“I won’t disturb him if he is sleeping,” Brea said. She, too, stared at the ceiling. “He will need all his strength if he is to travel north tomorrow.”
Olam nodded, and Brea turned to Ealian. “Are you ready?” she asked.
“No!” Ealian replied, putting his fork down on the plate and sitting back against the wall. “No, I’m not ready. I wouldn’t be ready if I had a year to prepare. That witch has got my sister, and there are just not enough of us to go running after her.”
The young man stared at Brea as if she would have an answer. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come,” Brea said. “I might be useful against Vila.”
That was a lie; she had no idea what state she would be in by tomorrow. Nor did she understand anything about Vila’slae. At least nothing that wasn’t already common knowledge.
Ealian shrugged and then picked up his tea. “No,” he said, sighing. “The whole of Aleras could come for all I care, the more the better, but Alacin says you being with us could make things worse; something about the witch knowing where you are. Besides, you have a job of your own to finish.”
My own job! Brea chuckled at the thought. Visit the dreamworld of Arenthenia; become imbued with the Knowledge of Ages – or not! Then, assuming I survive and do not go mad, lead the Gan dragons in a battle against their brothers. A job, yes, but one she wished she could give to someone else.
A stab of shame twisted her gut. She was the Guardian… if not her, then who? It wasn’t even a question; she had to do it.
“Yes, you are right,” she told Ealian.
She stood. “I suppose I should get on with it. I only came to see how you are doing.” That was another lie; she had come to question Arfael over why he was arguing with Tor and the other dragons. “I best be off. I have a lot to do before noon.”
After saying her goodbyes to the two Salrian hunters – she would likely never see those two again – Brea had a quick word with Bre’ach about not packing too much. Gialyn raised his hand in a lethargic gesture of hello. She would want to speak with him later, but for now he was too moody for a quick conversation. She left the Whistling Shepherd to a chorus of “Good luck, Brea,” but doubted anyone – other than maybe Alacin – knew why she needed it. Still, it was nice to hear. One way or another, they were all going to need some luck.
* * *
It was a short walk to Aldreg Cave – short, and somewhat unenthusiastic. Yes, Brea wanted to see Rek, see if his injuries were healing, but as for the other… Her thoughts turned to the strange dream she had had in the Tunnels of Aldregair: to the seemingly endless road, the hill, and the White Dragon – and, more importantly, what the White Dragon had told her. “Pick up a stone from your Moon Pool and sleep with it touching your skin. I’ll take that as a sign you are ready.” Simple enough, but what was so important about the Moon Pool? No, the Moon Pool wasn’t what was troubling her. She saw a cave in her dream, a cave at the top of a hill surrounded by mist. What lay inside the cave was the reason for her worry. Something inside that dark fissure would judge her, and no one would tell her who – or what – that something was.
Brea stopped at her table to pick up more kharoe ash and bandages. She took the opportunity to tidy up a little before making her way up the inner tunnel – she couldn’t leave a mess. In truth, there wasn’t much to clean up. Not having been there for the past few days, all she really had to do was make sure the Lier’sinn was full and the fenna moss watered. Still, she found a few extra minutes to arrange all her jars so the labels faced front…
That made her think: would they even let her mix herbs if she failed the Judgement? Ignoring the twinge in her stomach, she sighed and made her way towards the tunnel.
Caylib and Eamon, the two Cren Woodsmen, were talking with Tor when she entered the den. All three stopped and turned when the black dragon twitched his nose in her direction. Brea bit her lip and glared at the dragon while forcing down a twinge of anger. Not only could she not hear what he had said to Arfael, but it seemed the Cren were in on the story, too. It was almost more than she could stand; all she needed now was a sideways glance from Tiama… No, there was no point getting angry; like it or not, she would know everything soon enough. Let’s see how they like it when I keep things from them!
The two huge Cren were almost as tall as Arfael. Well, the half-beast version of Arfael, not the new human version. They bowed and greeted her with that elaborate hand gesture they always used; hand on heart, and then lips, and then forehead, before asking her if she was well.
“Yes, thank you, I am—” Before she could finish, Rek came hurtling down from the dragons’ sleeping area. Brea raised her hands to him. “Calm down, Rek; you will open your—” Too late, he was already down and nuzzling up against her thigh. If he’s opened that…
Brea had to laugh, though. “I see you are feeling better. Let me have a look at your wounds.” Rek sat on his haunches and turned his head to the side. Slowly, Brea peeled away the old kharoe ash poultice, folded it up and placed it on the ground, ready for burning later. “That’s healing fast,” she told Rek. “Another day and we can leave it off; let the air dry it up. But no swimming until it’s closed completely.” She said the last while pointing an admonishing finger at the twenty-foot dragon.
Usually, Rek would sulk at such an instruction, but he seemed too happy to bother with that. Instead, he blinked his glassy orange eyes at her and looked almost as if he were smiling. Strange. After the telling off Tor had given him, for running after her into the Tunnels of Aldregair, she had half-expected Rek not to poke his head above his nest for the rest of the week.
“I said he can come with us to Bailryn,” Tor said as if sensing Rek’s mood. “Altor will go by himself to Brae’vis. The old fool seemed quite pleased when I told him.”
Brea hardly heard the last. Rek is going to Bailryn? No, he was supposed to go to the Cren, and stay safely tucked away in Brae’vis. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” she asked in as casual a tone as she could muster. She wanted to scream “No!” but after yesterday, she was all too aware of where shouting got her… and that was nowhere good.
“He won’t be in the battle. He will stay with Tiama and Ribion.”
Brea could not help a sigh of relief. Rek did pout at that. “You stay with me and Tiama, Rek. We’ll find a way for you to help, I promise.” She was going to ask why Ribion was staying at the back, but then remembered what the huge Cuis’gan was good at – destroying buildings with his huge tale. The king wouldn’t be happy if they had to resort to that.
Brea dusted Rek’s wound with the kharoe ash, which made Rek wince a bit, then reapplied a bandage. The two wounds on his shoulder were not as bad; a simple ointment would do for them. The wound on his cheek, however, was the worst; it very nearly went all the way through. Four deep scars, three already cauterised; Brea had no idea how that had happened. Unfortunately, that had meant reopening the wound so it would stitch properly. Which was not a pleasant experience, for her or Rek. Still, the worst was over now, as long as he didn’t go running around too much and open it up again. She would have to tell Tiama to keep a close eye on him.
As if thinking of Rek’s mother summoned her, Tiama appeared at the upper passageway. “I thought you were supposed to be sleeping, young lady,” she told Brea in that matronly voice she did so well. She could be worse than Affrair for fretting. “You’ll do nobody any good if you fall over from exhaustion.” Tiama opened her wings and glided down to the sleeping area. It always amazed Brea how she could do that, every time Tor tried, he would end up in a heap, and Rek…
“I tried, Tiama, but I can’t wait any longer. I’m going to fetch a stone from the Moon Pool and get this over with,” Brea said. She hoped she sounded more determined than she felt. “I’ve only slept a few hours. I want to start this afternoon; sooner, if I can. I could sleep now, if the truth’s known.”
Tor looked up to Tiama, and then at the Cren for some reason. “Were you planning on taking the stone home? You shou
ld sleep here where we can keep an eye on you. Arenthenia is a strange place, prone to leaking into our reality. You don’t want anything bad to happen in the village.”
Before Brea could answer, the Cren, Caylib, interrupted. “Yes, that would be better. Stay here. We have clean bedding in our packs.”
Brea pinched her brow; she could understand Tor’s concern, but why would the Cren care where she slept? And what were they saying to Tor before she came in? And, “leaking”! That doesn’t sound like something I’d care for. I wonder if that is how the White Dragon entered the Tunnels. She was suddenly glad she wasn’t there to see it. Leaking! Deciding not to push the point, Brea nodded in agreement. “I’ll just go fetch a stone, then. Might as well try and sleep now. As I said, I’m certainly tired enough.”
Tor nodded, too, if somewhat half-heartedly. “I’m guessing this Bausamon meant for you to use a blue stone. Don’t just pick any old rock.”
“Blue stone?” Again, Brea raised one eyebrow.
“Have you not seen the huge blue rock sat at the bottom of the Moon Pool?” Tor asked the question but sounded like he already knew the answer. How could she know about a “huge blue rock” if nobody told her of such a thing? The centre of the Moon Pool must be twenty spans deep! “I’ll go down and fetch you one.” Tor said, already turning toward the other exit. “You make yourself a bed by the fire.”
Blue stones, secret talks, strange dreams; Brea did not know what was going on, but it was clear Tor did, and maybe the Cren and Arfael, too. Don’t go thinking up questions; you’ll never sleep. Whatever it is, you will know soon enough. Brea followed the two Cren over to the fire. She was ready to take the blankets from them and make her own bed, but the Cren had other ideas. One fetched her a drink of water, while the other made a mattress from a huge blanket and a pillow from another.
Brea sat on the hearth and waited. Rek curled up next to her makeshift bed.
Five minutes later, a still-wet Tor returned with a small blue stone gripped in his front claw. “This should be good enough,” he said, handing it to her.
Brea turned the stone over in her hand. It looked like thick glass, not stone. It was broken along a perfect straight line. Holding it up to the fire, she could see other lines inside. The break was sharp, again, like glass. “Are you sure this is it? It doesn’t look like a stone to me.”
“That’s it, Brea,” Tor said, looking at Tiama.
The two Cren had taken a seat by the steps and made a big show of minding their own business, and for two copper, Brea would swear Tiama’s lip was quivering. Only Rek seemed unconcerned, as he hitched himself a little closer to Brea’s bed.
“It doesn’t look like any stone I’ve ever seen,” Brea told Tor. “You say there’s a huge rock, just the same, down at the bottom of the Moon Pool?”
“Yes.”
“But where did it—”
“I don’t know, Brea. It is halfway stuck in the bedrock – forced in, more like. If I didn’t know better, I’d say a gigantic dragon dropped it from a great height. Which might explain how the cavern ceiling collapsed. Though that’s another matter, and must have happened a long time ago.”
“Interesting,” Brea mused, as she stared at the blue flecks of light shining in the firelight.
“Are you going to sit and stare, or…”
Brea could hardly hear Tor’s words. Something about the rock, something that made her feel dizzy and yet clear-headed at the same time, had her transfixed. For a second, she thought she could almost hear it speaking to her.
“Brea!”
Brea sat up, startled. “What? There’s no need to shout, I heard you.”
“I don’t think you did,” Tor said, staring at the blue stone. “Put the rock up your sleeve, or down your sock. Anywhere, just stop looking at it.”
Brea felt the urge to stare at it again. Fixing her eyes on Tor, she folded the rock – small stone, really – into her sleeve. “I suppose I should…”
Still thinking about the stone, she lay down on the bed and pulled the other blanket over herself. After a few final words, and more than a few worried glances from Tiama, Brea settled down to sleep.
The last thing she heard was Caylib’s whispering voice. “Best I go get Arfael.”
CHAPTER 4
Arenthenia
Brea opened her eyes and was surprised to find herself already on the hill. She had expected to arrive at the mist-cloaked road, and had expected to go through the tests again, or face new ones. Maybe that only happens the first time. Either way, it was a good start. She wasn’t quite at the top of the hill, though. Looking left, right and behind, she could see nothing but the blanket of thick mist with a single, winding crease breaking the monotony of its otherwise smooth surface. That was the road, she knew that much, but how far did it go? Where did it go? Surely it came from somewhere, or led to something, but what? And what happened to that tower, the one she had seen the last time she was here? A question for later, maybe. Suppressing the thought, Brea turned back to the hill.
Grass, and what looked like hardy shrubs of some kind, bordered the road. Beyond that, more grass, broken up by dozens of small rock outcrops. There was no sun in the blue-grey sky, not that she could see, but still the day was bright – sunny-day bright. It smelled of summer, too, but the air wasn’t hot, not like home. In fact, the weather felt perfect.
Brea followed the road towards the knoll in the centre of the hill. Unlike the hill, the knoll was steep. It didn’t look as if it belonged. Even the rocks were a different colour, and the bottom creased, as though something had dropped them there. The road wound around it, past a bubbling stream, spiralling up until finally ending at the entrance to the cave.
Bausamon, the White Dragon, was lying on his side, sleeping, by the sound of it.
“Is this what you do all day?” Brea asked him. “Lay around here, snoring?”
The White Dragon uncurled himself. With a stretch, he smiled at Brea. “And what make you think I’m even here, young lady?” His voice was deep, like Tor’s, but mellifluous, not a bit harsh.
Bausamon stretched to his full height. He was a good three spans longer than Tor, almost the size of Ribion. But he didn’t look like either of them. Of course, he looked like a dragon, but was more… animal-like, and that was despite being white and almost see-through. His feet were like a cat’s paws, he would not be able to grip and use tools like Tor could; his head and neck sat on shoulders like those of a horse – unlike the Gan, whose necks were more serpent like. His legs were in proportion, too, whereas the Gan Dragons had much shorter front legs – more like arms, really. Brea didn’t think the Gan would be able to run very fast, but Bausamon, if he chose to, could likely outrun the fastest thoroughbred in the king’s stables.
“If you are not here, then…” Brea gazed around. There was nothing! Apart from the crease indicating the road, the mist was a smooth blanket from horizon to horizon, in all directions.
“Down there,” Bausamon said, nodding towards the mist.
Brea felt her eyebrows rise; how could he live down there? “There’s nothing, Bausamon. Nothing could live in that.”
Bausamon smiled. “To the earthen, it is mist; to a spirit, like me, it is as real and as beautiful as your world is to you.”
Brea looked back at the blanket of white. If it was real, then why couldn’t she see anything? Because you’re not a spirit, Brea! Listen to what he is telling you.
“So what is this place, this hill? And why can I see the road?” Brea gestured all around and towards the crease in the mist.
“This was made for you, Brea, and others like you. It is a crossroads, a place where our two worlds interact. The ‘road’ as you call it, isn’t actually a road at all, it is a gateway, there to stop unwanted visitors crossing between worlds.”
Brea didn’t understand. How could she? Spirit worlds, roads that were really gates, mist that wasn’t actually there…
“So where are you? Down there, at the botto
m of the hill?” she said, pointing at where the road began to wind around the long slope towards the knoll.
The White Dragon laughed. “I think you are stalling, Brea.” He was probably right. Although Brea had not realised she was time-wasting. “I’m over there.” Bausamon nodded to his right. “Five hundred leagues northeast, on an island called Omancia. In the spirit world, it is similar to Toi’ifael, where the Gan come from. Mountains, rivers, valleys; it’s really quite beautiful.” The White Dragon gazed longingly at the horizon, then turned back to Brea with a far more severe look in his eye. “Now, we must talk.”
Brea barely had time to imagine Bausamon’s island before the cold feeling in her stomach reached her throat. This was it! He was going to tell her to go into the cave. A cold sweat beaded on her brow and she felt sickness rising from her gut. “Can I… is there somewhere to sit?”
As if from nowhere, a high-backed, cushioned chair appeared by her side. Brea startled. Hand on throat, she backed away.
“It’s only a chair, Brea.” Bausamon’s voice was soothing. “Don’t be alarmed; it’s as real as everything else up here.”
Brea didn’t know if that was supposed to make her feel better. After poking the chair, she sat, and eased back into the soft cushions, but a sudden flash of nausea brought her forward again. Elbows on her knees, she put her head in her hand. Her face was wet with sweat and her knees shook. “How am I going to do this if I can’t even think about it without falling over?” she whispered.
Bausamon must have heard her whisper. “You succeed by placing one foot in front of the other. Don’t be frightened, there’s nothing in there that can harm you.”
“It can take away those I love,” Brea said in a much sterner voice than she expected. “Well, stop me from seeing them, which is just as bad.”
“There are no tricks. If you are worthy of becoming an Oracle, you will be. I, for one, am not worried. As I said before, I have watched you for some years. I do not think you will be denied.”
The Dragon Oracles: Omnibus Edition (The Eastern Kingdom Omnibus Book 1) Page 87