by T M Miller
‘Skite,’ Jaron murmured, and sat up, his arms reaching for the blue. Skite brought his head down and he stroked his nose in wonder. Was this the Selection process that I missed back in Rakenar? Jaron pondered, stroking the blue’s nose. Neither Parl nor Carna had mentioned it would be anything like this.
Just then the firedrake looked towards the entrance and growled. Torrit was coming. Jaron started in fear. He tried to rise but found his legs were trembling; too many emotions had wrung out his body and mind in such a short time. The blue brought down its nose and Jaron caught hold of the chin horn. Skite raised his head, lifting him up onto his feet at the same time.
‘Blue, hide, quick,’ Jaron hissed, and watched in surprise as his firedrake instantly obeyed, cantering into the shadows; just in time Skite pulled his tail in under the cover of darkness as Torrit marched in. His presence seemed to fill the room and Jaron felt a stab of fear at the man’s entrance.
‘Ah, you’re up. Good, we have work to do.’
Jaron stared. Torrit laughed; he seemed in high spirits, excited even and two red spots of colour were showing on the otherwise pale cheeks. ‘Don’t look so worried,’ he touched his nose with his finger and tapped it. ‘You need to know about the Rillion. Only your father can teach this to you.’
‘You are no father to me,’ Jaron stood his ground. ‘Would a father do this to his son?’ While he had been speaking he had unbuttoned his tunic and ripped open his shirt to reveal his scarred chest. Torrit stepped closer, his eyes on the melted skin. They flicked back up to Jaron’s face. There was no remorse in those strange cold eyes, none at all.
‘As I said, if you remember, I had no knowledge you existed. Had I been kept informed, had your mother not left like a skulking thief in the night, the village would never have been torched and I would not have been deposed.’
Jaron felt his jaw clench, his rage returning. ‘You fired that village, you didn’t have to do that.’
‘Enough!’ Torrit suddenly roared. ‘It has happened – and mulling over the past won’t change anything.’ Jaron’s stomach clenched but still he didn’t move as he fought to get his anger and hatred under control. Torrit stepped closer. ‘I see you feel hatred for me. Good, you will find it so much
easier to use the Rillion.’
Jaron stared. That word again. The boy in the story… he remembered the reaction at dinner when Lady Tarla had said Rillion’s blood. He had to know what this thing was – he was afraid but this man knew more than him, everybody knew more than him it seemed, and he was at too much of a disadvantage to be kept in the dark any longer.
While he considered, Torrit had watched him. The man nodded in satisfaction. ‘I see you have some sense, after all. Follow me.’ He turned and stalked out of the room.
Jaron reluctantly went, his stomach churning. Torrit was already through the cavern entrance when Jaron reached the first. He stared fearfully over at Brane, who was settling himself down along the far cave wall. The huge red didn’t look at the quaking boy but placed his heavy head on his paws and, with a huge sigh, closed his eyes. The askew canine stuck out of the side of the beast’s mouth and, as Jaron stared, drool began to gather around the base of the tooth and dribble onto the floor. Wishing he was anywhere else but here, Jaron moved as far away from the red beast as he could, keeping to the wall.
Something nudged his back and he nearly cried out. He turned. Skite was at his shoulder. After looking at him the firedrake lowered his neck and pushed his head between the boy’s legs from behind, lifting him back up onto his neck just as he had done before. Jaron allowed himself to slide back and grabbed hold of the edge of a scale plate. The firedrake trotted across the room with the boy on his back. Jaron cast a surreptitious glance over at the big red to make sure he wasn’t watching, then patted his thanks on the hard scales.
Torrit was standing just past the entrance. ‘Ah, Skite, you brought him, very good. Set him down.’ Jaron felt the firedrake tense. Torrit frowned. ‘I said, set him down,’ his voice was low, dangerous, but still Skite stood and stared at the man. Afraid now, Jaron touched the firedrake’s neck at its base, making sure it was out of Torrit’s line of vision, trying to communicate to him to do as the Raken lord ordered. Nevertheless, it surprised him when the blue immediately crouched at his touch. Jaron slid off as fast as he could and stepped over to Torrit, praying the blue would not follow him now.
The man was staring over his head at the blue and Jaron sought to divert him. ‘So, what is this Rillion?’ The light eyes in their sunken sockets shifted to look at him.
‘I am glad to see you are curious, Jaron.’ Torrit walked along the bridge. After a moment’s hesitation, Jaron followed. Up ahead, Torrit strode onto the plinth and stood in its centre. He waited for Jaron to catch up. Jaron reached the plinth but stopped at the end of the bridge and looked up in fear at the firedrake hanging from the walls and ceiling of the massive entrance hall. White eyes stared down at their master and a chittering filled the hall. How had Torrit managed to amass so many firedrake? His village had been burnt only two years ago.
‘Do not be afraid, Jaron,’ Torrit called from the plinth. ‘It is they who should be afraid of us.’
‘Afraid of us?’ Jaron repeated in disbelief as he stared up at all those teeth and claws covering the huge fortress hall. ‘I can’t see it somehow.’
Torrit laughed. ‘You will, watch.’ He raised his arms and turned in a circle, looking up at the firedrake. They fell silent, watching. He began to hum, a strumming sound that rose and fell, going on and on until the rock itself seemed to take on the resonance of the sound. It reverberated through Jaron’s body and something in him stirred. He tried to push it down but it was as though there was a dragon beast of his own uncurling itself in his chest and scenting the air. He kept his eyes on Torrit while he fought to keep it in check. The man opened his eyes and Jaron gasped – they were glowing pure silver, even brighter than before. Torrit called out words that Jaron didn’t recognise and swept one raised arm in a whirling circle.
Instantly, all the firedrake let go of the walls at the same time and swept into the air as one. Jaron gasped. Torrit’s arm began to rotate, faster and faster. A whirlwind of black and red as the beasts flew round the cave, all heading in the same direction in a flurry of wings. Jaron noticed then that all the firedrake appeared to be not much bigger than Skite: they must all be youngsters and not yet fully grown. The flying whirlwind became more ragged as they knocked into each other. Jaws snapped as each tried to claim airspace from its neighbour. Jaron stared, hardly believing what he was seeing. He tore his eyes away to check on Skite. The firedrake hadn’t been included, thank goodness, but the beast was crouched low near the cave entrance where Brane lay beyond, Skite’s purple eyes wide as he too watched. Jaron turned back in time to see Torrit’s arm dip lower. Down the firedrake went in a thick column of thrashing wings and writhing tails. Jaron felt sick, but also strangely alert. It was odd, but he felt he could sense their torture and fear under the lord’s absolute control.
Torrit’s arm shot back up and the screeching beasts surged towards the hall ceiling. Jaron saw one firedrake smash into the side of the plinth. Another bounced off the wall against the flailing tail of another and was smacked hard against the rock. It slid down, its neck limp, tongue lolling. As it fell, its half-open wings caused its body to spin faster and faster until it crashed onto a flight of crumbling stone steps to lay still. Jaron heard a tortuous screaming fill the fortress; the firedrake were all screeching as one.
‘Oh, stop, please stop.’ Jaron put his hands over his ears as he bent double. It felt as though his very soul was being torn from his body at their agony.
Torrit turned towards him with his terrible eyes. ‘Look at the power of the Rillion, my son,’ he shouted to be heard over their tortured cries, ‘look at what it can do!’
‘No,’ Jaron whispered.
The man suddenly dropped his arms and flicked a hand in a dismissive gesture. His sho
ulders slumped as his chin dropped. The flying firedrake became a shambolic mass of snapping jaws and flailing wings as they were released. They flapped heavily up to hang from their perches, sides heaving.
Torrit looked over at Jaron, and his glowing eyes flickered and died, back to silver blue. ‘No one will be able to stand against us, my son. All will fear us. Together, we will take up our rightful places as lords of Rakenar.’ He held out his arms to Jaron and walked towards him.
Horrified, the boy backed away. He saw the man stagger a little and lower his arms. Torrit was weakened, Jaron realised, by his use of the Rillion to control all those beasts. Jaron’s mind raced. The firedrake were all exhausted, all but the blue and Brane, but Brane was sleeping and Skite was fast, faster than all of them, Torrit had said so. He was even quicker on the ground, he didn’t waddle like the other firedrake.
The boy spun away from Torrit. ‘Blue Skite!’ he shouted. He hardly dared hope but the firedrake was already alert and looking directly at him from the beginning of the bridge. ‘Come,’ Jaron called. ‘Please,’ he pleaded in a whisper. His prayers were answered as Skite bounded into a gallop along the bridge towards him. Jaron broke into a hopping run to meet the blue. Torrit’s roar of fury behind him caused Jaron to stumble with renewed fear. He risked a look over his shoulder and his breath caught; tired as he was, the man could move quicker on his long legs than Jaron had first thought. He was going to catch him. Gasping, Jaron whirled to face him, inadvertently stepping back as he did so into empty air. His arms flailed for balance for a split second –then he fell from the bridge with a startled cry.
Torrit’s snatching fingers missed his tunic front by inches. ‘No!’ the man screamed and Jaron saw a white, contorted mask receding above him as he fell. His brain seemed to slow everything down. Strangely detached, he noticed Skite, the unusually long legs stretched out, and how, mid-gallop, the blue dived off the bridge. He watched the wedge-shaped wings fold back against the body and the purple eyes fix directly on him. He’s coming for me, Jaron thought with mild surprise. Slowly, for his arms felt weightless yet strangely heavy, he opened them wide to the firedrake.
The wind knocked out of him with rude, bruising force as Skite caught him mid-air, startling him out of his strange reverie and speeding everything up with a sickening jolt. He gasped in pain at his sore ribs. They flashed past underneath the Raken lord. ‘Bring him back to me!’ Jaron heard Torrit’s order roar into the hall and the firedrake there stirred and started to flap heavily away from the walls.
Clutched facing Skite’s chest, Jaron peered round the blue’s shoulder and watched in horror as many white, ice-chipped eyes fixed on them. But then he saw his hunch was right; they were slower in their reactions, Torrit couldn’t control them so quickly after putting on such a show. Fire flared in a roaring column from both sides but Skite shot straight through it. A blast of heat scorched Jaron’s back and he hid his face in Skite’s softer chest scales.
‘Do not fire!’ Torrit’s voice roared, far below and behind them now. Firedrake were coming up at them from the lower levels, jaws open, and Jaron cried out in alarm as a beast lunged at them. Skite thrashed his tail and flew higher. More firedrake flapped out and were coming at them from all sides. Jaron, with a quick desperate look over his shoulder, could see the flight path of escape up ahead was narrowing as the wall of firedrake closed in.
‘Skite, faster! Oh, come on!’ he cried, his words torn away as the blue angled his wings back and whistled past the reaching claws and snapping jaws. Next moment, the light from the torches faded just as a sudden blanket of cold prickled the skin on his back. They had entered the tunnel and Jaron saw the chasing firedrake were now being forced into the narrower space, their wings tangling as they bumped against each other. Snapping and snarling, they turned on each other as they fought for room.
The blue cannoned along the tunnel as it bent to the right and Jaron lost sight of the pursuing firedrake. He pressed a cheek against Skite’s chest and looked ahead with one eye tearing against the wind. His heart lifted when he saw blessed daylight lightening the tunnel. Skite increased his speed even more. The force pressing against Jaron’s back became incredible; he felt his lungs would burst. They shot out of the fortress entrance into the open air and Jaron’s stomach lurched when he saw the sentry firedrake crouched out on the plinths. They screeched, and both leapt up to cut off their escape. They hadn’t even fully opened their wings when Skite flew straight past them and twisted into a side dive through the narrow pass. Jaron glimpsed the river churning around the boulders below just before the blue changed direction into another pass. With a sudden twist of his tail, Skite angled his body and flew straight up into the sky.
Thick cloud closed in all around Jaron and harsh cold seared his bones. The pressure was so intense he felt as though his body would snap in two. Just as he thought he could no longer bear it, Skite levelled out and flew slower now, with his prize clutched in his claws.
Jaron opened one eye. They were above the level of the clouds and he took gulping gasps of air. He felt light-headed and his lungs hurt. Just as he began to lose any sense of time or reality the blue reduced their height again, flying back down into the cloud bank and its searing cold embrace. When they emerged into clear air, Jaron was relieved to find he could breathe more easily.
As Skite flew on he lost track of how long it had been since escaping the fortress. The sun was setting and the thin mist rolling across the landscape below glowed in its dying light. The beauty of it all was lost on Jaron. He was exhausted and the searing pain in his ribs where the blue clutched him seemed to be the only thing preventing him from passing out. Or maybe he already had a few times; he just didn’t know anymore. Skite’s wings were more laboured now and Jaron painfully reached up an encouraging hand to stroke the firedrake’s neck. Skite lowered his head upside down to look back at him and gave a low rumble before angling his body downwards. They dropped lower and into the thin mist. Jaron coughed as they entered the damp air, causing his ribs to painfully jar him.
It was a wild landscape of shrouded hills and valleys. Skite flew close to the ground, tendrils of mist leaking past his wing tips as he skirted the taller hills that rose up in their flightpath. Jaron watched as a small wood passed by in a soft blur. His scalp and lips felt numb, his fingers stiff. He was so tired, and the damp air would keep on making him cough.
It seemed an age before they left the hills and passed over dense forest. By now, it was almost dark, a watery moon rising. Despite his discomfort, Jaron’s head was nodding on his shoulders when the blue finally dropped down to land.
25
A distant humming sound woke him. He felt warm, cosy, and a rare feeling that he had to think about for a moment to identify; safe, yes, that was it, he felt safe. Jaron opened his eyes to find a purple eye boggling down at him. The hum came again and this time he felt it vibrate throughout his body.
‘Hello, Skite.’ His voice sounded thick and he wondered how long he had been out. He tried to see where they were, but then realised his body was cocooned by a wing. He pushed out with the sides of his arms against the membrane. The blue unrolled him and cold stone bashed against his sore ribs. Jaron clutched at them, coughed, then levered himself up onto his knees.
Skite had landed on a ledge and for a moment Jaron thought they were back where the blue had first brought him that terrible night. Then his eyes focused more and he blinked. Spread out before him in the early morning light was a huge green valley encircled by white-stone cliffs. The distant churn of running water drew his astonished gaze to a waterfall sheeting down on one side. Jaron sat up. He recognised this place; it was the valley Flick had brought him to with Tarp on his first proper flight. His heart lifted; he knew where he was at last.
Carefully, he crawled to the edge and looked down. Below he could see the moving figures of antelope and deer grazing. Skite’s claws clicked on the stone as he came to stand beside Jaron and the long ears pricked with interest as
a calf trotted amongst the herd of the larger-sized antelope, bawling for its mother. Jaron watched it as well while his tired mind woke up. He ached all over, and he massaged his ribs carefully.
Suddenly, Skite dived off the ledge. Jaron flinched, arm raised at the dust kicked up. As he lowered it, he saw the blue was flying directly for the herd.
‘Oh no.’ Jaron watched with horror as the blue swept down with dizzying speed. As he glided low over the animals the hollering of warning calls filtered up to Jaron as the animals first scattered in fear then sought safety in numbers and came together to run shoulder to shoulder. Above all this mayhem, the firedrake flew in a lazy loop with his neck lowered and his head at a slight angle. For the first time, Jaron noticed his neck, though narrow, was shorter than the Raken firedrake even as his ears were twice the length.
With a sudden flick of his long tail Skite increased his speed. Angling on a wing tip he split a herd of the larger antelope and dived down to snatch at something in their midst without even landing. Jaron, kneeling on the ledge, put his hands up to his face. As the blue began his upward climb the antelope calf hung in his jaws, its dainty legs dangling and its neck at an odd angle.