Llandry

by Charlotte E. English

  It felt good.

  Before we left, though, I was briefly distracted by something else: a note of disturbance in the energy in that part of Iskyr. Nothing too severe or too striking, just a ripple of unpromising potential somewhere beneath the surface… it might be nothing, but I note it here just in case.

  It wasn’t until much later that I thought again about the vision of the mad draykon, and the way she had been brought down by her creators. They had merely shot her with spears and dragged the carcass away — killed her, in other words, by mundane means. It was a death she ought to have been able to revive from, if such a feat was already feasible in those early days.

  If Lokants knew of a way to permanently destroy her, why had they not used it then? Had they had some reason to refrain, or was my theory nonsense? Perhaps that telling almost from Limbane meant nothing after all. Perhaps he and all his kind were as ignorant as I was, and had nothing to do with this mystery.

  The idea is a depressing one, for it threatens to set me back to the beginning. But I don’t feel inclined to dismiss the idea. Something about it makes sense, on a fundamental level I cannot explain. I don’t yet know how or why, but I feel certain that, once again, the separate fates of draykoni and Lokantkind are still very much intertwined.

  10 VIII

  Ori is Enlightened, and Also Hopping Mad.

  I Learn That I am the World’s Worst Person.

  And Gio Whisks us Away.

  We were in the Library for days. Eleven of them, to be precise. How that was possible, I have no idea. We slept only once, and if I had to guess I would have called it two at most.

  That said, time does move oddly in the Libraries. I may have assumed that wouldn’t apply to Orlind anymore, considering how broken it is, but perhaps it does. In a broken way. Usually time passes slowly in those places, if at all. I have never heard of an accelerated passage of time before.

  Anyway, we went home. Tired and worried and eleven days late.

  Ori was unhappy with us.

  ‘Where have you been?’ he bellowed the moment Pense and I entered our house. ‘I have been going crazy wondering what happened to you! Everyone was certain you’d been murdered and buried a million miles away and we would never know what became of you! How could you stay away for eleven days without TELLING me! Or taking me with you! It’s bloody unfair! Sigwide agrees, don’t you, Siggy? He wants you and he hates me for not being you and we both hate you right now.’ Ori finally exhausted his flow of words and stood in the middle of my living room, dishevelled and furious. He clutched handfuls of his hair in shaking fists and shuddered violently, taking great gulps of air. ‘I thought you were dead!’

  I had been frozen, shocked by this tirade from sunny Ori. But this sign of suffering melted me and I ran to him, throwing my arms around him in a huge, engulfing hug. ‘I am so sorry,’ I said into his shoulder. ‘We did not mean to, I promise. We’ll tell you all about it, but we are well, no one is hurt, and no one is dead. Well,’ I amended, ‘at least, not one of us.’

  That may not have been the wisest speech I have ever made, especially that last part. Curse my thoughtless tongue. Ori had relaxed fractionally as I held him but he stiffened again and stared at me. ‘Llan,’ he said dangerously, ‘I think you’d better tell me everything, and at once.’

  So we did. Pense and Ori and I flopped tiredly all over my floor, making full use of the colony of cushions Ori had assembled in there, and we went through the story as quickly as possible. Ori being Ori, he soon forgot his fear and his anger and drank up every detail of our tale, asking many questions I could not answer and thinking much more deeply about the implications of it all than we had had time or energy to do.

  Somewhere in the middle, Siggy crept in. I’d been aware of his presence from the moment I entered the house; he was a tiny bundle of warmth in the next room, tucked up peacefully asleep. Or so I had thought. I’d opted to leave him in peace while I tended to Ori, but I regretted that the moment he came into the room, for a sorrier picture of woe I have never seen. He tiptoed up to me as though unsure of his welcome, head and tail drooping, and stood waiting for me to acknowledge him.

  I have never felt like a worse person in my entire life. Even Ori’s fear was nothing compared to my poor Siggy’s utter wretchedness.

  I stopped speaking at once, unable to form another word, and scooped him up in my arms. He would not speak to me, though I apologised in seven different ways and soothed him every way that I knew how. He, too, had been so certain I would never come back that he had disappeared far into grief. His normally silky grey fur was dull and coarse and falling out in patches, and he was rail-thin — I wondered when he had last eaten.

  In leaving him behind, I had thought I was doing right by him — keeping him out of danger, letting his aging bones rest peacefully at home while I dashed madly about. I had never meant to be away so long, but my intentions made no difference to Sigwide.

  I resolved on the spot, never to leave him behind again. Better he take his chances with me than I keep abandoning him, as he saw it, and leaving him in so unhappy a state.

  Tears coated my cheeks and I hadn’t noticed. I am unsure whether it was just poor Siggy, or Ori’s fear and Galy’s death and everything else that had happened all hitting me at last. I had a cry for a while, and Ori wept a bit and everybody hugged everybody until we all felt better.

  Once we had calmed ourselves, Ori told us what we had missed. ‘All was quiet for several days, but then about four days ago Ivi found another dead drayk, a ways west of here. It’s like the others, dead beyond revival, no identity. And two days ago, Avane came up to report another couple found in Ayrien. No idea who they are, either. Nothing else has turned up since.’ He paused, and said with a stern look at me, ‘I decided not to tell her you were missing. She would only worry.’

  I winced, feeling guilty even though we’d had no choice about our unscheduled absence. ‘Three new ones. Um, anything significant or different about them?’

  Ori shook his head. ‘Not really. They more nearly resemble the first one than the mass grave under those horrid flowers. Tiny, localised dead area, carcasses found individually. There was just one odd thing about the one Ivi found.’ He reached into a pocket and pulled out a handful of metal objects.

  ‘What are they?’

  He shrugged. ‘Nobody knows. They look like parts from something, but who knows what. Maybe they have nothing to do with the corpse — could be a coincidence that they were there.’ He put the bits of metal back into his pocket.

  I thought of one of Galy’s final visions — a machine exploding, shards of metal flying through the air. But that had taken place in the Library, not in Iskyr.

  That machine, though... something about it nagged at me. Lokant-built? Most likely. Had it been used against the dead drayk, somehow? Was it some kind of weapon? It seemed another piece of evidence in favour of Lokant involvement, but my thoughts on the matter were too foggy and vague to be of use.

  So I merely nodded, trying to think of something intelligent to say. But I was too distracted by the sick feeling in my stomach, and there wasn’t much to add anyway. At least it seemed to exonerate Gio.

  ‘What about the spread of taint from Orlind?’ I said instead, glad enough to divert the topic of conversation.

  Ori gave me a blank stare. ‘The what?’

  Oh… of course. Pense and Meri and Nyden had been on their way back from that discovery when they ran into Gio and me, and were subsequently swept away by the Library. That news had yet to reach Nuwelin.

  I let Pense tell it. The narration left Ori visibly worried, and intrigued as well. ‘Now, that is interesting. Galy was keeping that under control, of course, so it might just be his absence that is doing the mischief. What’s the rate of expansion?’

  Pense replied, ‘Slow, but faster than we would like.’

  ‘No sign of anything else going on there?’

  ‘We have yet to conduct a thorough investigation.’


  Ori nodded and fell silent. His sharp mind would be turning over the problem, perhaps developing all manner of ideas and theories that hadn’t occurred to us. I felt suddenly, deeply grateful for Ori and his intellect, his diligence, and his flair for research. How would we manage without him?

  ‘Speaking of which,’ I said, forgetting that I had not shared my thoughts aloud, ‘How fared the hunt?’ I gestured at the books.

  Always happy to talk upon the subject of his research, Ori instantly forgot everything else. He was revived by then, restored enough to say, all in a rush, ‘I have read every single word in those bloody books, many of them multiple times over because there was nothing else to distract myself with while I was planning how to manage the rest of my life without the two of you and wondering how to extract revenge upon the parties unknown responsible for your obvious demise and by the way, there really is a lot of useful stuff in there. I have a lot to tell you, and I’d better start right away because we’ve lost about ten days and also I am starving, when was the last time you two ate?’

  So we acquired food, and sat restoring ourselves while Ori talked. I set my poor limp Sigwide in my lap and coaxed him to eat as I listened, feeling a little better with every morsel of fruit I persuaded him to swallow. His little body relaxed bit by bit until he grew sleepy, tucked his nose under his tail and dozed off.

  I love you, he said just before he fell asleep, and my heart ached more than ever.

  ‘This book,’ Ori said, showing us one of the fattest tomes. ‘Arts Draykus. I don’t know if that’s Eva’s translation or a Lokant term, but whatever. It’s a more in-depth look at what the draykoni can do, and how that compares with what they were designed to do at inception. The former far, far exceeds the latter, by the way. Did you know we are infinitely more amazing than anybody thought we would be? Doesn’t that make you feel shiny?’ Ori beamed, paging rapidly through the book. He had filled it with bookmarks. There was little paper up here, so he had used dried leaves, blades of withered grass and an occasional pressed flower to mark his place. I wondered how he had contrived to make notes, for I could hardly imagine he would fail to do so.

  ‘I won’t bore you with all the details just now,’ he muttered, still busily sorting through the pages. ‘We can take a closer look later. But there is an entire chapter devoted to their — or I should say, our — regenerative abilities. Here.’ He thumped a page marked with a faded purple leaf. There was a whole sheaf of makeshift bookmarks distributed through the pages that followed. ‘Right, noteworthy points: this is one of those things that nobody thought we would be able to do. It came out of nowhere. Which is why your story of their shooting down an early drayk interests me so much. It didn’t revive?’

  I shook my head. ‘Not that we saw, but I thought nothing of it at the time. The vision was over as soon as the drayk died, and we didn’t see what happened next. They might have revived it, or… I don’t know.’

  Ori’s lips tightened. ‘No, Llan, I don’t think they did. Here, listen. The draykon power to regenerate is considered one of the species’ most noteworthy and remarkable characteristics, but it is impossible for our scientists to take credit for so unique and miraculous an ability. The initial plans for the species projected for no such power, nor was it included in the developed outlines as the project progressed. The first example of this extraordinary magic was observed post termination of subject thirty-eight, when its creche-mates stormed the laboratories and effected the revival in situ.’ He looked up. ‘It goes on to discuss various theories about how it was done, most of which strike me as a bit wide of the mark. But how do you like that? The drayks were getting away from their creators very early on. I get the sense that this project was badly out of hand almost from the moment they began it.’

  ‘Wide of the mark?’ I repeated. ‘You mean they don’t understand how amasku works?’ I felt bemused by that, but also excited, because here was an explanation as to why they had not revived that mad draykon — or destroyed her permanently. If Lokants ever learned how to extinguish us, it must have been later.

  ‘Doubtful,’ said Ori. ‘It has to be a hard thing to study from the outside.’

  That struck me in particular, though I couldn’t immediately say why. I had known for some time that Lokants had been deeply involved in the original design and creation of my wilder, more magical self, so I had assumed that they knew its functions and potential better than I yet did. The likelihood of their ignorance intrigued me. How was it possible to create something and not understand what you had made?

  And what did that mean, for our current problems?

  ‘Termination,’ said Pense abruptly. ‘Is there more said of that, Ori?’

  Ori shook his head. ‘No, and I checked thoroughly because that occurred to me, too. But you brought an answer back with you, no? They merely killed that poor mad drayk in a usual kind of way.’ He frowned as he spoke, and I could well understand why. The impersonal way in which the poor creature — subject thirty-eight — had been treated, brought to life and then dispassionately killed, was chilling. I wondered whether it had been maddened, like the one we had seen in the Library.

  ‘I wonder what happened after it was revived,’ said Pense.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, frowning. ‘If they killed it because it was mad, what would they do when it came back? And what did the rest of its “creche-mates” do?’

  ‘It isn’t said.’ Ori turned a few more pages. ‘But here, look. Umm, I’m going to paraphrase this bit, it’s long.’ He read for a moment, and nodded. ‘That trick of coming back from the dead? It caused them some problems, it seems — probably with the mad ones.’

  Here, I thought, was a possible motive for their developing some way to more permanently erase us. If they felt their creations were turning mad beyond repair, and were opposed to their revival, perhaps they had gone looking for a way to more lastingly disable the poor creatures.

  ‘Which is another interesting question.’ Ori abandoned the book and looked hard at me. ‘How did she go mad, that one you saw?’

  ‘I hardly know, we saw little of her. But… it was as though her flow had become twisted somehow, like… like it had turned inside out, started running backwards. I’m not explaining this very well.’ I paused and thought, frustrated with the effort of trying to articulate so obscure a phenomenon.

  ‘It felt like a very small, localised version of what has happened at Orlind,’ said Pense.

  ‘Yes!’ I said. ‘Not the same exactly, not at all, but similar. And it probably felt similar to the draykon, too. Her flight was erratic, like she had trouble working out which way was up or down, and she scarcely felt like a sentient being — like she had lost her own sense of identity.’

  ‘You don’t know how that happened?’

  I could only shake my head. ‘The first we saw of her was when she came crashing in, already mad.’

  ‘But termination,’ Pense interrupted. ‘We were not finished with that, Ori.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Ori went back to his book, brow furrowed. ‘This book was written some years after the project was concluded, I gather. Listen to this: It is difficult to separate the body of a draykon from its animating essence, as the two are intrinsically bound up with its personal amasku, or life flow. Each draykon is a spark of the same fire, and to extinguish any individual flame is almost impossible. The degree of force required to accomplish this is beyond the scope of most scientists, and certainly beyond the scope of this study. Ori looked up. ‘That’s all it says. There is nothing about how it’s done.’

  Little though there was, it was enough to excite me. ‘That’s what Limbane must have meant when he said almost impossible! There is a way, and the Lokants know it!’

  Ori was in full scholarly flow, and wearing his dubious face. ‘Maybe. There is nothing in here to suggest that this is anything but a theory, perhaps an untested one. We shouldn’t be too quick to lay the whole thing at Limbane’s door because of it. Or Sulayn Phay, or any o
f them. It’s still far more likely that another draykon is the culprit.’

  ‘We shouldn’t rule them out, either,’ I argued. ‘The draykoni are still united in declaring it impossible. This is the first sign we have had that somebody out there believes it isn’t.’

  Ori’s head turned towards the door and he frowned. ‘Something is happening out there.’ He rose to his feet with a fluid grace I could only envy. Sometimes it seemed as though Pense’s early awkwardness with his adopted human form had been succeeded by a mastery of it that I would never achieve, despite having been born into it. I suppressed a fleeting sense of inadequacy and stood up, gathering my still-sleeping Siggy into my arms.

  By then I could hear it, too: a babble of approaching voices, rapidly coming closer. Ori and I exchanged a startled look, with perhaps a little wariness. I, for one, was worn out with surprises.

  We stepped outside. Assembled in front of my house was every citizen of Nuwelin, most in human form and looking uneasy. I noticed a new face in the crowd, a winged Glinnish woman with abundant dark hair and bronze skin. I remembered to smile at her, a gesture she hesitantly returned.

  Walking in front of them was Gio, looking still more uncomfortable.

  ‘Hello, Llandry,’ he said when he saw me. ‘Do you think you could let these good people know that I mean no harm?’

  ‘What did you do to alarm them? They are usually much more welcoming.’ I surveyed the gathered knot of people with confusion, for their reaction was out of character. We were used to all sorts of people finding us up here, most of them new hereditaries looking for assistance. We were accustomed to providing it, and making all manner of strangers welcome at a moment’s notice. What had upset them about Gio?

  He raised his hands in a clear gesture of culpability. ‘I, um, appeared in the middle of the camp. It was unwise of me.’