by JD Hart
That night, Conner sat drenched and shivering from collecting enough branches to build a small fire in the cave Skye had found. After his fifth flint stick burned out with no more success than the first four, he sat back in resignation, trying unsuccessfully to ignore the soaked shirt wrapped about his head. He looked at the iridescent black creature nearby who had been watching him with intense curiosity. Skye had not spoken for several minutes, which was a miracle in itself. The beast possessed an endless supply of questions about humans and their lives, consuming the entire afternoon while they traveled to the cave Skye had found.
What is the purpose of living in wooden boxes? Why do humans spend so much time growing food when there is so much available? How do people eat? Who are the human Ancients and where do they live? Can you sing me a humansong? Why do humans kill other humans? What is a fiancé? How do humans raise their young?
Conner did not mind Skye’s inquisitiveness. In fact, the constant questions kept him from thinking about the treacherous trail getting to the cave while he attempted to educate the creature on human Harmonic life. But describing and occasionally defending ideas he had taken for granted his whole life had taxed him. He was mentally exhausted.
Skye’s focus on understanding Conner’s life was so intent that he was not willing to turn the plow. However, Conner was able to extract some fragments about Skye’s life. During the creature’s inquisition about marriage, for example, he discovered Skye was an adolescent male, too young to form a coupling. He also uncovered his species did not marry, though they did have long-term monogamous relationships based on individual needs. He was perplexed when Skye mentioned age was not a part of such arrangements, though experience did influence how a couple might relate. Skye used the example that a young male, feeling the need for a teacher or sexual mentor, might mate with a much older and more experienced female who felt the need to nurture or be wanted, until the couple’s needs had been fulfilled.
It was all very strange.
Unexpectedly, Skye’s body started to heave. The beast’s long neck protruded forward. His eyes disappeared behind double slits while his mouth opened wide in a gesture reminiscent of a cat coughing up a hairball. Just then, the beast expelled a searing fireball. The wood Conner had stacked in the middle of their cave burst into flames.
The fire grew and sizzled over wet logs while Conner stared incredulously. “If you could have done that before, why did you let me go through all that work the past half hour?” He flashed bolts of lightning at the beast, then sighed, tossing the flint box by his pack.
“I thought you wanted to do it on your own,” Skye stated with a touch of confusion.
Conner leaned forward, the fire melting away some of his irritability. “Well, coughing up a fireball must have been painful.” He tried to suppress a sense of satisfaction at the thought.
Skye shifted into a more comfortable position. “Not painful, but I needed to control the flow. If I had used more Fire, you would have been left with ash instead of flames.”
The two sat quietly in the flickering light while the storm raged outside. Conner could not quite believe his circumstance. Here he sat huddled in a cave calmly chatting with a fire-breathing, scaly, winged creature that had tried to kill him ... twice. This situation would take time to get used to. He stared out of the cave as lightning coursed through black clouds and rain continued to fall in buckets. He missed home. All he wanted was to be in his house, sleeping in his warm, dry bed and eating his mother’s fine cooking. The ration he was chewing became all the blander, and he had to force the chunk down.
Conner realized he was sulking, so he broke the long silence. “Where do dragons come from?” Skye’s surprise seared through Conner’s mind. Well, he had used the word and he was not going to take it back. Dragon. The wait was deafening.
Skye shifted his bulk. “Our first dragonsong tells of a very powerful Shaman God named Shazarack, who created the four families of dragons. But this god made the Ancients his playthings and kept them locked away. One day, the Ancients grew restless and broke from their prison. Each family flew in a different direction. Finding suitable lairs for the females’ eggs, they began new dragonsongs.”
The story had all the trimmings of mythology, but some essence of truth probably resided in the fable. “And the other three families? What happened to them?”
Skye answered softly, “Our verses of the days of the Dragonbonded tell of a time when the humans’ order held members with bonds from all four families. But I cannot say what happened in the time since.”
Silence descended upon the cave. Sounds of thunder, rain, and popping logs filled the void. Conner was caught wondering how the emotions of his bond flowed, mixed, and influenced his will. He could sense his resistance weakening. But with the growing acceptance that Skye was a dragon came a flood of sadness and fear that chewed at his spirit. He would decide what to do tomorrow, knowing that giving his thoughts free rein would keep him from needed sleep. Shifting to a more comfortable position, he barely caught Skye’s soft voice in the dreamy distance, nearly drowned out by a boom of thunder.
“I am glad you are not a dragork.”
Conner grunted in his semi-dream state. He would try to remember to ask Skye what a dragork was in the morning.
Unwelcome News
Lacerus gently stroked his distressed falcon bond. Still, Carnia flinched at the Assassin’s apprehension, which grew steadily by the minute. He had received an urgent message from Morgas, just back in Cravenrock, requesting an immediate audience. But the message had said nothing about Vault. That was surely a harbinger of unwelcome news. He sighed in resignation and lowered his hand. His failed efforts to ease his bond’s tension were no help to either of them. Why had he been afflicted with such a creature, one so repulsed by his lifestyle? He glared into her eyes with cold indifference. She killed, sometimes even tormenting her prey before dispatching it with an efficiency even he admired. Were they really so different?
Lacerus sensed the heat and vibration of someone approaching, though there were no sounds. He turned as Morgas appeared at his door, Valmer by his side. He waited a moment, staring behind his man. But the absence of a bound and blindfolded Eastlander on his tracker’s heels told all. Still, Morgas would not have returned alone without good reason. And judging by his expression, the Alpslander had a lot to say. “Yes?” he asked with the sharpness of a skinning knife.
Morgas spoke quickly, recounting the time his group had spent tracking Vault. Lacerus’s smile, hidden in the dark shadow of his black hood, grew as Morgas described with frustration how Vault had thwarted their attempts to apprehend him. When the Alpslander detailed the events of the cavern and the avalanche nearly ending Morgas’s and Pallia’s life, the Assassin chuckled heartily, stifling his man’s tale mid-sentence.
The silence stretched on, Morgas unsure how to interpret his liege’s reaction. No doubt the Alpslander wondered whether Lacerus would allow him to take another breath. Lacerus and his bond were not so different after all.
Finally, the Assassin broke the tension. “I am merely impressed with the boy’s ability, Morgas.” But failure could not go unpunished. He paused for added effect, then buried the figurative knife into his proud man’s heart. “However, I had thought you would have been up for the challenge an Eastlander youth had to offer. It seems I dreadfully overestimated your talents.” He feigned indifference, knowing his rebuke wounded more than any pain an Assassin’s dagger could inflict.
Morgas winced at his liege’s assessment.
In truth, Lacerus was more impressed with the Eastlander’s skills than he was angry with Morgas’s failures. His man’s personal and direct tutelage under the best Barbarian and Black Knight instructors should have been more than adequate to deal with any normal situation. That meant the boy was anything but normal. Sensing there was more, “Go on.”
Morgas continued, describing the man-made cavern they had chased Vault into and how it had been laid to near-total
waste before they reached the boy. Lacerus tensed visibly, his breathing shallow as he listened to the man recount the strange blue light he had seen pulsating from the cavern’s walls and floor. Morgas placed the pulsating rock on his table, and Lacerus gasped.
The Assassin was so entranced by the glowing stone that he nearly failed to catch the Alpslander’s final comment. “I do not know the meaning, my liege, but it is clearly significant in some way. I thought you should know immediately. There are ballads my ancestors sang describing caves that could be seen at night pulsing a deep blue such as this.” Morgas shrugged, lowering his eyes, then shook his head. “But all I can recall is that such lights were meant as a warning to stay clear.”
Lacerus was transfixed, watching the stone’s heartbeat pulse. Sensing Morgas’s apprehension, he shook free from ancient memories. “You did right bringing this to me.” Without thinking, he reached for the rock with his left hand. When the rock touched his ring, a blazing flash of brilliant blue sprang from the onyx stone, casting shifting shadows about the dark room. In the sudden blaze, Lacerus noted Morgas’s astonished gaze, arms raised to block the blinding azure glow. Then, just as quickly, the room was cast into darkness.
Lacerus snarled at his folly, but it was too late. Morgas had seen. It was yet another matter for later resolution. The thought of what he might have to do with Morgas once the boy was successfully returned disappointed him. He had grown attached to the man. However, at least for now, Morgas would not wag his tongue in front of the wrong ears. Besides, how many would understand the rock’s significance?
Urgency to have Vault in his grasp drove the Assassin to conclude the conversation. “How long before you return?”
Morgas stared back into the glowing eyes hidden deep within the black cloak. Both understood the Alpslander’s life hung in the balance of the deeds he would accomplish in the days to come. He spoke with certainty of the work ahead. “I need but an hour to replenish my supplies, my liege. I wish to make the mountains again before dawn.”
Lacerus nodded his approval, giving Morgas a smile parents reserved for their obedient children assuring them of rewards to come. He carefully hefted the glowing rock as he weighed his options. Again, plans would need adjustment. “Good. Take care not to damage my young treasure, Morgas. I sense its value has increased a hundredfold.”
“I will return with the boy,” came the reassuring reply.
Lacerus was left alone to reflect on the pulsating rock, unaware of his falcon bond’s cries of stress.
Pallia stood shivering at the mouth of the large cavern, while Johann worked unnoticed trying to start a meager fire with the damp wood they had gathered. They had been drenched to the bone before they reached the cavern, hampered by the unconscious Carlon’s weight on the makeshift stretcher the two lugged between them. How things can change in but a single day, she mused, but her concerns grew as the steady drizzle whipped into a hard, wind-driven rain. Her eyes never veered from the southern ridge, even during the infrequent moments when lightning bolts were not exposing the rocky terrain.
The flickering glow of a fire marked Johann’s success. She turned reluctantly from the storm. Worrying about Morgas would not change anything. Johann was already removing his soggy clothes, any semblance of modesty the trapper once had dissolved with his need for warmth. Goose appeared, her wet fur glistening in the firelight. And Carlon, drenched and strapped to the stretcher, laid motionless next to the fire, his breathing slow and shallow.
For the first time in her life, Pallia felt disheartened, a combination of exhaustion, hunger, unsuccessful attempts to retain their quarry, and weather that refused to cooperate. But what tore at her heart most was the shame of what she would have to tell Morgas. She had failed him. How could she ever look into his eyes again? She hung her head in disgrace.
A cold wind blew into the cavern, bringing rain that pelted her back. She shivered again, but not from the cold. Forcing her feet to move, she went to the other side of the fire and rummaged through her pack to remove the few pieces of clothing at the bottom that were not completely soaked. After dressing, she assisted Johann in removing Carlon’s clothes. They left the unconscious man near the fire covered in the only dry item Johann had—his sleeping blanket.
As she had done through most of their journey back to the cave, Pallia tried to piece together the events following Conner’s escape from camp. She did not want to believe that the sounds she and Johann had heard were merely a distraction, but with the leather straps Conner had left as a gift, laden with knots, it was hard to see it differently.
Following Carlon’s trail along the stream had been easy enough. They could not have been more than five minutes behind. But the tracks ended when they came upon the dark, moonlit grove west of the stream where Carlon and Vault had fought. Johann and Pallia made several spiraling loops around the battleground, calling Carlon’s name, before she found the other brother slumped against a tree with several broken ribs and a displaced shoulder. He had remained unconscious since.
She inspected the younger man, his face pale and gaunt, even in the orange fire glow. Without weapons, and against someone of Carlon’s skill, those injuries indicated an attacker with a keen mastery of fighting skills. Pallia had trouble believing that Conner, at his age, was capable of such elemental control. The Assassin would have warned them if he possessed such powers. No, someone other than Conner, someone very powerful, had attacked Carlon.
Searching through the morning hours had not produced Conner’s tracks, heightening the confusion. The boy could not have grown wings and flown away. But with no tracks to follow, and a growing concern for Carlon’s health, the two had chosen to rendezvous with Morgas as discussed.
“Morgas,” she whispered. Just saying his name stole the chill away. The man was truly her light on a crisp winter’s morn. And for the first time since she had left home two years ago in search of her love, she pined for her mountain village. It did not take the village prophet to feel a storm growing across the landscape, one that would dwarf the one that now gripping the mountains, one that would devour all those unfortunate enough to be in its path. She wanted to return home with her mate, braid her hair with summer mountain orchids as all her friends had long since done, and raise many strong children with mountain granite for feet and mountain snow in their veins. Maybe these last few days would convince Morgas it was time.
A soft groan near the fire drew Pallia from her daydream. Johann bent over his brother. The younger man sluggishly raised his arm, weakly clasping hands with his brother. Carlon rasped something and the two leaned closer.
“What was that, brother?” Johann asked, his ear pressed to Carlon’s lips.
The younger man took a deep breath, grimacing at the pain. “I said, did you find father’s knife?”
Johann glanced up at Pallia, relief washing concern from his eyes. “He is going to be fine.”
Morgas gathered the supplies he would need for his return. Thunder rumbled in the northwest while flashes of lightning arced across the otherwise serene night sky. He would have to travel through the storm. Nothing about the last two days had been rewarding. No, there were a few things, he corrected, relishing the image of Pallia and Galven as he had left them at the southern base of the mountain.
The thought brought a new urgency to his actions. Morgas had left his mate and friends to deal with the boy, or whatever he was, without him. Anger flashed. His liege knew a lot more than he cared to offer. And given his apparent need to return Vault unharmed, there were secrets the Assassin would not willingly share at any cost, even if that included risking the lives of those in his group. Next to him, the white tundra wolf growled, teeth bared at the sense of Morgas’s flash of anger.
Morgas patted Valmer reassuringly. “No worries, my dear friend. We’re not going to let anything happen to those most important to us.”
Part VI
Only through the giving of ourselves to others do we discover that the true gift is th
e opportunity a Being offers another to share oneself. In this, are not all rewarded?
—The Modei Book of Air (Second Book)
After the Storm
The high-pitched warble of a meadowlark pulled Veressa from restless dreams that had kept her on the edge of sleep. Even the extra room after Annabelle and Peron had vacated the tent had not helped. But the sounds and smells of rations cooking over a crackling fire brought a warm smile to the princess’s face. She stumbled from the tent and was greeted by Hemera rising slowly above remnants of the storm along Narwales’s horizon. For the first morning since leaving Graystone, the air was cool and light on her skin. She knuckled her lower back to work at kinks she hoped were not permanent.
“I bet you wouldn’t have minded being tied to your bed now,” came a somber voice from behind.
“My bed never sounded so inviting,” Veressa mused as she turned to find a very haggard Annabelle overseeing the morning fire. But her smile evaporated, eyes sweeping across the scene about her. “Oh no,” she exhaled.
Annabelle was pouring hot, thick liquid into two tin bowls. “Yes, it seems the Cosmos’s luck was not with us last night.”
Veressa looked glumly at her tent, shredded into long strips of canvas. The storm’s strong winds had finished off any parts the huge oak branch and her knife had not destroyed. Next to her tent, Annabelle had meticulously laid out the few supplies not blown away or soaked by the storm. Limbs, twigs, and leaves littered the campsite in muddy devastation. A quick scan of the terrain prompted her to exclaim, “The horses too? Now what are we going to do?”
“There is nothing we can do at the moment, except thank the Cosmos that you were not crushed beneath the tree.” Annabelle offered the princess a weak smile and a cup of steaming brew. “It is never wise to make decisions on an empty stomach, so come eat before we discuss what is next.”