by Sam Farren
“Because more than anything, Kidira loves Kastelir. Her blood's in the ground, part of the soil. Say I came wandering back here, say everyone knew that I hadn't faced my punishment—what do you reckon would be happening to Kastelir then? Now, it's not exactly the most stable of countries at the moment. You can't imagine what it was like back when it was newly forged, yrval. Before Isin was much more than an idea. The people would've become restless. We would've plunged straight back into war.”
She couldn't have known that. Surely, there had to be another way around it. She could've told Queen Kidira she was alive, could've come back not as a Queen, but as just another pane, she could've—I flushed the thoughts from my mind, biting on my lower lip. One look at her told me that if she could've done any of that, she would've.
Shoulders rising to my ears, I fell down into the grass next to her. I sat close enough for my shoulder to bump her elbow, and though I told myself that this was Queen Kouris, the person who'd pried eyes from their sockets, I couldn't force fear to spike in my chest.
“... how old are you?” I abruptly asked and Kouris let out a sharp breath through her nose.
Definitely not a few years older than Claire.
“Fifty-eight. Still plenty young, for a pane,” Kouris explained. “You saw Zentha in there, aye? They must be coming up on three-hundred now, and that's hardly pushing it. It'll be a good century before my horns start spiralling back like that.”
I nodded, trying to imagine anyone living that long. Even with the aid of a healer, a human wasn't likely to make it to two hundred; the body just stopped, eventually, in spite of anything pushed into it, anything ripped out.
“And your family? Are they down there?”
I pulled my knees to my chest, chin propped atop them. It felt right talking to Kouris, though all that had unfolded in the hall clung to us like grime, and we were both far from smiling.
“My family? Nah, yrval. You need to stop thinking like a human,” she told me. “All this business with parents and siblings and cousins—we don't have anything like that. Don't need it, either. The entire tribe looks after the hatchlings, that's the only way it can work with us. We don't exactly, ah...”
Kouris licked her upper-lip, brow furrowed as she tried to find the words. I perked up, eagerly waiting for her to continue.
“Now, it's my understanding that humans carry on their legacy in—pairs,” she said, clearing her throat, “But the pane, we're needing only ourselves.”
“Oh.”
I knew how childbirth worked – I'd watched over a few of the riskier ones, back in the village, and helped birth plenty of lambs and calves – and though I didn't understand everything Kouris was trying to get across, I distinctly didn't want to ask any more questions.
We stared down at Kyrindval, at the life within and the fields around, bustling with crops taller than any we'd ever grown in my village, gentle slopes covered in goats and deer as far as I could see. The buildings were all relatively low, none of them having more than one floor, and from a distance, I could see that the great lodge was shaped like a claw. The cabins closest to it were the oldest, the stone of the street dark and worn, and those around the edge of Kyrindval were still being built, roofless or without walls, floorboards being hammered into place.
I saw Kyrindval for the first time, took in the twists and turns of the streets as though they'd always been there, but when Kouris looked over the tribe, she saw how it, like her, had changed throughout the past thirty years.
“Yrval, listen...” Kouris started in a low rumble.
“Don't,” I said softly.
I expected her to try apologising again, and didn't want to have to tell her it was alright simply because I felt bad about what had happened with Queen Kidira.
Kouris nodded, let the view reclaim her, and after a few minutes spent separating the unfamiliar streets from the ones she'd once wandered down, she said, “Want to see something?”
“See what?”
Kouris wasn't allowed back in the village and I'd taken in all I could get out of the fields already. That alone was enough to pique my interest, prying my gaze away from the great lodge.
“You'll have to be following me,” she said, pushing herself to her feet.
She set off, intending to reach her destination with or without my company. I could only stare at Kyrindval for so long. I hopped to my feet, gave the great lodge one last look, though it was too far to make out the shapes of anyone leaving it, and jogged to catch up with her. Even at a leisurely pace, without crowds to wade through, Kouris was a struggle to keep up with.
“What is it?” I asked, not discerning much from the field we were trundling through. There were goats all around us, tended to by a handful of pane wearing streams of white cloth around their leathers. They waved to me and squinted at Kouris, but otherwise let us pass unnoticed. “... you won't get into trouble, will you?”
“Don't reckon so,” Kouris said, some of the colour returning to her face. “It's only Kyrindval itself I'm not welcome in—the rest of this land, that's belonging to the dragons.”
Dragons.
I'd climbed a mountain and found where the pane lived, but I'd never spared a thought for any dragons. I'd dismissed the notion of them altogether, along with all the other vicious rumours about the pane, but I saw clearly where Kouris was headed. One of the lower mountain peaks came to a stop a hundred or so feet above us, and Kouris was leading me right to it. An entrance was carved into the rock, an arch covered in dragon-bone, and while I was willing to be a distraction, if a distraction was what Kouris needed, I wasn't prepared to make bait of myself.
“There are... dragons in there?” I asked, slowing to a stop. “You brought me to see dragons?”
Kouris looked over her shoulder and gestured for me to hurry to her side.
“Don't be worrying yourself, yrval,” she said, waiting for my feet to work again, “I'm sure they've already eaten today.”
If Kouris was trying to make me feel better, it didn't work. My bones tried rattling their way free as something other than Kouris' grim reassurance drew me towards the cave, through an entrance high enough for any pane.
I expected darkness and was met with fire. The whole of the mountain had been hollowed out by dragon's breath, walls glossy like water frozen mid-stream, ledges left behind to roost on. Fires burnt bright on some, and sunlight streamed in through what had once been the summit. There were no shadows for me to hide in. I saw the dragons and the dragons saw me.
There was no comprehending the size of them. My mind struggled to compare them to a house, a barn, a mountain, but these were living, moving creatures, scales glinting in the light as they breathed in and out, in and out, most of them dozing happily. A few peered down at me, and I saw their fangs without them having to bare them; they could've snapped their teeth and swallowed me whole.
“Kouris...” I breathed, heart spiking. I flailed my arm blindly behind me and she held out a hand, letting me squeeze it.
Dragons. I was standing inside a mountain, surrounded by dragons, and Claire—she'd slain these beasts. They'd ravaged our country, razing entire cities to the ground, and now they were idly blinking eyes bigger than my head at me.
“Easy now,” Kouris murmured, slowly crouching beside me, “When it comes down to it, they're animals, same as any other. Treat them with a little respect and don't go sticking your arm in their mouths and you should be fine. Now, you see the big one up there—?”
Kouris pointed to the largest of the ledges, where a dragon bigger than the others was rested, jaw propped up against its front legs. Its wings spread out around it like a cloak, and it could've flicked any of the other dragons out of the air, no matter how immense they themselves were. Sturdy horns curved back, shaped like a pane's but as white as Claire's armour, and each one of its purple scales could've served as a shield.
“That'd be the fhord. The leader, in a tribe such as this one,” she explained, then gestured over to
the other dragons that had begun to stir with curiosity. “As for these, they're the kraau. Whenever you go, they always make up the majority of any tribe. Reckon that's what you humans think of when you think dragons.”
Truth be told, when I heard the word dragons, I expected something horrific. I'd pictured them as ungainly beasts, jagged teeth jutting out over lipless mouths, red eyes glowing; scales dripping with ooze, a stench that would thicken in my throat, but the kraau were nothing short of remarkable.
They were rich orange in colour, long, thin bodies cloaked in wings that stretched from their shoulders to their tails. Like the fhord, they were neat looking creatures, each scale placed as deliberately as the design of Claire's armour was meticulous. They, too, had long, curved white horns, as well as a spike longer than my arm at the tip of their tail.
There was no shortage of fangs and claws about the cave. Their teeth made Kouris' look blunt, and I thought that if Claire truly could take down creatures that exuded strength in their idle moments, then she was either stronger or faster than a dragon, or something else it was not.
I wondered if I'd ever looked at her properly before.
“And here...” Kouris whispered, drawing my attention back towards the ground.
I couldn't see anything other than kraau, at first. Behind a pile of rocks, bones from the dragons' last meal clattered, and I caught a flash of swamp-green. A tail swished out, and Kouris brought a finger to her lips, signalling for me to be very, very quiet.
I knelt down. I don't know why I made myself smaller around the dragons, but I did. Slow enough that I would've mistaken it for a pile of rocks, had I not had my eyes fixed upon it, the dragon came into view. It was small, much smaller than the kraau; if not for its wings, it wouldn't have been any bigger than Charley. Its legs were short, body low to the ground, and it moved like a lizard, twisting its way towards us.
I squeezed Kouris' hand so tightly that I would've broken it, had she been a human, but I wouldn't turn and flee. I didn't want Claire to know that I'd run from a dragon. It crawled closer, scales speckled, and in an instant, it wrapped its long tongue around my wrist.
I started, but I wasn't scared. The creature was so timid that I felt as though I was dealing with a scalier version of the lambs back home. Letting go of Kouris, I carefully placed a hand on the dragon's snout, watching its nostrils flare as it decided whether or not it wanted to panic.
“And this here is a yrval,” Kouris said softly. “They aren't very strong, and you're not going to be seeing them fly all that high, but their flames burn the hottest. They could breathe in the sun, if they wanted to.”
I smiled as I grazed my nails across the yrval's scales, and by some twist of fate, my nerves outlasted a dragon's.
Outside the cave, once my heartbeat was no longer deafening me, I said, “Is living so close to dragons really safe? Aren't they always trying to attack Kyrindval?”
“Not exactly. See, that's a problem you lot are only having in Felheim,” Kouris explained, “Here, the dragons and pane have to get along. We make use of their teeth once they're dead, but we're not about to pry them out of their jaws. So we take care of the dragons, if they ever fall ill, and make sure there's plenty of food around for 'em—it's all about give and take.”
“Use them for what?”
“Take a tour of the tribe, some time,” Kouris said, patting me on the shoulder.
I didn't flinch.
I stayed with her that night, in the hills outside of Kyrindval.
“Go on, be heading back now. They're good people—they'll see to it that you have somewhere to stay,” she said, trying to steer me back towards Kyrindval, but I wouldn't allow myself to leave her alone. I sat on the opposite side of the fire that I'd cooked some of the goat she'd snatched over, not saying much of anything before exhaustion claimed me.
As darkness fell, the windows in Kyrindval began to glow, and at the heart of the tribe, in front of the great lodge, a fire burnt in a deep pit. I watched the pane trickle out of their homes, greeting each other in the streets and heading down towards the fire, sitting in a circle around it. I wondered if we'd come during a festival, for many of the pane were clearly preparing for something, and seeing my eyes fixed on the fire, Kouris said, “This happens every night, more or less. Once the work is done, the pane get together and put on shows—singing, dancing. Bit of poetry or a play, sometimes. They even bring new dishes around, from time to time.”
From where we were sat, I couldn't discern much of what was unfolding. My eyes were heavy, adrenalin leaving my body and reminding me how much my legs ached. I was half-asleep before I thought to curl up in the grass.
The sun had been up for hours by the time I joined it. Well-rested, I stretched out and headed back into Kyrindval without much more than a hint of a wave in Kouris' direction. On the way in, I came across a group of younger pane. They were all taller than I was, but I doubted they were much older than eight or nine. Their horns had yet to start growing and their tusks barely touched their upper lips. A few of them were brave enough to wave at me, but immediately became bashful when I waved back.
“Thank you—oh, and good morning,” I said as they scrambled to let me pass. I doubt they understood Mesomium, but my meaning was clear enough.
On my way to the centre of Kyrindval, I started to notice patterns. The pane all wore a swathe of colour over their leathers, and I took it to be some manner of uniform; the three pane carving wood for furniture donned a dark green, and those in the butcher's wore a light, soft red; these colours ran from the lodges, too, banners draped across awnings and hanging from windows.
Outside the great lodge, where I thought I'd have the most luck finding the others, one of the most amazing things I'd ever witnessed was happening.
Four pane had gathered and Michael stood amongst them, listening as they spoke. The pane went on talking for five, six minutes, stumbling over their words and injecting long pauses into the conversation, and not once did Michael talk over them or presume to fill in the missing words. He was enthralled. He didn't even notice me approach, until the tale the pane were sharing with him was over and he had heartily thanked them for the information.
“Rowan! There you are! You can't begin to imagine how much the pane have to share, or how willing they are to do so,” he said brightly, hooking an arm around mine. I wanted to ask where Claire was, but he was in such high spirits that I didn't even bother to interrupted him. “Look here—see all the animals carved above doorways? All the coloured banners? The pane don't have families as we do – something about, ah, self-contained reproduction – but choose sigils of their own, as well as colours, and sift from lodge to lodge with one of the same markings, until they find a comfortable home. Amazing, isn't it? Could you imagine, turning up at our village baker's house one day because you shared a sigil and not being asked what you thought you were doing, dragging all your things in?”
“That would be... well, it looks like the pane are a lot friendlier than we are,” I said, “I think the colours have something to do with work? I saw a lot of pane working together, and they all wore the same coloured cloth.”
“Oh, hm. Perhaps,” Michael allowed, not as interested in speculation when it wasn't coming from a pane. “Had breakfast yet? They gave me... something, something baked, and I think you'd like it.”
“Not yet,” I said, and quickly added on, “Have you seen Claire?”
“She's probably busy, you know,” he said, releasing my arm and placing his hands on his hips. I lifted my brow and he rolled his eyes, gesturing vaguely to one of the nearby lodges. “But I believe she spent the night over there. Still, Rowan. Let her get on with her work, alright? She came here for a reason.”
I thanked him all too cheerfully and rushed off, not giving him the chance to lecture me further. If Claire was busy, she'd let me know; all I wanted was to see her, to let her know that I hadn't toppled off a mountain or been snapped up by a dragon. And perhaps ask if she wanted to
get breakfast.
The lodge was a lot more intimidating once I was stood before it. I had to push down hard to actually get up the steps, and the door handle was level with my head. I hesitated, not knowing the words to explain that I'd got the wrong lodge, should that turn out to be the case, and gathered the courage to knock.
No one answered.
I knocked again and the results didn't differ. I had more luck when I tried the handle; the door swung open, revealing a wide hallway. A handful of fur cloaks were hung from pegs by the door, and I took tentative steps inside, glancing into open rooms as I went. In the centre of the kitchen stood a table that could've seated a dozen humans, and in baskets on the counter were unwashed vegetables bigger than any I'd seen before. The other three rooms contained more gigantic furniture; sofas bigger than the bed I'd slept in at Isin, bunk beds that would be like climbing a tree to get atop; all of them swamped with furs, tables cluttered with cups the size of bowls.
The pane who lived there were gone for the day, and I took my chances with the one closed door.
I knocked, and Claire answered—though not with words I understood.
“It's me—sorry,” I said, certain I was disturbing her.
There was a shifting from within and Claire hurried to the door.
“Rowan,” she said, looking me over. Ensuring I was still in one piece. “Did you spend the night with Kouris?”
“I did. I'm sorry I rushed off like that. I don't really know what came over me. I just... well, you had important things to do, so I guess it doesn't really matter!”
“Someone ought to have been with Kouris. Had I not thought you safe with her, I would've looked for you,” Claire assured me matter-of-factly, and I bit my tongue, not yet bold enough to mention the dragons. “I do have important matters to attend to today...”
“Oh! Right. Sorry, I thought you might! I just wanted you to know that I hadn't gone anywhere,” I rushed to explain myself, stepping back and out of her way.