by Resa Nelson
From the place where the wooden walkway he'd helped build years ago met the beach, the Iron Maiden Kikita called, “gone.”
CHAPTER 8
Still squinting against the blinding sun, Trep turned to see the shape of a woman standing at the opposite end of the wooden walkway. The boards creaked as he sprinted across them, slowing his pace only when he reached the end anchored in the grass at the edge of the beach.
Trep stopped on the last board of the walkway, suddenly afraid to step from the comfort of the wood beneath his feet to the uncertainty of the sand below.
He stared at Kikita, the Iron Maiden who accompanied Astrid back to Guell from the Midlands where they had escaped Mandulane and his Krystr soldiers. Looking to be the same age as Astrid, Kikita stood trim and fit, wearing a shirt and trousers made of stitched-together patches of green and brown linen. Kikita bore the light brown skin and shiny black hair of a Far Easterner and spoke with a slight accent.
Kikita's presence here on the beach befuddled Trep. She stood next to a large and strange pile of what looked to be the shed skin of an enormous snake. “You say Astrid is gone?”
Kikita smiled and looked at the blacksmith for a long moment. She nodded. “Astrid released Drageen from Dragon's Head.”
Trep gazed over Kikita's shoulder and out to the sea, now barren of Dragon's Head, and he realized he'd seen chunks of it on Dragon's Teeth Field. “Why?”
“Astrid believes he is the best man to face Mandulane and prevent the Krystr soldiers from invading and destroying the Northlands, which is quite true.”
Trep frowned. “Tell me where I can find her.”
Kikita stood still. Amusement relaxed her face and crinkled the corners of her eyes. “Astrid’s decisions have left you with a greater purpose. I need you to carry out a critical task on her behalf. A task with which I know she'd entrust you above any other man.”
“Task?” Trep said, frustrated and yet pleased at the idea Astrid would trust him the most. “Why are you telling me this? Why not Astrid?”
Kikita cocked her head sideways and stared at him as if he were a strange but fascinating creature. “Astrid left something behind. Something of great value that must be protected at all costs.”
Trep began losing patience with Kikita not answering all his questions. “What is this thing?”
“It is something that must be taken far away and protected.” Kikita’s eyes darkened, and she stared at him long enough for discomfort to set in. “This thing is a dragon’s egg.”
Trep shook his head in disbelief. “Astrid and her dragons. She found more eggs? Why should I care?” Trep folded his arms across his chest in defiance. “Answer me. Tell me where she went.”
Kikita ignored his demand. “You must take this dragon’s egg to a safe place. Take it to the Land of Vines.”
Trep knew stories of the Land of Vines from his childhood, and all of those stories terrified him. “That’s but a place of legend.”
Kikita laughed.
Trep turned away. He searched the expanse of the beach but failed to see any sign of her. “Astrid!”
“She cannot hear you. But it is in your best interest to hear me.”
Torn between anger and worry, Trep swallowed his desire to run into a haphazard frenzy in search of Astrid. “If she needs help—”
Kikita smiled. “Her love for you is honest and true. But she struggles to learn how to live in this world. How to be a part of it without losing herself in it. That is a problem only she can solve.”
“I could help her.”
Kikita shook her head. “Only she can chart her own course. Otherwise, she will become more lost than she is now. Find the strength to trust her.”
“You want me to give up on finding her? Helping her? Who are you to make these demands?”
“I am a true dragon.” Kikita sniffed. “Do not confuse me with the lizards Astrid slays.”
Trep stood still. For a while he forgot to breathe. Astrid had talked of true dragons in her sleep. He suspected he knew what they were.
“Astrid is safe,” Kikita said. “Do not worry about where she is or how she is. Worry about what she is.”
Trep shook his head, puzzled. He knew Astrid. She was a blacksmith. A dragonslayer. A Scalding. An Iron Maiden.
“She is one more thing,” Kikita said, as if reading his mind. “Astrid is my granddaughter.”
CHAPTER 9
Trep suppressed the sudden urge to stand and look for someone who could stand by his side. For what reason, Trep didn't know. All he knew was he suddenly felt uncomfortable being alone with Kikita.
His gut told him to believe her story about being a dragon. And he’d gleaned enough to know that dragons could take any appearance they liked.
Even the appearance of a young woman by a dragon old enough to be a grandmother.
Kikita fingered the edge of the pile of shed skin, which crackled loudly at her touch. “I have watched my granddaughter Astrid from a distance all her life. The time came for me to step into her life, and joining Vinchi and the Iron Maidens gave me the opportunity to learn more about Astrid.”
“I care about her,” Trep said.
Kikita's eyes softened. “I know. That is why I've chosen you for this favor.”
Trep didn’t trust her. But he didn’t feel safe crossing her. Not yet. For now he would play along with what seemed to be a strange game. “I'm just a blacksmith.”
“You are far more than that. And you have nothing to fear,” she said, petting the shed skin.
“Course not,” Trep said, now insulted. “I'll have you know I done my share of hauling dragons into Guell after Astrid kills them. Sometimes help Donel chop them up for supper. Ain't no limit to what I can do when I put my mind to it.”
“Yes. I know.” Kikita reached deep into the pile of shed skin and withdrew a pale mottled egg the size of a small chicken. “Which is why I have faith in entrusting you with this.”
Trep stared at the thing, suppressing the urge to run away. He reminded himself it was only an egg. Crossing his arms across his chest, Trep shook his head. “Nothing can convince me to leave Astrid.”
When Kikita spoke, her voice sounded sad and soft. “I beg to differ.”
CHAPTER 10
Drageen and his alchemist sailed south, skimming alongside the western border of the Northlands. Heavy fog surrounded them, so thick that brushing against it left a trail of dew on Drageen’s skin. Seabirds cried in the distance but otherwise only the slap of the ocean waves against his ship broke the silence. The sun hovered high above and cast a dim light through the fog, just enough for Drageen to get his bearings.
“Alchemist!” Drageen called out, squinting through the fog. “Where are you?”
“Here, as always,” the hen-like voice piped up next to his shoulder.
Drageen jumped in surprise, staring at the plump woman who seemed to materialize magically through the fog. But it had to be a trick of the eye, a misdirection caused by the mist.
He cried out, feeling his ankle bend after landing on it the wrong way. Drageen winced, feeling a sharp pain stab from ankle to sole. He shuffled to regain his footing. “Do you have anything to detect the presence of enemies?”
“Nothing worth using.” The alchemist's simple dress had faded with the time they’d been trapped inside Dragon’s Head. Removing all the small tools she kept in the bun on her head, her white hair fell free. She tucked her tools under her belt and leaned forward to let her hair fall. She brushed her fingers through it. Her voice sounded muffled when she spoke. “Anything that would do us good is locked inside my chamber on Tower Island.”
Drageen squinted up at the sun, checking the ship's relationship to it, which he'd done methodically throughout the day. “If this ship keeps course, we should reach Tower Island.” He hesitated, concerned by a new thought. “What if harm lies in these waters?”
The alchemist stood up quickly, flipping her long white hair back to reveal a slightly flushed and
weathered face. “If we fall upon harm, we can find a way past it.” She paused to twist her long hair on top of her head and secure it into a bun once more by impaling it from all angles with her pin-like tools. “After all, you are still a Scalding.”
Drageen squared his shoulders and straightened his spine to stand taller. She spoke the truth. Scaldings feared nothing. His duty to his family and the Northlands burned inside him like a relentless fever. Wasting time on worry or fear boiled down to a luxury he couldn't afford.
Going back to Tower Island to gather the other Scaldings and learn how the world had changed in Drageen's absence took precedence. And by the luck of the fates—or possibly by the grace of the dragons—his ship appeared to be taking the course that would allow him to do what he needed.
Once he understood the current state of the world, Drageen could do something about it. Guessing or worrying about information he didn't have made no sense. “Of course,” he said, acknowledging the alchemist's comment. “I am a Scalding.”
Drageen stepped away, but his foot twisted again. He winced at the pain shooting through it like a heated poker through butter.
The alchemist raised an eyebrow. “Would you like me to take a look at that?”
Drageen lifted his knee and wiggled the offending foot. Suddenly, the pain vanished. “No. All is well.”
Gingerly placing his weight on the foot, Drageen found walking came easily once more.
He wondered what might have happened in the world while he hadn’t been part of it.
CHAPTER 11
For the first time, Trep understood Astrid's habit of vanishing without notice because he needed to do so himself.
He sat on the wooden walkway's edge with his feet on the grassy beach. The soft blades and sand tickled his bare feet. Trep's nose twitched. He detected the sharp scent of an oncoming storm. Looking up, he saw a dark band of clouds on the horizon.
He twisted to look over his shoulder and watch Kikita walk back to Guell. She promised to tell everyone that he'd caught sight of Astrid and set off in pursuit. She'd convince them to respect his need to find Astrid. She'd persuade everyone in Guell to follow her down through the Northlands to the coasts where they'd join forces with Komdra and the other Iron Maidens.
She promised Trep to keep them safe.
Trep resisted the urge to snort. Kikita had trained with Vinchi, all right. She'd become an Iron Maiden with the intent of gaining access to Astrid.
He wondered if Kikita told the truth about being Astrid's grandmother. They looked nothing alike. Astrid sported dark skin and eyes, although he knew she'd changed her looks to distance herself from her Scalding family, who were native Northlanders with pale skin and blond hair. Kikita looked like a Far Easterner, although now Trep realized that as a dragon and a true shapeshifter she could take any form that appealed to her.
Kikita entered Guell and vanished from Trep's sight.
He looked down at the egg nestled next to the pile of brittle, shed skin near his feet. The Iron Maiden had told him so many outlandish things that his head spun just trying to remember them all, much less make sense of them.
If Kikita told the truth and she was Astrid’s grandmother, then Astrid must be a dragon herself. Kikita convinced him to take the egg by telling him the egg had come from Astrid.
And if it’s Astrid’s, don’t that make it mine, too? Astrid said I’m the only one she’s been with since DiStephan. And ain’t he been dead for years?
Crossing his arms, Trep wrenched his gaze away from the egg and looked across the sea. “Nonsense,” he said out loud, as if Kikita were still there. “Nothing but fairy tales.”
She'd told him about Astrid and herself and the family from which they'd come. She'd told him about lizards and dragons and the difference between them, confirming his suspicions. She'd told him why DiStephan had died.
And why Trep himself had become unexpectedly important in the grand scheme of things.
If he could believe Kikita, Trep understood the enormity of the task that now faced him. He felt the weight of the world on his shoulders. He recognized the sacrifices he'd have to make to complete the task. Sadness blanketed him at the thought of everything he'd have to leave behind.
But Kikita emphasized that all journeys are like the blade of a sword: they have two sides. Although Trep faced certain loss and sorrow, a new life promised adventure and a different kind of joy. He understood why Kikita said that only Trep could accomplish this task. While others might be able to attempt it, only he had reason to see it through to the end, no matter what might be required.
Because what’s inside the dragon’s egg is as much mine as it is Astrid’s.
Trep imagined he should be angry, maybe betrayed. Maybe horrified. Maybe disgusted. After all, Astrid was a dragon. Had she tricked him into fathering her dragon child? Shouldn’t he hate her for that?
And yet he felt nothing but love for Astrid.
Grateful that Astrid's cottage lay on the outskirts of Guell, Trep returned to it. He gathered supplies and pondered how to fashion a satchel from the clothing at hand. He found Astrid's spare shirt, which needed laundering and still bore her scent. He held the shirt in his arms, breathing her in.
Yes. Of course. This made sense.
He tied the sleeve ends around his neck as if she were embracing him, letting the rest of the shirt drape across his chest.
Next, Trep went to the smithery, where he found Starlight hanging on the wall where Astrid left it.
He bore mixed feelings toward the sword. On one hand, he loved it because Astrid had made it with her own hands and used it countless times to slay dragons that threatened Guell and other villages and villagers. For all he knew, she might have killed a dragon that otherwise would have killed Trep. He very well might have Starlight to thank for being alive.
On the other hand, he hated the sword because she'd made it for DiStephan. He understood she'd loved the dragonslayer, but he suspected DiStephan still haunted her.
Trep had seen the dragonslayer's ghost with his own eyes after eating night's bane for a while. He'd seen the look of longing that passed between them. The ghost figured out how to let Astrid know every time he hovered near, never giving her the time or opportunity to release him and embrace her life without him.
Never giving her the time or opportunity to embrace her newfound love for Trep and begin a new life with him.
Don't resent the sword. It's nothing but iron that’s been wrought.
He left the sword alone. Kikita promised to take Starlight to the Southern coast where it could do some good.
Trep paused before exiting the smithery, casting a long look at Guell and Astrid's cottage. Life had been good here. He thanked the gods he'd had the good sense to come.
He took his time crossing the wooden boardwalk, breathing in the freshness of the sea breeze and the warmth of the day. Once he reached the other end, Trep sat. With great care, he picked up the egg and placed it inside the makeshift sling he'd made of Astrid's shirt.
Without looking back, Trep headed north along the beach. Although everyone believed it led to nothing but a dead end at the foot of a cliff that knifed through the beach and into the ocean, Kikita told him how to find a secret passageway through its base.
Trep thought something shifted inside the egg, and he stopped in mid-step.
You have nothing to fear, Kikita had told him.
Choosing to believe her, Trep gritted his teeth and continued his journey toward the far northlands.
CHAPTER 12
Astrid walked along familiar trails. She began on the dragonslayer's path extending north of Guell. The wall of light had vanished, even though the stone embedded in her hand still glowed. She imagined the glow served as a reminder that the wall would reappear if Astrid ventured the wrong way.
Whatever that might mean.
She’d puzzled over what the dragons wanted from her only to end up feeling baffled.
Astrid hurried through the Nor
thlands on a path that paralleled the winter route she’d followed in the past. Instead of sticking to the well-worn road winding through the sharp and craggy mountains, she found it easier to follow a narrow path descending toward a small lake. She discovered the path wound around the lake’s perimeter. It didn’t take long before she realized why most people stayed on the mountain road.
A buzzing sound filled the air, and black clouds of insects hovered above the surface of the lake.
Astrid hated to harm any living creature unless that creature harmed her first. Any time she killed a lizard, she fought to save the lives of others and her own. But now, while hundreds of black flies swarmed toward her, she slapped them feverishly the moment they landed on her skin.
She cried out at a stinging pinch on the back of her neck and slapped it. “Leave me alone!” she yelled at the cloud of black flies swarming around her. “Get away from me!”
The insects covered Astrid as if she were made of honey. Her clothing protected most of her body, but the flies targeted all the exposed skin they could find: her face, neck, and hands. She swatted wildly, but they evaded her tactics. Within minutes Astrid saw her skin reddening and swelling from dozens of bites.
The incessant buzzing deafened her. Her body throbbed as if poison coursed through her veins.
I have to make it stop. Or they’ll eat me alive. They’ll destroy me.
She stumbled ahead, barely able to see the path for the swarm of black flies surrounding her. One flew directly into her eye and blinded her for a moment. She batted her hands in front of her face, trying in vain to knock the insects away.
A sharp pain shot through her foot and up her leg. Astrid realized she must have slammed her toe into a rock on the path. She fell hard. Wincing with pain, she discovered the sudden fall had caused her to drop below the thick swarm that now hovered above her. In the few seconds before the insects could fly down at her, Astrid saw a fork in the path ahead.