Wavebreaker

by A. J. Norfield

  “I have never seen the sky do that before,” said Galirras, who was the first to notice.

  Raylan looked up, wondering what his friend was talking about, and forgot all about his intention to return to the inn.

  “The sky curtains?” Xi’Lao said in surprise. “But we are much too far south for them to paint the sky.”

  “Sky curtains? What are those?” said Raylan.

  “And how does it do that?” asked Galirras.

  The pink color of the sky reflected in the dragon’s constantly moving vortex pupils before it slowly flowed into a dark green. It lifted Galirras’ eyes to a whole new level of beauty.

  “We used to see them at the monastery, up in the mountains. But only during the winter. My grandfather told me they were the trails of dragons, which tore open the night sky with their claws to reveal the hidden colors of the world. It was not until later that I read a very different explanation in a very old scroll.”

  “Which was?” said Raylan, wondering if the explanation would not spoil the unknown beauty above him.

  “It was written that many of the empire’s wisest men worked together with dragons to unravel the mysteries of that which surrounds us. They spoke about a world power and the sun’s light in the sky. How the combination of the two could create the lights.”

  “World power?” said Galirras. “Like my wind power?”

  “Not precisely. Remember I spoke about how everything holds its own life energy? Well, our world is no different. It has its own chi. Its own power, and it shows in different ways. There are places in the empire where you can make metal stick to metal. The scroll talks about this being the result of the world’s life energy. But such concentrated spots are extremely rare. They believed this power was ever present, yet gathered more above the white caps of the north and less in the south.”

  “What does that have to do with these lights?” asked Raylan.

  “The dragons said that, at times, this world power could get become strong enough to rip apart the sun’s light that touched the tiny pieces in the sky. You would not notice it during the day, but at night it provides amazing views,” explained Xi’Lao. “They were convinced certain animals were able to see or feel such earthly forces and use them to find their way across the lands and oceans. Unfortunately, the scrolls never explained how the dragons knew all this.”

  “Hold on. At night, there’s no sunlight at all. And how can it break the light? You can’t touch light, can you? Wouldn’t it just get dark?” questioned Raylan.

  He thought about Ca’lek and Peadar’s bird conversation earlier that evening.

  “Ugh, my head’s starting to hurt. I think I like your grandfather’s explanation better,” added Raylan.

  “As do I,” said Galirras. “It would be amazing if others were up there.”

  Raylan reached out with his mind as his hand stroked the dragon’s neck.

  “Still pretty to look at, though,” said Raylan out loud.

  “That it is,” replied Galirras.

  “That it is,” echoed Xi’Lao.

  The trio took their time to enjoy the show, until Raylan’s stomach growled so loudly he could not ignore it any longer.

  “I’ll head in and see if there’s any food left,” he said. “You want to head back?”

  “I will stay a while longer,” answered Xi’Lao. “The lights remind me of home, in a good way. I am certain Galirras does not mind sharing his meadow with me for a while longer. Do you, Galirras?”

  “It will be my pleasure,” said the dragon politely.

  “No problem. I’ll come back and check in with you both before I go to bed. See you in a bit.”

  Galirras watched Raylan disappear into the shadows. He felt Xi’Lao lay her head against his side and gaze back up at the painted sky. He moved his head close to her so she could scratch his favorite spot above his eye.

  He enjoyed the time he spent with Xi’Lao. It always felt different, perhaps because she was the only woman in the group. Though she could fight like the best of them, she was certainly more refined in her ways. Polite in her conversation; thoughtful in her opinions.

  Any peasant who approached the meadow and stumbled upon the unlikely duo would turn right around and go back the way they came, likely with a quick stop at the River’s Hill Inn for a drink.

  Both woman and dragon spent some time practicing Tiankonese—a request made by Galirras in preparation for his visit to the empire. After going back and forth a few times in the conversation, Galirras stretched his legs, fluttered one of his wings and settled back into a more comfortable position.

  “I am glad both of you are getting along again. I did not like it when you were mad at each other,” said Galirras.

  Xi’Lao looked him in the eye.

  “You have got it wrong, special one. I was never really mad at him.”

  “Why did you not talk to him, then?”

  Xi’Lao looked back up at the illuminated sky; it changed from green into purple.

  “I do not know. I felt sad. I still do. I think in a way Raylan reminds me of Gavin. Despite their differences, they are more alike than one might think. Before you hatched, it was clear that all Raylan wanted was to outdo his brother. But when you bonded with him, it…changed him. And I think the loss of his brother changed him even more.”

  Galirras stared at her, his nostrils slightly flaring.

  “Not in a bad way, I think,” apologized Xi’Lao, seeing Galirras look at her. “Not at all, even. He became more like Gavin. In the way he cares for things. In the way he leads, even if he does not see it himself. And it hurts. It hurts so much to see this person I loved in front of me, but not be there.”

  Tears ran from Xi’Lao’s deep brown eyes down her cheeks. She laughed and wiped them away.

  “I never thought to find such honor in a foreigner. So…selfless, and proud to keep others safe. Values that are among the highest one can have in life.”

  The dragon spent some time mulling over Xi’Lao’s words. Keeping safe, protecting; he had never given it any thought as a choice. He looked back, but saw that Xi’Lao was lost in her own world of thought, staring at the colored sky.

  “Can I ask you something?” he said after a while.

  Xi’Lao rolled her head to the side and looked at Galirras’ head as it bent back on his flexible neck.

  “Do the archives mention anything about dragons walking in someone’s dream?”

  Xi’Lao thought for a moment.

  “I do not believe so. Why do you ask? Did you and Raylan share a dream?”

  “It was not Raylan. At least, I do not think it was. Whenever he dreams, it is more like thoughts that flow over the edge of a bucket.”

  “Someone else, then?” asked Xi’Lao.

  “I am not sure,” replied Galirras. “The memory of the dream is very vague. Perhaps it was my own.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “Some days ago. I think there was a woman. She was very afraid. She was calling for someone.”

  Xi’Lao looked at him.

  “I am sorry. I can offer little help. I do not remember anything about dream walking in the scrolls I studied. Could it perhaps have been something you ate? Was it that time you tried a few of those berries?”

  “I do not believe so. But it certainly was a very peculiar happening. And warm.”

  “Warm?”

  “Yes, I remember this distinct heat when I woke up, even though the morning was brisk and the fires extinguished,” reminisced Galirras.

  After a moment, he shook his head.

  “It was probably nothing. But speaking about heat; are you not constantly warm?”

  “Warm? How so?” asked Xi’Lao.

  “I mean with your condition…”

  Back at the inn, Raylan stashed away the bucket and brush. The smell of the stew was beckoning him when he noticed one of the horses had kicked over its water trough. He spent a moment fixing it, then renewed the animal’s water. As he g
ave the thankful animal a pat on the neck, he remembered he had left his fur coat in the meadow. As worn as it was, he had better pick it up now or he would probably forget to do it later, and then it would be soaked with morning dew the next day. He really had come to dislike the smell of wet fur during their days riding in the northern rains of the Dark Continent.

  He sighed and turned back toward the narrow path under the trees, his stomach urging his feet to pick up the pace. As he neared the end of the path, Galirras’ and Xi’Lao’s voices floated toward him.

  “…and he does not need that kind of distraction.”

  He forced his feet to slow down and held still in the shadows. He heard Xi’Lao get to her feet.

  “I think I will head inside as well. I am getting cold. Thank you for keeping me company. And Galirras? Can you promise me not to tell Raylan?”

  Raylan felt a hint of disagreement flow from his friend.

  “Please?” asked Xi’Lao.

  “Promise,” rumbled the dragon’s voice.

  Quickly, Raylan took a few steps back and started walking again as Xi’Lao ducked under the branches of the first tree.

  “Oh, hey,” said Raylan, noticing the slightest startle in Xi’Lao’s posture. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. Just came to get my coat. You headed in already?”

  “Yes, to get some extra sleep. Tomorrow is another early start.”

  “I know, but we’re almost there. And then we can start planning our next move.”

  Xi’Lao gave a small nod and continued toward the inn. Raylan entered the meadow, where Galirras looked up at him.

  “You are back already? How can you eat faster than I?”

  “Forgot my coat,” said Raylan with a smile. “You alright? You feel a little…agitated.”

  He kept the question vague on purpose. He did not want to put his friend on the spot and force him to confess a secret, and thus break his promise.

  “I am…fine. Just pondering.”

  Raylan grabbed his coat and walked back.

  “Alright. Well, let me know if you want someone to ponder with. I’d be happy to help.”

  A stream of gratitude filled his mind as he left to eat his meal and join the others in conversation.

  Outside, Galirras returned to his skygazing. The colors flowed like an ocean. It was almost hypnotic.

  It was not long before the dragon fell into a deep slumber, but not before he noticed an unusually bright star shine through even the sky’s most radiant colors. A star that seemed to have a small tail.

  During their overnight stay near the Pillar of Life, the huntresses sat together around the fire. Trista used times like these to get to know the other women better. Their stories about the hardships the tribe—and women—endured showed a remarkable inner strength in each and every one of them. The huntresses of the Minai were indeed to be admired.

  Dalkeira, tired from traveling by wing all day, bid Trista goodnight before she retreated from the group and lay with her head tucked under her wing. The dragon quickly dozed off.

  When Trista went to check up on her after a while, she saw the familiar twitch of muscle in the dragon’s neck and wondered if Dalkeira was following the song in her dreams again.

  “How are you holding up?”

  Trista looked up to see Aslara standing next to her.

  “I’m fine. Tired, but fine,” said Trista. “All these stories…they’re amazing. I—I mean, some are sad, of course, but they make me feel proud to be accepted by all of you. I can’t deny that my origins will always lie with the waterclans, but I never expected to find anything that would feel like home so far from the ocean.”

  Trista looked up at the night sky, filled with stars. There were so many, one could almost mistake it for an ocean. It made her feel very much at peace.

  “Tell me, Aslara,” said Trista. “Why do some of you speak the same language as me and Decan, while others don’t know a single word? Their speech is so different at times, even between the different women around the fire.”

  “The answer to that lies in our past. The Minai accepts those who come looking for a connection to the flows. Over time dozens, if not hundreds of new members were accepted from other tribes, each with their own habits and forms of speech. Some retain their old voice, passing it from mother to child; others let their mother tongue go in favor of a more shared form of words.”

  “And the language we share? Where did that come from?”

  “It was a gift from the winged ancient to the First Mother. The First Mother passed it to the tribe, providing a central language none within the Minai could claim as their own,” said Aslara. “Why? How did you come by these words?”

  Trista thought for a moment.

  “Terran is the largest represented language in the mid-continent. Sure, there are variat—”

  The last word stuck in Trista’s throat as the sky burst into color. Waves of green, red and purple flowed past the stars before they gave way to other complexities. The patterns appeared random, but trailed the entire sky like a curtain of colored mist; rivers flowing upside down.

  Next to her, Aslara stood with her own mouth wide open. Around the fire, other huntresses jumped up and pointed to the sky.

  “What is that?” said Trista.

  “It’s beautiful,” spoke Aslara in awe.

  From the fire rose the sound of excited murmurs.

  “Akima Matri, are you seeing this? The flows of life are in the air,” said an older huntress, clearly impressed by the spectacle. “It’s a good sign for the hunt. Don’t you agree?”

  “I’m sure it is, Eyl’sa. The flows are lighting our way,” replied the leading mother.

  “Have you ever seen it before?” said Trista.

  But Aslara shook her head.

  “Never, not even in the stories of mothers before us.”

  To everyone’s delight, the lights remained in the sky for the better part of the evening. They had a strange, exhilarating effect on the group. The tension of the first big hunt was completely gone. Even Shiri seemed reasonably chatty, even though Trista was part of the circle.

  Halfway through the evening, Trista tried to wake Dalkeira, but the dragon was too tired to care about sparkling lights. Trista figured the dragon was quite used to seeing sparkles up high anyway, so decided to let her sleep. Instead, she accepted Aslara’s invitation to rejoin her on a rock and enjoy the enchanting view.

  By the time the moon climbed toward its highest point, the colored lights slowly dissipated again until just a sea of stars remained. Having watched the last part of the show together with Aslara, Trista thanked her for the company and decided it was high time to turn in. She went to find a spot to relieve herself first before joining Dalkeira to sleep.

  Trista was circling the Pillar of Life in search of a more private place when a noise drew her attention. She spotted Shiri near the tree’s trunk. For a moment, she hesitated, debating if it would be better to go the other way.

  No. If I want to be a part of this tribe, I shouldn’t avoid her. Perhaps it’s time we talked things out.

  “Shiri, is that you?” said Trista, walking over. “I thought perhaps we could talk. Clear the air under such a beautiful sky.”

  Trista’s approach seemed to startle the first huntress. Strange, since Trista had not believed anyone—or anything, for that matter—could surprise Aslara’s second-in-command. Right away, Razza and Shuka rose to their feet. They hung their heads low, bared their teeth and let out a pair of chuckling growls. Shiri looked over her shoulder, quickly stuffing something into her bag.

  “What’s that?” said Trista naively, alerted by Shiri’s uncommon reaction.

  But the second-in-command did not offer her a reply. She quickly walked off, whistling the hyen’sta to follow her.

  “Get lost,” she said sharply as she passed Trista.

  Baffled, Trista watched Shiri until the desert woman was swallowed up by the surrounding shrubbery.

  “Guess now was
not a good time after all.”

  A few moments later, she returned and lay down next to Dalkeira. After such a long day of walking, she had expected sleep to find her with no trouble. Yet there she lay, considering the image of Shiri’s hands and what she had held. Had she seen that shape and color correctly? Or had the moonlight played a trick on her?

  Maybe I should tell Aslara.

  But if she was wrong, it would only worsen things between her and Shiri. Her thoughts shifted as she stared up at the sky, where a bright star shimmered in the darkness. Trista had never seen such a strong light, not even during her nights in the coastal cavern. Her mind distracted, she finally drifted off to sleep before reaching a decision about Aslara’s lover. In her dreams, Dalkeira’s thoughts slowly seeped through.

  “Tomorrow…tomorrow, the hunt truly begins.”

  Chapter 28

  Betrayal

  “The walls—they are so high,” said Galirras in amazement. “It is like the forest with giant trees.”

  “The mountain helps. And they’re always expanding. Looks like they made some nice progress since we left to find you,” replied Raylan. “You can see all of the Crescent Moon Massif plains from that wall on the right.”

  “And it never fell?” asked the dragon.

  “Crumbled, but never fell. Shid’el is the oldest city in Aeterra. It’s been around for centuries; started against the foot of the mountain and worked its way up. It’s withstood dozens of wars. Some of them pretty bad, but it always offered hope. They don’t call it the white beacon for nothing. Plus its elevated location provides an excellent defensive position.”

  Raylan looked at the city from his unusual point of view. It still bewildered him to look at things from dragonback. It provided a sense of overview that he did not get on the ground, like how the layout of the city looked like a tiny maze with its squirming streets and tiny people moving around.

  I wonder if royalty always feels like this?

  Beneath them, the city stretched along the south side of the mountain. Grassy slopes turned rugged and gray toward higher altitude, the white city a strong contrast against the darker background. Streets and houses decorated the mountain’s foothills down toward the grain-filled plains, like an avalanche of buildings had slid down from the higher slopes. The working parts of the city lay close to the fields and river that flowed past from the mountains. The higher quarters held the upper class and cultural parts of the city. Mills were spread throughout, rising above the houses every so often like pillars with vertical mill blades spiraling from bottom to top. The mills used cloths hung in wooden frames that could be turned to catch more wind—or less, depending on the day. The mills of Shid’el were always turning, always grinding. Spinning towers always at work.