Dragon's Run

by Daniel Potter

  Ishe strained to keep track of where everyone was. The two sailors were easy enough: one or the other uttered a curse every few steps. The shadow that passed in front of Blinky’s lights would be Sparrow. Drosa’s anger could be heard in the sharp snaps of the occasional twig or branch to the right as she moved beyond the path.

  As she was unable to see anything else, Ishe’s mind filled the dark spaces beyond the path with memories of Fox Fire. Its decks free of the uneven roots that would snare her toes. The thick pine scent of the molten caulk that sealed the liftwood together, and the buzz you felt in the very back of your brain as the ship battled against gravity.

  Ishe told herself to keep moving; she’d get back to the sky soon enough. Grab Yaki and get them both to a place beyond the reach of the dragon’s talons. Beyond the Northern Federation if they had to. Traders told stories of the sunken cities and people who lived beneath the impenetrable jungles to the far north. Surely, that would be far enough. They’d find a doctor to fix whatever Yaz’noth did to her, then find a cannon big enough to blow a hole through his scaly hide. Ishe would build the entire thing herself if she had to.

  Ahead, Hawk did not bother with stealth; she plowed along, boring a path through the forest with her body, and occasionally, her spear blade flashed through a branch that had been too proud to break.

  Eventually, as Sparrow started to drift back, he disappeared. But his cough still broke the sound of the party’s trudging. Only once the darkness of the night turned to the gray shadows of early morning did she see that Hawk carried Sparrow as if he were a babe, much like she had leapt with Ishe down the mountain. As the first shafts of direct sunlight pierced the canopy, Hawk called a halt.

  Ishe found it took effort to stop herself from moving; her legs had taken on their movement as a constant. They fought to continue even as Ishe pinned them beneath her weight. Then the cramps started in, and Ishe gritted her teeth as one by one, her leg muscles flexed painfully of their own accord.

  “Oh, thank you, Captain. My feet are bout to burst from my boots,” Catter said, kneeling to undo the laces.

  “Ai.” Gull grabbed his arm. “Don’t take them off or you won’t get ’em back on.”

  Ishe looked around but saw no sign of either Stag’s Run or Drosa. Hawk had led them into a shallow gully of a sort, perhaps cut out by a stream that dried up ages before. The trees that dotted the area were young and skinny things, and along the edge stood the decaying remains of a fence slowly being consumed by moss and lichen.

  Hawk put Sparrow down and he stood there, eyes closed, sleeping standing up for a moment, until he started to topple and he woke with a snort. Everyone quickly tore into the packs for the water and food. The waterskins, sewn of hide stiffened with wax, contained a slightly bitter tea, but it was, more importantly, wet. A bundle in each pack contained gristly bars that seemed to be a mix of dried fruits and rubbery meat. They tasted like life itself after the first nibble hit Ishe’s stomach.

  Ishe found Catter and Gull watching her, uncertainty painted on their faces. Gull’s lips parted and then pressed together; her eyes drifted down to study the dirt. Catter looked at her and took a deep breath. “We all that’s left, then? He killed the rest of us?”

  Gull’s eyes flicked back up at Ishe and chewed at her cheek.

  Guilt reached up to gnaw on Ishe’s internal organs. “No. The dragon still holds thirteen of Fox Fire’s crew in the mountain.” Ishe braced herself, waiting for the accusations to start, for the pair to demand they turn around, rescue the remaining crew, and make a heroic stand against Yaz’noth.

  “Poor bastards,” Catter said instead.

  Gull studied an ant that had ventured onto her boot, and flicked it off. “They might be the ones who make it out of this alive. You heard them last night? We gotta go down a river. Tangling with the Grief is almost as bad as the dragon.”

  “I ain’t worried.” Catter stuck his thumb out toward where Hawk nursed a small fire to life. “We got Captain Hawk.”

  “Why is she captain?” The objection popped out of Ishe’s mouth before she could get a hold of it.

  Gull’s expression darkened. “You’re not your mum, girl.”

  Catter elbowed her. “With all respects to you, Ishe, and may Captain Madria’s soul find rest, but you need a ship to be called captain. Hawk don’t.”

  The only thing Ishe could do in response to that was nod. Her plan had blown up in her face. The only reason she’d gotten off that mountain was that Hawk had decided she’d been important enough to rescue, for reasons Ishe didn’t quite understand.

  Without a ship or even a hand cannon, all she had to offer was muscle, and Hawk had more of that than the rest of the crew combined.

  A near-silent chuckle rolled out of Ishe. Well, I have an axe, she thought, and used its long handle to push herself to her feet. Maybe that small pile of kindling next to Hawk was all they needed, but collecting firewood would be doing something.

  She climbed up to the top of the gully, eyes set on a sapling she judged to be a good width for a cooking fire. At its base, it stood maybe three finger-widths wide. Taking the ax, she hauled back, intending to cleave the tree with a single blow.

  Then she saw the amber eyes of a coyote staring at her. The leggy canine peered at her from behind a section of worn-out fencing, an old animal pen, by the looks of it. The dusty pelt a mottled mix of brown and reds.

  “I don’t need you,” Ishe told the coyote. “I got off that mountain without your help.” She swung the ax; the entire tree shook with the force of the blow. Pulling the ax away revealed only a minor wound. “If I say what you want me to say, what stops you from abandoning me?”

  The coyote cocked its head as if it couldn’t understand her words.

  “If Yaki’s with me, maybe we’ll paint the ship black and call her Death Panther.” Ishe swung and made an entirely new mark on the tree.

  The coyote sneezed.

  “What you doing?”

  Ishe whirled to find Drosa standing only a few paces away. Her dark mane had turned the color of straw in direct sunlight, so bright it nearly hurt to look at. Compared to the tired souls of the former Fox Fire crew, she looked positivity radiant, although she had been up all night with the rest of them. It only made the purple handprint that encircled her throat all the more livid. She scowled at the tree.

  “I’m getting firewood,” Ishe said, finding her cheeks feeling uncommonly hot; her eyes went to the space the canine had stood and saw nothing. Raising the axe, Ishe turned to continue her labor. The coyote had vanished, if he had ever been there at all. Swinging, this time the axe hit the mark of the lower wound.

  “Wrong,” Drosa said.

  “A few more swings,” Ishe said. Like you could do much better with those skinny arms. Rolling her shoulders, she brought the axe back and prepped for a massive swing. This time the tree would fall.

  Drosa skipped forward and grabbed the axe beneath the head. “No. Wrong wood.”

  Ishe whirled, temper flaring with a single possessive thought, MINE! and ripped the weapon from Drosa’s grip. Ishe managed to stop the next patterns of movement, which would have attempted to put the ax’s blade through Drosa’s skull. The woman skittered back, eyes first widening with shock before narrowing in anger, hand groping for a knife that Ishe had not returned. “Do not touch my weapons,” Ishe managed to spit out around the possessive anger before lowering her arms, which had assumed fighting positions.

  The tension left the air; Drosa’s own hand was folded into crossed arms. “I say that tree”—Drosa pointed with her chin—“no good for fire. Too live; need dry and dead.” She reached out and snapped a branch off one of the larger trees in the area.

  “Oh.” Ishe looked back at the tree. Wasn’t wood, well, wood? Not that she’d really used fresh wood before.

  “You never make fire…” Drosa trailed off, eyes searching for something. “…before?”

  Ishe grunted. “Fire is not a good thing on an air
ship or in a city. We use heat stones.” And in the city, we buy firewood already cut and stacked.

  “Airship?” Drosa’s brows furrowed, “Ah the flying bowls!”

  “Yes. Close enough.” Ishe suddenly had a vision of giant bowls gruel sailing through the skies and decided to pivot. “Why were you so angry yesterday?”

  Drosa’s golden hair dimmed as if light had gone behind a cloud, and she exhaled. Her eyes glanced at the tree Ishe had attempted to fell. “Through the Maw is one-way trip. Using it to get rid of me.”

  “Why?” Ishe probed.

  Drosa stood a moment, mouth moving as if chewing the words over. “My father not from either herd, outside. My…” She grasped in the air as if it she could pull a word from it. “My history not known. They always wary of it. Pushing me to edge for long time. Drive me to Maw, but it needs two to open. Now they have reason.” Drosa spat on the ground. “Now only one who knows Two Herds help you is elder Neek; he want Hawk gone before dragon come out from mountain. Stag thinks Hawk will save us so he come. But she just big, yes? Maybe is like me, father not human? Maybe mountain or bear?” Drosa tapped on her odd teeth to demonstrate. “She not here for us. She here for you. Why you so special if you can’t even cut right tree?” Drosa placed her hands on her hips, looking Ishe over from head to toe, a slight smirk on her lips.

  “Hawk worked for my mother,” Ishe said, as if that explained Hawk’s motivations. That bit in the wood about stories probably had something to do with it for sure, but Ishe still couldn’t find the link. “So, which tree should I cut?” Ishe slung the ax back over her shoulder.

  Drosa pointed at the tree the coyote had been standing near; it appeared to be dead. Did dead wood burn better? “What is like on an airship?” she asked.

  Now, that made Ishe grin. “As long as the ship is yours, it’s utter freedom.”

  Chapter Eight

  The Grief grieves only for itself.

  Seek Fire, Chief of the Turtle Clan of the Low Rivers Tribe, Lorekeeper

  Ishe and Drosa returned to the camp with a load of firewood, although the scent of cooking meat told Ishe that someone else had been far quicker about it. The fire crackled beneath a silver kettle hung from stick that Hawk held. Stag squatted near Sparrow, looking disgruntled as he poked at two black shapes in the fire. Catter and Gull appeared to be standing watch, peering into the forest they had traversed. Ishe spotted Blinky hiding behind Hawk’s bulk, hunched over something wrapped in white webbing as the spider made soft sucking sounds.

  “Tea’s ’bout ready; bring me your water skins,” Sparrow said as they dumped the wood.

  On cue, Hawk set the steaming kettle on the ground in front of him, and he snatched it up with a gloved hand.

  “We don’t have time for this,” Stag muttered. Still, he took an offered portion of tea.

  “Does Two Herds have any goats that allow themselves to be ridden?” Sparrow asked.

  “Ride a goat? Are you mad?”

  Sparrow shrugged. “Your wise man has your tribe searching in the wrong direction; do not worry so much.”

  “All it will take is one hunter to notice that wreck of a trail we left. Runners will find us soon.”

  “Will they carry protection from the Grief?” Hawk asked.

  The Grief. Something inside Ishe went cold, finally realizing what they intended to do. The creatures inhabited every waterway connected to the oceans. Beyond the mountains, it was said, they covered the coast so thickly that the land itself appeared black. Three times a year, a huge navy airship trawled a huge net through the Blessed River that raged beyond the walls of the Golden Hills. It came out of the water with a mass of wriggling black. No one touched the net; catch and all were deposited in a huge pit. The ship would then tip itself and fire a full salvo of fire shells into it. The screams of the Grief were sounds that you did not need ears to hear. Like bones scraping together, like fingernails clawing the inside of your skull. If you were not prepared for it, you would fall down and clutch at your brain. And still some escaped; their indistinct mass of limbs would surge from the edge of the pits and make a beeline back for the water, right into the line of soldiers with fire pikes. And still, one or two would break through and hurl its burning body into the water.

  Yaz’noth was a murderous, scheming asshole, but the Grief was the distilled essence of nightmares. The crawling remains of the ancients themselves.

  Stag scoffed. “There is no protection from the Grief.”

  “There’s me.” Hawk grinned as a wolf does and then downed her scalding tea in three gulps. Her eyes panned around the camp, eagerness dancing within them. “Eat your fill, rest your eyes for a moment, and pray to whoever will hear you. Once we begin, we will not stop until we pass from the dragon’s realm or hang from the jaws of the Death Panther herself.”

  The wind stirred and Ishe thought she heard that damnable snicker again. Sparrow and Catter fished the black bundles from the fire; they proved to be two fat rabbits wrapped in thin silver foil. Sparrow doled out the meat, and Ishe found Drosa sitting next to her. Drosa nibbled at her meat, but Ishe felt the sensation of eyes on her all the same. Drosa’s facial expression kept shifting, as if she were having a conversation without talking. A final grimace, and Drosa turned suddenly, thrusting an open palm at Ishe. “I need my knife back.”

  Looking down at the palm and then at the bruise around Drosa’s neck, Ishe couldn’t help but smirk. “You mean you need to borrow my knife.”

  Drosa’s copper-toned cheeks flushed a far deeper shade and she winced hard, but the palm remained out. “Please. ”

  “You tried to kill me with it. It’s mine.” Ishe found a rage rekindling in her chest as she recalled the flash of the gleaming blade and the snicker that had made her turn her head. A pit yawned open in her stomach, dread from the fact that Coyote had probably saved her life in that moment. And that was Drosa’s fault.

  “And now I stuck here, with you. That punishment, yes?”

  Ishe’s rage quickly morphed into a snarling gut full of guilt. Hostages, Yaki the Dragonsworn, and now this entire tribe of people Ishe hadn’t even known existed. Drosa had been sent with them for plausible deniability for the tribe as much as for any other reason. Ishe’s eyes drifted to Hawk, who sat cross-legged, Sparrow leaning against her; both looked content in the moment.

  “Seven,” Drosa whispered, envy cutting through her voice. “Seven warriors bested with stick.”

  Ishe had seen Hawk fight plenty of times. Without at least a hand cannon, nobody had a prayer against Hawk. She’d put the tribe between a rock and a hard place. Couldn’t beat the dragon, couldn’t beat her. If they got her out of the valley, then she’d be off the board.

  “You do better?” Drosa hmpfed. “Please, knife.”

  Ishe shook her head and dragged her pack in front of her; she took the knife out, the curved four-inch blade gleaming wickedly in the morning sunlight. “My price is: tell me how you were in two places at once.” Ishe offered her the blade, hilt first.

  “Eyah.” Drosa reached for the knife but Ishe’s grip held firm. The hand retreated.

  “Who is Eyah?” Ishe asked.

  Drosa rolled her eyes, “Eyah is…” Her hands opened and closed as she gathered up words. The blond mane of hair grew more luminous as the dark of her pupils inverted, shining forth like small suns. “My guard.”

  “Your guardian?”

  “Yes. He one of the most powerful among all of Two Herds. Who is yours?”

  “I don’t have one,” Ishe said, half-expecting to hear a forlorn howl in the distance, but the wood remained quiet, a few birds chattering among themselves.

  Drosa cocked her head, puzzlement on her face. “But you are a warrior? I see in the way you carry the ax. Knife?”

  Ishe handed it over. Drosa twirled it with practiced ease and slotted it into its sheath at her belt.

  “Chrrk!”

  Drosa’s head turned toward the sound and found Blinky’s eight eyes staring up
at her, or rather the bit of rabbit still in her left hand. Blinky’s pedipalps, the little fuzzy arms that normally hid his three-inch-long fangs, were reaching toward Drosa’s leg.

  “Aii!” Drosa recoiled, dropping her meat.

  Blinky blinked each pair of eyes once before snatching the meat Drosa dropped with a stab of a leg. “Chrrk!” He made to scuttle off with his ill-gotten gains.

  “Blinky! No!” Ishe rumbled, and the spider froze, eyes shifting to look at her. “That’s not yours. Give it back.”

  The meat was quickly transferred to his pedipalps as the spider hunkered down.

  “Give it back,” Ishe said.

  Reluctantly, Blinky stretched the little scrap of bone and meat toward Drosa, who watched him from her fighting stance, knuckles whitening around her knife. She said something in her own language before swallowing and trying again. “He keep it.”

  “Chrrrk!” Blinky sprang up, flapped his second set of legs in victory, and ran off back toward a chuckling Sparrow and a grinning Hawk to eat his prize.

  “He understood me.” Drosa slowly came out of her stance, following the spider with wide eyes. A shudder passed through her as the knife disappeared into its sheath.

  Ishe had to smirk. “All ship spiders are as smart as dogs, and Blinky’s smarter than that. The Low Rivers tribe, that Hawk and Sparrow are from, tame them. Many ships that hail from the Golden Hills have one. He’s a bit naughty but a good boy at heart.” Ishe’s voice swelled with a bit of pride as they watched Blinky wrap the meat in a ball of silk and sink his fangs into it. The ball quickly deflated.

  Drosa shivered. “Every airship have one?”

  “Brave warrior, afraid of spiders.” Ishe chuckled.

  Drosa crossed her arms. “He big… Big big.”

  “He’s cute,” Ishe said, although she remembered the way she had had to warm up to the spider, glad that Blinky had taken to Yaki more than her.