous day, waking only when the Speaker wanted to reapply his salve, or the two times he sensed someone staring at him, only to find Lhamu’s dark eyes inches from his face.

  She was a sweet kid, but she had taken one of Nima’s more challenging traits, a lack of personal boundaries, to further extremes. Lhamu now stood next to Nima while they examined the shoulder plate together, the means of activating the Hero’s armor.