At this, Sigurd and Grimuir grinned and nudged each other.
Bjorn was offended. “What is the matter? Every word I said was true.”
“Right after the battle, you were eager to leave for home,” said Grimuir. “You said the seas would be calm with fair winds. Now you talk of gales and driving rain and snow and say that the voyage would be too dangerous and we should remain here with the Cyclopes.”
“With one Cyclopes,” said Sigurd, winking at Grimuir.
Bjorn flushed. “I have been helping Dela Eden tend to Skylan…”
“Helping? Is that what you call it?” Sigurd leered. “I’ll be glad to help Dela Eden in that way myself.”
“You’re a pig, Sigurd,” said Bjorn, throwing a fish head at his friend.
“I know,” said Sigurd, picking up the fish head and tossing it back. “But relax. It so happens that I agree with you about staying here through the winter months. Without the dragon, the journey would be dangerous, even if we were fit to make it. And we’re not. We will sail in the spring.”
The words came out sounding more somber than he had intended. Each man realized how much he missed his homeland. For a moment no one spoke. Sigurd sat with his head down, toying with a piece of mango.
“We should ask Skylan,” said Grimuir at last. “And Farinn,” he added as an afterthought.
“I asked Skylan,” said Bjorn. “He doesn’t care. He says we should stay or go as we please.”
“That doesn’t sound like Skylan,” said Grimuir. “He is the Chief of Chiefs. He’s never shrunk from making decisions before.”
“Aylaen is dead and Skylan has buried himself in her grave,” said Sigurd. “Women die. Men die. Skylan needs to go on with his life.”
“Is she dead? We don’t know what really happened to her,” said Grimuir in a low voice.
“Farinn said she died summoning the dragon,” Bjorn returned sharply. “Such magic is dangerous. She is not the first Kai Priestess to die while attempting to use the spiritbones.”
“Farinn is a poet who will say whatever suits his rhyme,” Sigurd added, shrugging. “I say that we spend the winter here with the Cyclopes, since they have invited us. Are we agreed?”
“Yes,” said Bjorn. “What about Farinn? Should we ask him?”
“He stayed to guard Skylan’s body,” said Sigurd. “He has proved himself a warrior. We should ask him.”
* * *
Skylan had no interest in whether they sailed for home now or months from now. He took no interest in anything. As the days went by, he did little but lie in the sun, gazing into the clear blue and cloudless skies, searching for a golden dragon he knew would never return.
Dela Eden tried to talk to Skylan about Aylaen, but whenever she spoke her name, he would stand up and walk off, and eventually she stopped. Skylan knew Farinn was making a song for her, but he did not want to hear it. Farinn had to sing it softly, to himself.
A month passed in this manner. The others settled into life with the Cyclopes. Grimuir and Sigurd both soon found women who were glad to make the Vindrasi warriors feel welcome. Bjorn did not seem to want companionship, or so Skylan thought at first.
He said something to Sigurd about Bjorn being lonely.
Sigurd chuckled. “Where are your eyes? You can’t see what has been happening right under your nose. Bjorn is in love with Dela Eden.”
“What? Those two?” Skylan was amazed.
“He talks of nothing but her. How could you not know?”
“I guess I wasn’t listening,” said Skylan.
Sigurd gave him a look of disgust. “Make up your mind to either live or die, Skylan. You can’t do both.”
Skylan did not often pay heed to what Sigurd said. In this instance, however, he found himself pondering the older man’s words. In spite of himself, his body was mending, gaining strength. Food had started to taste good again. Now when he lay in the sun, he found himself growing restless.
One day, he was idly watching some of the Cyclopes children playing at their version of King of the Mountain on one of the sand dunes.
“You’re doing it all wrong,” Skylan said. He jumped to his feet. Joining the dune’s defenders, he showed them how to form a shield wall, laughing with them as he fended off the attack of some six-year-olds.
“It is good to hear you laugh again,” said Dela Eden.
He looked up to see her smiling at him. He stopped laughing and left the game, stalking off toward his hut. Dela Eden ran after him.
“You are angry with her,” said Dela Eden. “And you feel guilty for being angry.”
Skylan kept walking.
“You are angry that she left you,” Dela Eden continued, walking at his side. “I know what you are feeling. I was angry at my first husband when he died. He drowned trying to save a sheep that had fallen into the river. Silly man, giving his life for a sheep. But he could not bear to see any animal suffer.”
Dela Eden sighed. “I loved him very much and yet I was so mad at him I could have choked him with own my hands. Later I understood that he died being the man I loved. If he had not been that man, I would not have loved him and his death would not have caused me such pain.”
Skylan slowed his step, turned to look at her. “You are right. I am angry.”
“Aylaen told me that when she chose to go on this voyage, everyone tried to stop her,” Dela Eden said. “Her mother begged her to stay at home. Her stepfather berated and insulted her and the other people in the tribe laughed at her. All except you. You were the one who said she was strong enough and brave enough to come.
“Aylaen stood at your side in the battle against giants. She fought with you in the gladiator games and swam with you beneath the sea. She sailed to the Isle of the Dead to find you. She carried the sword of a goddess and braved the wrath of a god. In the end, she was strong enough and brave enough and loved you enough to give her life to save her people. Was that the woman you loved? Was that why you loved her?”
“Yes,” said Skylan.
“Keep her here, in your heart,” said Dela Eden, resting her hand on his chest. “And let her go. You will meet again.”
“I do not think so,” said Skylan. “For I do not know where she has gone. But thank you, Dela Eden. You are wise. When we sail in the spring, I hope you will sail with us.”
“I would like that,” she said. “Though I do not know if I will like the cold.”
“I think perhaps Bjorn will keep you warm,” said Skylan, smiling. He found it good to smile again.
That day was a turning point for him. He and the other Vindrasi spent the winter fishing and hunting with the Cyclopes, learning how to make and use the Cyclopes bows. At night they shared stories around the fire, listening to Farinn sing the old songs of their people and to the Cyclopes tell tales of their own. They also learned about the Gods of Raj.
When spring came, they celebrated the wedding of Dela Eden and Bjorn. Skylan sniffed the air and observed the moon and said that it was time to set sail for home.
When they had first arrived at the Cyclopes village after the battle, they had carried the Venejekar to a safe, secluded place inland, hiding it among the trees and covering it with branches. When the winds grew warm and the days grew longer and the flocks of birds flew north, they brought their dragonship out of the forest to the shore. Their thoughts turned to home and friends and family, and even Sigurd shed a tear, though he claimed it was only because he got sand in his eyes. They worked to make the dragonship ready for the long ocean voyage and gave the dragon-head prow a fresh coat of paint to honor Kahg.
No one had seen the dragon since he had taken them from the field of battle to the Cyclopes village. His spiritbone had vanished from the nail where it had always hung. The dragons were gone, or so Dela Eden said. They had returned to the Realm of Fire through the portal before it closed forever.
And Skylan had not seen Wulfe since the night of the battle. Skylan guessed he had gone home to his mother. He hoped the boy
was all right.
The night before they were going to sail, Skylan walked alone on the beach, gazing out to sea. He would miss this land and these people. They talked of meeting again. He and the others had promised to sail back to these shores, but Skylan knew they wouldn’t. Life would change for the Vindrasi. The days of the dragonships had come to an end, along with so much else. He touched the amulet he wore around his neck, the small hammer dedicated to Torval.
Only a few days ago, Bjorn had asked him why he still wore it, since Torval and the gods were gone.
“It is all I have left,” said Skylan.
He sat down on the beach, enjoying the solitude. The night was clear, the sea was calm; the waves made a whispering sound as they glided onto the shore. He could hear distant laughter coming from the village, where a farewell celebration was brightening the night. He was thinking he would go join them, when he was startled by a voice.
“You were going to leave without telling me.”
Skylan turned to see Wulfe plop down in the sand beside him.
“How could I tell you when I didn’t know where you were?” Skylan asked. “We’ve been here six months and you never came to visit.”
“I’ve been busy,” said Wulfe, shrugging.
Skylan didn’t ask how Wulfe knew they were planning to leave. The oceanids, who watched them every day with avid interest, would have kept their prince informed.
“Are you going to sail with us?” Skylan asked. “We are returning to our homeland. You would be welcome.”
Wulfe shook his head. “I’m going to stay here.”
He paused, then added with a smile that was both shy and proud, “After the battle, my mother took me to see my grandmother, the queen, the one who cursed me and sent me away and told me never to come back. My mother told Grandmama that I helped defeat the Faceless God who killed so many of our people. My grandmother said maybe she had made a mistake about me. I wasn’t so bad after all. She kissed me and said I was to sit beside her. I didn’t want to, because she is very fierce, but my mother said I had to be polite.”
“I’m glad,” said Skylan. “You and your family should be together.”
“We are going to live with my grandmother in her kingdom, which is very beautiful. My grandmother is going to teach me the proper way to use my magic. She says the way I use magic is a disgrace.” Wulfe heaved a sigh at the thought.
“I think you are right to stay with your people. You are their prince. Someday you will grow up to be their king.”
“I don’t know about that,” said Wulfe, squirming uncomfortably. “I don’t think I want to be king. You have to wear clothes that itch. I came back to tell you good-bye and to give you this.”
He pressed something into Skylan’s hand. Skylan held it to the light of the stars shining off the sea.
“Is this … this is Kahg’s spiritbone!” Skylan was amazed. “How did you get this? Dela Eden says the dragons left to go back to their own realm.”
“Most are gone,” Wulfe replied. “Some stayed behind. Kahg is one of them. The dragon said he would take you home in honor of Aylaen, but after that, you are on your own.”
Wulfe peered at Skylan from beneath his shaggy hair. “My mother says the great dragon took Aylaen away. Is that true?”
Skylan closed his hand over the spiritbone until he felt the sharp edges dig into his flesh. He gazed out into the sea and far beyond, into the stars.
“That is true,” he said.
“I’ll miss her,” said Wulfe. “She was nice to me most of the time. Except when she made me take a bath.”
Wulfe stood up and shook himself like a dog. “I have to go now. The centaurs brought me here and they’re waiting to take me back home.”
Skylan rose to his feet. “Farewell, Wulfe. I will miss you.”
Wulfe grinned and waved, then ran off down the beach. He had only gone a short distance before he suddenly turned around and ran back and flung his arms around Skylan, who hugged the boy close and gave him a father’s kiss.
“I will miss you, too,” said Wulfe. “You’re my favorite Ugly.”
With a final hug, he let go and ran off down the beach.
“And Aylaen was right. Take a bath sometimes!” Skylan yelled after him.
Wulfe laughed and kept running. Skylan watched until the boy had vanished among the sand dunes, then he climbed over the hull of the Venejekar that was beached in the sand. Tomorrow, at high tide, he and Sigurd, Bjorn and Dela Eden, Grimuir and Farinn would haul the dragonship into the water to start the long journey back home. But there was something he had to do tonight.
On the deck, he made his way among the sea chests and the oars that were neatly piled in the center, along with the furled sail, until he came to the prow. He could not see the nail in the starlit darkness, but he knew approximately where it was and he found it by touch, running his hand along the neck of the dragon until he felt the nail beneath his fingers.
He hung the spiritbone on the nail by its leather thong.
“Thank you, Kahg,” said Skylan.
Looking up at the fierce, proud head, he saw the dragon’s eyes glow red.
CHAPTER
52
Skylan and his friends were glad to have the Dragon Kahg guiding the Venejekar, for they would have soon been lost at sea, or so Sigurd claimed. Acronis had left behind his maps and charts and one of his strange navigational instruments, but no one except Farinn could read the maps or use the tools. As they sailed toward Vindraholme, he took readings every day and insisted he knew where they were, even showing them their location on the map, but few believed him.
“You can’t make the world into squiggly lines,” said Sigurd.
The voyage was peaceful, but they thought it would never end. The longing for their home grew with each passing day.
“We have been away a year. Our people will have forgotten us,” said Bjorn. “Or think we are dead.”
“They will have a new Chief of Chiefs,” said Sigurd, eyeing Skylan. “You might have to fight the Vutmana to regain it, if the new chief won’t give it up.”
“I won’t fight,” said Skylan. “I don’t want to be chief.”
He didn’t add that he had never felt he truly deserved the honor of being chief of the Vindrasi, since he had not slain Horg in a fair battle. Skylan had kept Draya’s terrible secret that she had poisoned her husband this long and he would keep it to the grave. She had paid with her life and he would not betray her memory.
They had been voyaging for two months when Sigurd recognized a landmark near their home—One Tree Rock, that denoted the border of Vindrasi lands. Their excitement grew, as each familiar bit of shoreline or group of boulders brought back the memory of a raid or a hunt. Then came the day that the Venejekar rounded an outcropping of rock and they watched with tears in their eyes to see the Chief’s Hall of the Torgun come into view.
“We are home,” said Skylan, touching the amulet. “Thank you, Torval,” he said softly, even though he knew the words would be lost in the freshening wind.
The Dragon Kahg proudly steered the Venejekar toward the shore. Before they had reached it, Skylan and Sigurd, Bjorn and Grimuir and Farinn had all jumped out, wading knee deep in the water, guiding the boat onto the beach.
Several Torgun fishermen stopped to stare at the amazing sight, then dropped their nets and abandoned their catch to run back toward the village.
“Hey, Jorge, it’s me!” Sigurd yelled, recognizing one of them.
The men kept running, without even a backward glance.
“They have no idea who were are,” said Bjorn.
“Perhaps they think we’re here to attack them,” Skylan said.
“Numbskulls,” Sigurd muttered.
They went back to the Venejekar and helped haul it up onto the beach. Skylan went to the prow with Dela Eden to thank the dragon, but Kahg had already departed; the red glow was gone from the eyes.
“I wonder where he went,” said Skylan. “He t
old you the portal between the realms had closed.”
“So he said after the battle,” Dela Eden confirmed. “Perhaps he found his own way home.”
Bjorn called to her and she went to join him. He was eager to show her where they would live. Skylan lingered near the dragon-head prow. Resting his hand on the carved scales, he silently wished the dragon well and then he noticed that the spiritbone was still hanging from the nail.
Skylan regarded it thoughtfully for a moment, then he removed the spiritbone and placed it inside his sea chest. No one thought to ask what had become of the dragon and Skylan did not tell them.
He and his men unloaded their sea chests and began to clean the ship, neatly stacking the oars in the center and scrubbing the deck. As they worked, they talked about what they would tell people, how they would explain what had happened to them, where they had been. No one came from the village, not even the usual group of curious children. They were starting to grow uneasy.
“If Erdmun were here, he would say that our people think we are ghosts and they are arming themselves to send us back to hell where we belong,” said Bjorn.
He meant it as a jest, but after the words were spoken, they didn’t seem that funny.
“For all his gloom, Erdmun was right more often that he was wrong,” Grimuir remarked in an ominous tone.
Their unease increased when they heard a low murmuring sound that grew in volume as it drew nearer; voices raised, an indistinct babble of fear, excitement … No one could tell.
“We could always put out to sea again,” said Farinn nervously.
“And go where?” Skylan asked. “This is our home.”
They left the ship and stood on the shore and waited. He was proud to see none of his men even think of taking up a weapon.
A crowd of people appeared, walking over the sand dunes, heading for the beach.
“At least they’re not carrying spears,” Sigurd remarked.
Skylan walked forward to meet them, thinking to say something reassuring. Before he could speak, an elder, a friend of his father’s, came up to him.
Doom of the Dragon Page 39