Core

by Teshelle Combs

  The boy stood up on the fence again, his hands on crossed over his thin chest. “Watch your mouth, child,” he said.

  Ava moved even closer to the fence, but Cale reached out and stopped her.

  “Don’t touch it. It’s not allowed.”

  Ava bit her lip in, her green and red eyes sparkling. “Since when do we ever wait for permission?” She reached out and touched the tip of her finger to the fence.

  The little boy was impressively fast. He pounced on Ava, pressing a dragonblade to her throat before she could even gasp. Two more gatekeepers sprang from the low grass that clumped around the fence posts. They bound Ava and Cale’s hands and dragged them over the fence and into the village.

  Her instinct was to fight, to get away, but she followed Cale’s lead. He walked complicity, his hands flaccid beneath the ropes that tied them together. Ava stumbled along beside him, a momentary flash of panic seizing her.

  What if Cale’s giving up? What if losing his family really is too much?

  She shook her head. She knew Cale. She knew what they’d come for. Vindication. And we’ll find it here, in Great Nest.

  Ava was amazed at how clever it all was. The simple, childish appearance of the gatekeeper drew less attention than a weapon-bearing, strapping man would. Torches burned in all of the windows instead of electric light bulbs. White clothing hung out on the lines, flapping in the cool night breeze that the ocean brought.

  After a minute or so, the village seemed so peaceful, it was hard for Ava to worry any longer. The prison that they were placed in might as well have been in an old period movie. Both Cale and Ava were bent forward, their arms and necks clamped in wooden contraptions.

  “The stocks,” she said to Cale, amazed. It’s like we teleported to a different century. “I’m actually in the stocks.”

  “We’re just lucky it’s not a guillotine,” Cale said. He grunted, already uncomfortable.

  “How old are these things?”

  Cale groaned and hung his head. “It doesn’t help that I still feel…something.”

  “Is it close? Whatever it is?”

  Cale tried not to look at Ava. He didn’t want to scare her, or himself.

  After a half hour or so of Cale squirming and Ava shushing him, a woman appeared, carrying a torch. She was wearing light, linen material in a plain dress that went down to her ankles. Her dark brown skin stood out against the clothing brilliantly. Her hair was shaved shorter than most men’s–nearly bald, and her cheek bones stood high and sharp. She was frighteningly beautiful. Her light brown eyes glistened as she leaned over and examined Cale.

  “Cale of Anders Nest?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he answered.

  “You have come to Great Nest for us to help you clear your name?”

  “I have.”

  “We do not dabble in grey business,” she said. “Though I know your father well enough, he has not contacted me on your behalf. I have heard that he has disowned you.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The woman kneeled in front of Cale. “Your own father thinks you a criminal. And you want me to think differently?”

  “He didn’t send me away because of the exile. Not even because the no-ir called me by name.”

  “Oh?” Her eyelashes fluttered at the mention of the black dragons.

  “He didn’t want me to pact with my rider.”

  The woman stood and walked over to Ava. Each step she took drew in the eye, like she was gliding, floating on clouds. She knelt next to Ava and lifted her chin so that she could see into her eyes.

  “You are his rider?”

  “I will be.”

  “Then you have caused your dragon great sorrow,” the woman said.

  Ava scoffed, refusing to let the truth affect her. “I know that. What I don’t know is who you are and why I should care what you think.”

  “Ava,” Cale started to scold. The woman could help them, maybe even grant them access to the council.

  She held up her hand to them. “Emaline,” she said. “Chief of Great Nest. And you think you are worthy to be this dragon’s rider?”

  Ava struggled against her restraints. It was becoming more uncomfortable by the minute. “Of course I’m not worthy. I think he’s crazy to have picked me. I’m reckless, and stiff, and kind of mean sometimes.”

  “She’s brave and smart and kind,” Cale argued, trying to convince the chief otherwise. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

  “You have obviously lost your mind, Cale,” Ava shouted. “Look at us. Your dad was right. Your life used to be perfect and you went and found me and now you’ve got nothing. You’re in the stocks in a dragon village in the middle of nowhere. The stocks. I’m obviously poison.”

  “You’re obviously stupid,” Cale shouted back. “Just agree with me.”

  “Enough,” Emaline, said loudly.

  The two fell silent.

  “It will do us good to send you to the greys. They will remember the favor.” Emaline turned to leave.

  Cale groaned again, this time shutting his eyes against the gravel rolling around in his stomach.

  “Tell her,” Ava hissed at him.

  “Tell me what?”

  Cale tried to ignore the unsettling. It was growing, turning into a sharp warning pain in his abdomen. “Something…awful.”

  Emaline pursed her lips as she regarded him. Then she put a hand on her stomach, thinking, feeling for it.

  “Hmm.” She did it again, then opened the door to the prison. “Maurice,” she called.

  The little gatekeeper came forward in a hurry.

  “Who is at the gate now?” she asked.

  “Morton. Would you rather it was me?”

  She frowned. “The young dragon is right. Something is coming. Double the guard.” She was about to leave, but stopped again. “No. Wake all the nests. Now.”

  She turned back to Cale. “You felt it, even before I did. Do you know how gifted you are?”

  “Oh, he felt it hours ago,” Ava interrupted. “Way back when we were trying to get past your gate troll.”

  “Is this true?” Emaline asked, her eyes wide.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Cale said.

  Emaline paced, then stopped and stared down Cale. The silence stretched on for so long that it made Cale uncomfortable.

  “And your crimes,” Emaline said, finally speaking. “What are they?”

  “I’m not perfect, but…I can’t think of anything I’ve done that warrants death. I swear. There’s been a mistake.”

  Emaline looked at him once more, then grunted and left in a huff, her skirts billowing as she glided through the door and slammed it shut. In minutes, the alarm began to ring, the clanging of low bells thick in the night air.

  Within seconds, Cale and Ava heard the clashing of metal on metal, the war cries of dragons. Ava could make out the indistinguishable agony of sirens giving up their last breaths–shrieks that rent the sky.

  The door flew open and Maurice entered, blood dripping down his forehead. He picked Cale’s head up by the hair so that they were eye level. “Is the rumor true? That you slayed a black dragon?”

  “It’s not true.” He didn’t try to pull away from Maurice’s grasp. The boy was surprisingly strong. “It lived. And it was Ava who fought it off. Not me.”

  “Good enough.” Maurice released them both and handed them each blades. “It’s time to fight,” he said. “Judgment will come later.”

  “Aren’t you a little young to handle a sword?” Ava asked as she stretched her stiffened limbs.

  Cale shook his head at her. “He’s older than he looks.” Then he pushed Ava back inside the prison. “You stay here.”

  When Cale looked through the doors, he gasped.

  Throngs of siren. Hundreds of them. Each armed with weapons, tearing through the tiny village. The werefolk–bristled hair covering their skin and saliva dripping from their fangs–clambered over the little huts and sprung off of them, t
heir claws spread as they aimed for the red dragons below.

  Never mind hiding. Cale forced himself to draw in air. We’ll all be dead by sunrise.

  “Do you remember how to kill them, Ava?”

  She nodded, but her hands were shaking. Heart, then head. She had still never taken a life, but she fought the fear down. If Cale can do it, I can do it.

  They raced out together, Ava on wobbly legs. She could hear Cale stabbing and slicing, the wicked crunch of blade through bone as heads fell.

  The nightfolk, with pale skin and hollowed eyes, kept to the ground, moving like clouds of ink through water as they slipped into crevices and behind trees. They snatched at dragons as they ran by, pulling them into the darkness.

  Overwhelmed by the chaos, Ava swallowed her fear. Choose one. Kill at least one. She chased down a nightfolk, one with a shadow eel coiled around its neck. It was cornering a woman who had already been injured. The woman was defenseless, cowering against the side of her hut.

  Ava ran forward and thrust her blade through the nightfolk’s back, aiming for the heart. The creature squealed and threw its head backwards in anguish. Ava lifted her blade and brought it down as hard as she could into its neck. She screamed just as the siren did, more terrified with what she’d done than she was at the lifeless body that crumpled before her and turned to shadow.

  Ava knew she was supposed to be fighting off the sirens, killing as many as she could, but she could see that the dragon she’d just saved was sweating heavily, her breathing rapid. Ava hurried over to the nearest window and grabbed a torch. She raced back to the woman while the battle raged on behind them.

  “I’m going to help you,” Ava told her. “Where does it hurt?”

  She lifted her hand to Ava. A large chunk of flesh had been ripped from it. The purple poison inside the wound was already spreading up her arm, heading toward her core.

  “This will hurt,” Ava warned.

  She regarded Ava without an ounce of fear in her eyes. Ava held the flame to her arm, and the woman looked away, groaning as the poison inched back down her arm. Finally, when it was all gone, Ava handed her the torch. The woman took it and held it in place as her hand healed itself.

  “Cale,” Ava called out into the fray. Where is he? Where is he?

  Her dragon was covered in purple blood. It splattered as he slayed another beast and ran to Ava’s side.

  “Cover me,” she said. “I’ll find the ones with the siren tears.”

  Cale nodded and Ava darted through the village. A werefolk lunged at her, grabbing hold of her ankle and sinking its teeth in. She screamed out, smashing her sneaker into its face. But Cale drove his blade through the werefolk’s heart and severed its head in seconds.

  “Go,” he said.

  Ava scooped up a little girl who lay in the grass outside of her hut, her tiny arms covering her head. Ava entered the nearest house and laid the girl down on the floor.

  “I got it,” she said to Cale, pushing toward the exit.

  Cale held onto her arm tightly. “I’m staying with you.”

  “No, I’m fine. Just watch the door for me and direct the sick in here.” She pushed Cale off again. He was reluctant, his eyes searching hers, but his ears trained on the sound of battle just outside the door.

  “Be careful,” he said, touching her cheek before he ran through the exit.

  Ava turned back to the little girl. For a moment, she wondered whether it was a full grown person, like Maurice, or really a child. But the little thing whimpered and clutched on to Ava’s shirt.

  “This will hurt a lot at first, but it’s going to heal you,” Ava said.

  She tore at the back of the girl’s dress until she found the trail of the poison that was creeping up the girl’s back. Then she pressed the fire against her skin. The girl bit down on her lip to keep from screaming. Ava kept working anyway, amazed that neither the girl’s clothes nor her hair caught fire as the siren tear retreated.

  “You are so brave,” Ava said.

  The curtain that served as a door flew open and Ava grabbed her blade, ready to defend. But it was only Maurice. The boy was carrying two grown people, both twice his size, one over each of his shoulders. He laid them down on the ground and left without a word. Ava got to work.

  By the time the fighting had ceased, Ava had almost two dozen patients crowded into the hut. She left them and stepped outside, relieved to see the sun rising. She searched for Cale, praying that if he had been wounded, someone would have had the decency to bring him to her.

  “Ava.”

  His voice made her heart jump. She ran to him and grabbed him in her arms. He was disgusting, covered in bits of other beings, but Ava didn’t care.

  He was alive.

  “You’re hurt,” Cale said to her. She was about to argue with him until he pointed at the blood soaking into her shoes.

  “It doesn’t hurt,” she said. “I’m fine.”

  He frowned at her, collapsing onto the ground beside her. “Do you feel no pain, Ava? That’s what you said when that beast tore you apart with its talons in Peru.”

  Pain meant nothing as long as he was alright. She sat down right where she was, right in the dirt and the grass. Exhaustion hit very suddenly, and her ankle began to throb. Stupid adrenaline doesn’t last long enough.

  Maurice came to the two of them and tapped their shoulders. “Emaline wants you both. Now.”

  They followed Maurice through the village and into a hut that looked just like all the rest. It was tiny, only one room. Stone walls and a thatched roof. Maurice pointed to the two pillows on the floor, and Ava followed Cale’s lead as he sat on one.

  Emaline brought out a bucket of water for each of them. Her white dress had gone purple, her face sullen and no longer amused. She paced the room as she spoke.

  “They call you the Deceiver,” she said to Ava. “Because you are clever, they say.”

  Ava swallowed the water, almost choking herself. “Did a siren tell you that? I didn’t think they were very conversational.” Her encounter with the peaceful sirens at the O’Hara’s house left her with nothing but sadness and silence. The werefolk she’d fought in Peru barely made any sense when it spoke.

  “We have our ways of making them talk.”

  Ava shivered. She tried not to imagine what Emaline had done to make the flighty creature share information with her.

  “Explain,” Emaline said.

  “Once, when a werefolk was trying to attack Cale, I told it that I loved it and that I didn’t care about Cale. It hesitated, then I attacked while it's defense was lowered.”

  “So you’re a liar,” Emaline said.

  “If that’s how you want to interpret it, than sure. I’m a liar.”

  Emaline stopped to stare at her, then took up pacing once more. “Come, Jethro,” she said.

  A teenaged boy entered. He had the same dark skin as Emaline, but a kinder, plainer face. Cale remembered him from the battle. He had been more than impressive.

  “These are the two you’ve told me of?” Emaline asked him.

  “Yes. The dragon ranks well.”

  “But not in any ranking I’ve heard of.”

  The boy sighed, as though giving up a secret. “We have our own.”

  “We?”

  “Some younger dragons find the old ways obsolete. Our fights have become very popular. Many participate.”

  “Obsolete?” she snapped. “And are you one of those participants?”

  Ava was nervous for the boy, but he did not flinch. He looked coolly to Emaline. “I have often thought of it.”

  It was impossible to tell if he was masking the truth or not. Emaline huffed and continued pacing. “And what is wrong with the old ways, Jethro? What makes them so 'obsolete'?”

  Jethro frowned. “If you will only get angry, I won’t bother to explain to you.”

  Maurice chuckled, and Emaline glared at him.

  “The boy knows you well,” Maurice said with a shrug. />
  Emaline sighed and refilled the buckets of water. Cale greedily put his to his mouth, gulping it down until Emaline snatched it back from him. He looked like a puppy who’d lost his bone.

  “Later we will speak of this.” Emaline waved her hand as though she was batting the subject away. She turned back to Jethro. “What do you make of the human, oh wise one?”

  Jethro scowled at Emaline, choosing to ignore her sarcasm. “Her reputation travels with her. A human who is not afraid to fight dragons. Fearless. The dragonlings love her.”

  Ava almost choked on her water. Where did he that from?

  “But not those with any wisdom,” Emaline said. “I have my sources as well. They despise her. And I can see why.”

  Ava frowned. God, she’s mean. She tried not to look at Cale, knowing that his expression would be a bitter one. The only “wise” person who could have sent a report would have to be Mac. Not only had he refused to help, but he was trying to sabotage them, even though he was all the way in Miami.

  Emaline looked to Maurice again. “What do you make of these two?” she asked.

  Maurice wrinkled his nose at both of them, as though he disliked their smell. The words he spoke surprised everyone present.

  “The boy conquers fear well. And he is gifted. But the girl….” He squinted at Ava. “She is hard and calloused.”

  He stepped closer to her. His brown eyes didn’t look like they’d seen very many years. Nothing in his appearance betrayed his age or his wisdom. “Yet, her heart turned to the sick. She has saved many of our own tonight, and not by my command or any other’s. Even my niece she has saved.”

  “Redeemed by her actions, then?” Emaline asked.

  “No,” Maurice said. “Redemption cannot come by actions alone.”

  “So you would have me do away with her.”

  Maurice shook his head. “No. Our judgment cannot come by actions alone, either.”

  Emaline sighed and threw her hands in the air. “The riddles you give me, old man, when I ask for a simple answer.”