Feral Magic

by Nicolette Jinks

  “—any of them dragons? Has she even sparred with you?”

  “Fera is more than capable, you are making a mistake—”

  I coughed. Eyes turned to me.

  “Wasting time,” I said, “Mordon, I know you support me. You don’t have to fight with your mother to prove it. I will stay with the children and hopefully my assistance will not be required.”

  Mordon had his mouth open to object, but the crackled voice of Nest halted all other conversations. “I will stay as well.”

  Aeron said, “We will need you at the talks.”

  “No,” Nest said in her slow voice, “not this time.”

  Enaid bit her lip but agreed they could do without. “You will stay with the gate guard.”

  “No,” the elderly woman said, raising a shaking hand to point at me, “I will stay with Ferline and the offspring. Give my regards to Thessen.”

  No one tried to object this time, but inquisitive gazes kept coming my way throughout the remainder of the preparations. Though it happened rather quickly, it seemed to be ages before the Drake Elders were assembled—most older than Nest—and the troupe departed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The children were busy playing with clay by the time we could hear the start of a fight outside. We were in one of the innermost sections of the castle, and the inhabitants expected one final battle while the discussions were ongoing. Nest said when it came to making peace with dragons, the drake Elders would make peace with the most influential and powerful dragons and then those dragons would strongly encourage the other dragons to stop—usually strong encouragement involved pain. While the drakes lived in a community, the dragons did not, nor did they much appreciate being told what to do.

  At the start, when the children were excitable and still settling into the thrill of another battle, I found a boy’s body. He wasn’t dead, but he almost seemed like he was. I couldn’t wake him up. I had called for Nest and the children gave me a very odd look, as though I had not found a gravely ill child, but rather a sleeping one. Nest came, looked at the boy, and called his name twice. A dragon the size of a large dog tottered over and blinked at us. Nest said something to him, and he approached the body, reached forward a round snout, and touched the chest. For an instant, nothing happened, then there was a flash of light and the other children pressed forward to watch, cutting off my view. Next I knew, the dragon was gone and the boy was running around the room with his arms held out like wings.

  “He’s earned his second form early in life,” said Nest, and she would say no more on the subject. The boy animated and ran around, bragging about his accomplishment. Older children who hadn’t shifted yet watched enviously while he went back and forth between shapes. After a time, he went to sleep and we regained some normalcy.

  I had grown accustomed to the relative silence when Nest brought out figurines from her pouch and set them one by one on the floor where we sat. The older children grumbled, recognizing the layout and cast of characters at a glance.

  “We’ve heard this one.”

  “It bears retelling,” said Nest, snapping her fingers. The clay cracked about the surface, then each figure burst into motion, a layer of dust falling about their feet. The sorcerer blinked, stretched his arms forward, and brought his staff down on the floor, a surprising snap coming from the fist-sized man.

  “It’s not as good as Mordon’s,” said someone quietly.

  Nest laughed. “That is as it should be, one generation improving from the last.”

  Nevertheless, the room went quiet as the clay sorcerer spoke.

  “Camelot is lost without us, Morgana.”

  I missed Morgana’s reply when Nest scratched her head and asked if she should restart the figures from the beginning, but the children insisted this is when it wasn’t boring anymore, and they would not stand to watch the introduction again.

  Morgana’s clay figure was much more enchanting than Mordon’s rendition—this version gave her thick ringlets, a delicate face, and a lean figure. Morgana walked to join Merlin, an aged figure with knee-length beard and slightly crooked back.

  “Merlin.” Morgana’s figure drew away from him, “It is too late for Camelot.”

  “No, it is never too late,” Merlin said as though it was a common phrase he said. He looked at her, “Why do you know this?”

  “When I was captured—I had a choice. You, or Camelot, and you’re too important.”

  He slammed his staff and Morgana fell down. I heard the battle coming nearer—it seemed some dragon had slipped inside and was coming towards us.

  “Camelot is my life!” he yelled. The room shook and dust fell down from the ceiling; I didn’t think the clay puppet caused it.

  “As it grows, you die. Let someone else raise Camelot!”

  “Never.”

  Morgana cried out, “I cannot lose you!”

  “My life will one day be forfeit,” Merlin roared, “but Camelot was to continue! And now you say my life’s work is gone! Gone, and by your choice!”

  “ —Merlin—” The door rammed and shuddered as someone tried to break it down. The children didn’t seem to notice—at least the younger ones didn’t.

  “No! Begone from my sight! You are a traitor! A cold traitor! Set to destroying all I love! Begone from me now!” Merlin yelled, and brought down his staff. Morgana shrieked and her figure went back to being motionless clay. The children cheered, but I exchanged a sad look with Nest. In real life, hers were flawed and villains had good intentions. The line between good and evil, black and white, was not a clearly painted line like we were taught as children, but rather it was a gradient smoothly transitioning. If you followed it and never looked back, you never would know how far you had gone until it was too late to see your way home.

  The room gave another rattle through its timbers, shaking us down to the very quick. Nest cast one glance over her shoulder, as though to check that no one had broken through yet. “Bring the babies here!” she called.

  The babies were brought forth, and Nest muttered a couple of words that seemed somehow familiar, yet I was confident I had never heard them before. One by one, she pressed two fingers against each child’s forehead. Their eyes fluttered closed and they fell into a deep sleep.

  “That will help you hide,” the woman muttered, then waved her hands. “Off with ye! To the wind!”

  The older children—many I suspected were siblings—took the younger children and ran to the walls. Pulling aside tapestries, they revealed hidden tunnels just large enough for a grown man to crawl through.

  I hesitated, not sure where I should go. I had a feeling I should stay and fight, but I also had a notion that a human like me would be in very poor shape against fire-breathing dragons.

  Nest turned to me, her eyes wild and morphing into the blood orange eyes of a dragon. “Go with Denise and the baby! Get on the walls and watch for dragons. Denise will know where. Denise!”

  A girl broke from the rush and came forward; I would guess her age to be about twelve, and she held a baby in her arms. With one last glance at Nest—whose wrinkled skin was transforming into the ridged scales of a dragon—I motioned for Denise to lead the way. “The walls!” I shouted over the crackling of the door crumbling down.

  “This way!” Denise pulled aside a tapestry that no one else had gone to; I followed after her.

  The tunnel made several twists and turns at the very beginning, apparently to deter flames and any claws or tails that searched after escapees, then it was straight and angled upwards. Denise and I traded carrying the baby. It seemed to take us a long time to travel, and we were both pressed to go faster; I didn’t know where the other tunnels let out, but I wanted to be there to guard the opening before anyone started emerging.

  “They’re supposed to stay at the mouth of the tunnel ‘till we give the all-clear, but that never happens,” said Denise.

  Our tunnel rattled and a crack formed between us. We held still, breathless, until it st
opped shifting. “Better hurry,” I said. She nodded, eyes wide, and bolted. The tunnel grew lighter and lighter, then I was passing the baby to Denise so I could tumble out of the opening. We stood on the walls, and for an instant I was dizzy with the air cut through by dozens if not hundreds of dragons. I slumped against the wall and held my head, but only for a second.

  “There!” Denise pointed to the foot of the wall where several small forms—some dragon, some human—raced across open ground to a hut. A dragon turned from his course and swooped down.

  I couldn’t think; my heart stopped. All I could do was watch as the dragon loomed closer and closer. Three children made it to the hut, but the others were on an intercept course with teeth and claws.

  The wind changed, falling out from under the red dragon, and he dropped downward, his face and claws digging into cobblestone. He rammed into a cart and let loose a cry, “Wind drake!”

  The children made it to their hut. I thought I saw something small—something child-height but rounder—peer after the children, but with the bat of an eye, the thing was gone.

  “Did you do that?” asked Denise, then pointed to the next group. No dragon challenged them. The next group was spotted, but this time I had my senses to cast an illusion of a tree right in front of them. The dragon drew upward sharply. It was all I could do to keep my senses contained and sane. The movements in the wind attracted my attention any time I let it wander. I felt like I should be doing something, I felt that I knew how to put an end to this, but I had no clue what it was I could do. I wanted very, very much to be up there in the wind. I knew where each dragon was going, what feints they were using, what their weaknesses were. But I was down here, on the ground, watching and waiting.

  A dragon had seen us and was observing us for some time, the way a cat crouches and eyes a mouse before pouncing. I tried to urge Denise to go, but she refused to leave before everyone was safe. The dragon made her descent, and it was too late.

  The dragon landed in front of us, the walkway crumbling under her weight as she leaned forward. Smoke billowed from her nostrils as she spoke. “Lost, little drake? Or don’t you know what you are?”

  Denise shook her fist at the dragon, proclaiming, “I know what I am, you bully! Just you wait till I can shift forms!”

  The dragon blinked as though she hadn’t expected the girl to reply, then ignored Denise altogether. “Pay me respect where it is due. Show me the female that has taken the Lord’s heart.”

  I frowned in confusion. “If you are talking about Mordon,” I said, “I don’t know what you are referring to.”

  “Don’t insult me,” the dragon snapped, “I know what you are. The world knows what you are. Look in your reflection.”

  “Look—” I started.

  The dragon growled and slammed her foot down. “You look and see past your own tricks, there by your feet,” she said with a puff of smoke.

  Trees were burning at the base of the wall and I shifted the wind, coating us in a thick cloud of smoke. I grabbed Denise’s hand and bolted under the dragon’s belly. We almost collided with a back leg, then ducked around her tail and streaked for the tower.

  “You might be able to hide from me, but you can’t hide from yourself!” Roared the dragon before she took flight again.

  Denise and I pressed against the wall, the baby was waking up from Nest’s sleep spell and his face was pressed into angry red wrinkles. It came as no surprise when he wailed. I bounced him a little and held him close. Denise was no more help, instead growing angry.

  “Ohhh...that female!” Denise shook her fist at the door, “She gets worse as time goes on.”

  “You know her?” I asked. I was under the impression that dragons and drakes did not introduce themselves to each other very often; she was a most confusing creature, though right now I needed to focus on the present and not wonder about her words.

  Denise blushed, “We aren’t supposed to talk about her...she was from another drake colony. When there were other colonies.”

  Something hit our tower and a few stones wriggled, casting dried chunks of mortar about my feet. We made our way down the stairs, Denise still talking. “She was obsessed with Mordon, said it was their destiny to start a new colony together.”

  We stopped to look up as the top of the tower caught fire. I nudged Denise to keep moving. She descended the stairs at the same rate that she talked. “But Lord Mordon, see, he was already in love with his doppelganger.”

  We were almost to the point where a fall wouldn’t kill us, but smoldering pieces of roof was falling, and I worried about being hit by them. I pulled us into a doorway—it was locked—and waited until the worst was over. We continued, and I pressed our pace harder. When I saw Denise starting to fret, I got her to talk again.

  “Doppelganger?” I repeated.

  “Sorry,” Denise said, “Slang word. Ummm...I think the best word is ‘invisible friend’.”

  We ducked into a doorway and stood there, panting. The baby was contented now to make a fist and beat the air, his face bright red, but he had grown quiet except for the occasional scream.

  “Good thing Nest gave us the one who doesn’t like to talk,” said Denise.

  “Don’t you know his name?”

  Denise stared blankly at me, “I like plants.”

  “Ah,” I said, not much blaming her for not wanting to deal with the nursery, “Anyway, invisible friend?”

  “Oh,” she said, her voice softer as someone flew overhead, “Yes, but the friend is real, it’s someone’s spirit. Not everyone gets doppelgangers, just a few people every now and then, but it’s real special when it happens. Mordon was seventeen when he first met her, he said he only ever saw her as a dragon, but he swore he would never forget her laugh. A few years later, she was in trouble and he couldn’t help her.”

  Denise’s eyes were glazed over, remembering the tale she’d told over and over.

  “And?”

  She was waiting for the prompt, “And he never saw her again, though he swore to never give up on searching for her.”

  Something clicked about my chilly greeting when I came here. “Enaid and Aeron, they didn’t much like me because they thought I was there to make him stop looking.”

  “Are you?” she whispered.

  “I didn’t know about any of this,” I said.

  “True,” said Denise, “but now that you do, are you going to leave him be?”

  I rubbed my face with one cold hand. Rain was starting to fall down the shaft now instead of ashes.

  “Dreams must be seen through,” I said, wondering suddenly about what she’d said about doppelgangers. I held back a laugh and it came out as a snort. I’d remembered something I’d long since forgotten about, a thing I had always been too embarrassed to tell anyone about.

  “What?” said Denise.

  “I had an invisible friend.”

  “Oh?”

  “His name was Thessen.”

  Denise giggled, “I hope imagination was all he was.”

  I smiled, “He was nothing like the dragon.”

  “Was he a dragon?”

  “Human—or so I thought. I guess, I got more of a feeling of who he was and I could talk to him, but I didn’t really see him.”

  “Imagination,” said Denise with a firm nod, then she shivered as a draft went by us. Calling my senses to me, I built an air cushion over the top of the tower. Rain bounced off it and the tower stopped losing heat. As we waited for Nest, first Denise then the baby drifted off to sleep.

  I picked up a piece of polished metal and looked at my reflection. It was the same as always, though more bright than last time, more feral. What had I been hoping to see? A glimpse of what I saw in all the people here? I shook my head and set it down.

  A door above us opened.

  “Fera!” It was Mordon’s voice, in little short of a panic. “Fer-a!”

  “Here,” I called and waved my arm. Denise groaned and hid her eyes in my shoulder mor
e, and the baby squeezed his eyes shut tight.

  Mordon was down the steps and kneeling next to me in no time. His eyes shimmered with fire and his shoulder bled.

  “Are you well?” Mordon asked, brushing my hair back from my forehead. His fingers touched a bruise and I winced.

  “I’m fine.” I said, pushing myself more upright. “But you look rough.”

  “Young dragons,” he snorted, “they wanted to cause mischief more than actual damage.”

  Mordon put his arms around Denise and picked her up. I stood and stretched, careful to not move the baby too much. My arms ached from holding him.