A Trail of Embers

by C A Kinnee

  Kieran ignored her. He stepped back and bent to pick up his pack.

  The tremor in her fingers bothered Meara more than the scare he’d given her. She lifted the egg and settled it into its traveling pocket. He’s coming. The words circled through her head.

  The egg hummed and a soft voice whispered, “It can’t be the same person.”

  Meara’s heart stopped, then slowly regained its painful pumping. She craned her neck in search of the speaker.

  “It’s me.” The tiny voice was impatient.

  “Meara, let’s go,” Kieran called as he pulled a handful of powder from a pocket in his cloak. He scattered it over the flame. The fire flared and died—all trace of smoke extinguished in a single breath.

  Concentrating on the tiny voice, Meara missed his satisfied smile.

  “Can you hear me?” She closed her eyes and thought the words. Until now, she and the egg had exchanged feelings, a sense of things, but never true words.

  Kieran scowled and grabbed his long bow slinging it over his shoulder.

  “Come on,” he muttered, jerking his head towards the trail.

  The sound of his voice broke her concentration. Meara opened her eyes, surprised to find him ready for travel. Overhead the first pale gray slivers of dawn painted the underbellies of the clouds. This deep in the forest, a thick canopy of branches buffered them from the worst of the rain. In the treetops, she heard the first sounds of birdsong.

  “Who is coming?” she asked.

  “Metreo and Rahdon. They want the egg. Let’s go,” he said grimly, brushing past her.

  Meara frowned. She had to follow him, she had no other choice. Alone she was as helpless as the egg. The egg twitched and chattered making her smile. They stepped forward, moving deeper into the trees. Meara’s feet sank in the thick layer of rotting leaves and pine needles. The pungent scent of fir and the earthy smell of decaying leaves were as unfamiliar to her as the looming trees. The air—crisp and cold—carried none of the taint of Vendonne’s alleys. She sniffed, testing out the new aromas.

  “Where are we going? Where is this dragon you keep blabbering about?” she asked.

  Kieran didn’t answer. Once again, he had withdrawn into himself, speaking only to direct her to the invisible path he followed. Overhead, the old growth trees stood as quiet sentinels watching over them. Fine, he could have his silence. It would let her sort through some of the questions piling up like drifts of freshly fallen snow.

  Had the egg spoken to her? How could it? Was it truly the offspring of a dragon? If it was, it had a mother—a big fire-breathing dragon mother. She slowed and cast a worried look over her shoulder. The last thing she wanted to see was a fire-breathing monster topping the rise of trees.

  “Kieran, I— Ouch!” She walked into his back and fell back cradling her nose.

  “Oww. Why must you—?”

  “Quiet.” He held up his hand, waving her to silence. “Corbin,” he whispered.

  Gingerly she touched her nose and tried to edge past him, wanting to see what he saw. She heard the crash of a heavy body breaking through the brush and caught a glimpse of gray fur and long ears. Kieran yanked her back.

  “Lucky, we heard them. The last thing we need to run into is a corbin with a kit,” he said.

  She rolled her eyes and snorted. Where she came from, fluffy creatures with long floppy ears weren’t something to be afraid of.

  “Why are you so—?” she began, but Kieran was already moving.

  Frustrated, she kicked at a rock. It bounced across the trail ricocheting off the back of his boot. That earned her a quick glare. She looked for another rock. Why were they doing this? What was he looking for? So far all they had done was walk, or worse, run. She directed her own glare at his back, wrinkled her nose and stuck out her tongue.

  Overhead, the treetops swayed. A barrage of rainwater poured down on her as a black shape plummeted towards her. At the last second, the shape slowed and glided lazily across her path. An inky black raven landed on the ground beside her. A single white feather marked his wing.

  “Murkwing,” Meara called in delight.

  She turned and found Kieran with an arrow notched in his longbow. He dropped his protective stance and shoved the arrow back into the quiver.

  “Come on,” he muttered, pushing his bow up to rest on his back once more. “We waste time.”

  Murkwing flew to her shoulder, stretched his neck and cocked his head to one side. His beady eyes fastened on her face. Gently, Meara stretched a finger and stroked his inky feathers. He uttered a throaty warble, declaring his satisfaction with the world.

  “I don’t feel any damage to his wing. Do you think he’s alright?” she asked.

  Kieran hunched his shoulders impatiently and started walking. “He’s a bird. He flew here to find you—his wings are fine. Let’s go.”

  “Go where? All we are doing is walking. All you say is, “Let’s go!” She’d had enough of his superiority. It was time to take a stand. She planted her hands on her hips and tossed her hair back from her eyes, refusing to move.

  “I’ve told you.” Kieran’s face flushed. His hands clenched at his sides. “We have to return the egg to the nest. If we don’t, the dragon will find it gone when she wakes.”

  “Are there really such things as dragons?” For a moment, she forgot her irritation. “Truly?”

  “Of course, there are,” Kieran said, shaking his head in disgust at her ignorance.

  “If dragons exist, how many of the other old tales are true? What about diomortes or vintabas?” She frowned. She wouldn’t mind if vintabas existed. They sounded pretty with their delicate multicolored wings. Diomortes on the other hand—she shivered. The black-winged predator with its thirst for blood sounded like something that should remain only in the songs of the musicians.

  “Kieran, I have to tell you something.” She stopped. Should she tell him the egg spoke to her? It had warned her twice of danger—once when the pretty man grabbed her and again when the howlers attacked.

  Kieran took two steps forward and glanced back to see if she followed. He blew out a gusty sigh.

  “We have to move faster. Metreo is tracking us. I found the signs not far from here. Rahdon breaks more branches than one of the wagons from your walled town. As long as he’s with Metreo, we’ll know where they are.” He stopped and risked another glance at her. “The First is on his way to find us.”

  “Who is this First?”

  It was Kieran’s turn to halt in the middle of the trail.

  His expression would have made her laugh if she weren’t so tired. Instead the blank amazement on his face annoyed her.

  “Who is this First that you keep babbling of?” Meara knew she sounded like a cranky child, but she was sick of walking, tired of silence. She was used to the clatter of a busy town. She had to speak and hear her own voice at least. She waited. “I’m not taking another step until you tell me.”

  “Let’s go,” he said again.

  She smiled and shook her head. The fact her obstinacy was bothering him gave her a twinge of satisfaction. It was good to see him ruffled. Ever since they had reached the forest, he’d been acting like some great hero.

  “Meara.”

  “One answer, Kieran. You can you give me that,” she said, setting her feet firmly in the spongy needles of the forest floor. Murkwing moved restlessly.

  “Okay.”

  Kieran flung his pack to the ground and slowly straightened. Meara rolled her eyes.

  “Do you really think you can scare me?” she asked. Her eyes met his in a steady gaze.

  He sighed, muttering, “You’re worse than a baby corbin, all soft and girlish on the outside with sharp claws hidden within.”

  He shook his head and looked out at the forest before continuing.

  “The First is the most powerful conjurer of our people. He will know what to do with the egg. The egg—the Harmony egg—links the dragon to us. Now let’s go.” He grabbed his pack and
tossed it back over one shoulder. He looked as if he wished he could do the same with her.

  “What can he do?” She took a step and stopped to wait for his answer.

  “Who?” he said impatiently.

  “This First—the one you’re so in awe of,” she said.

  “I don’t know. I am not a wizard.”

  “Aren’t you? Then how did you conjure lightning? How can you hear voices on the wind?”

  He didn’t answer. If anything, he moved faster.

  Meara muttered a curse and trotted to catch up with him. He seemed to think that if he raced over the trails, she wouldn’t have the breath to ask questions. That showed how little he knew her.

  “So, what are you?” she asked.

  Kieran’s stride checked and sped up.

  “I am a tracker. Or, if you prefer, a scout.”

  “You can’t have been a very good one if you lost the egg. And why are you alone?”

  The question appeared to sting him. He stopped so abruptly, she walked into him. He grabbed her arms to keep her from falling backwards. Murkwing left her shoulder in a flurry of inky feathers. He drifted to a branch above their heads.

  “I am a tracker and a good one. I found the egg, didn’t I? Unfortunately, the egg is with you. Give it to me, and I’ll take it back to the dragon. You can go back to that cesspool you call home, and we’ll never have to see each other again.” For Kieran, it was a long speech.

  Meara straightened the hood of her cloak and said, “The egg won’t go with you. He will only stay with me.”

  “He? You know what the egg is,” he whispered.

  “I know some things.”

  “Like what?” Kieran looked sick.

  “I know it takes more than a simple fall to hurt his shell. The fires of the dragon must have hardened it, or maybe dragon eggs are naturally tough. The egg says his shell won’t crack.” She shrugged and gave him a condescending glare.

  “The egg says . . .” Kieran swallowed hard. He looked sick. “But only one bonded with the egg can speak to it. It would never bond to an outsider.”

  His face looked as pinched as a wrung-out sea sponge. His lips moved, but Meara only caught a few muttered words.

  “. . . safe . . . an outsider . . . what do I do?” He threw her a hunted look and took two paces, before turning back to face her. “From now on, I have to guard you and the egg. If the egg has truly joined with an outsider, only the First and the Council will know what to do to break the bond.”

  Meara glared at him. What he really meant was—How could the egg have joined with someone like you? He started walking again, leaving her to catch up. That made her blood boil. He knew she wouldn’t go off on her own. The forest was too intimidating. She was as stuck with him as he was with her.

  Still fuming, she fell into step behind him. Silent once more, they moved deeper into the forest.

  Chapter 16

  Danger—be wary.

  Wait—watch!

  In the darkness

  pay heed.

  Translated from the Chronicles of the Egg

  “We’ve been walking for hours,” Meara complained, skirting a rotting tree covered in heavy moss and fat gray toadstools. She yanked the hem of her cloak away from the thick orange spores covering the caps and wrinkled her nose at the earthy smell of decaying foliage.

  Since Kieran had discovered she could speak to the egg, he had tripled their pace. As time passed, her temper spiked to match that tripling. She caught herself acting like one of the nagging wives who nightly invaded the inn to reclaim their missing husbands. If she didn’t get answers to her questions soon, she would burst.

  “When will we be there? How long?” she demanded loudly.

  Once again, he didn’t answer, but the long line of his back stiffened. So far, he had ignored her questions or hushed her with dirty looks. Well, she was no longer going to let her fear of the forest keep her quiet.

  “How long?” she repeated. “You do know, don’t you? Answer me.”

  He grunted something in reply. It was probably just as well she missed it. One word had been audible, and she was familiar with that one.

  “You don’t know, do you?” It was a guess, but obviously correct. His steps stuttered and resumed.

  She blew out a gusty sigh. Merdon. He wouldn’t admit that he didn’t know where they were. He was lost. Or maybe that mighty First of his wasn’t coming.

  “Patience,” the egg muttered.

  “Patience! He is a fool!” The words now flew naturally between the egg and her.

  “We must trust him. I fear the Mage and his men. Cold, dark.” The egg retreated to silence. Its shiver sent an answering one through Meara. The egg had told her little about his time with the men, but that little was enough to settle her back to walking quietly behind Kieran.

  The forest of Cranog had existed since the start of time—an endless ocean of green surrounding the ancient walled city. Every citizen knew that the towering old growth trees were home to violent, lawless people who preyed on the passing caravans. Parents used threats of “a night with the trees” or “running the treeless zone” to discipline their children. Tales of travelers lost kept the citizens of the town compliant enough to warm even Zarnache’s cold heart.

  Meara had heard too many of the stories to ignore them. At night, when the wagon masters gathered at the massive wheel-shaped table at the back of the inn, they were free with their words and their centons. Ensconced in the worn wooden chairs, their brimming mugs of ale at their elbows, the men spouted stories like trees sprouted leaves—stories of sinkholes opening underfoot and sucking unwary travelers to the bottom of the world, or tales of attackers falling from the trees, striking the caravans, killing the men and spiriting the women and children into the mist. The accounts brought shudders of horror to even the hardiest souls.

  The memory of those tales sent a prickle up Meara’s spine. She risked a peek behind her and saw nothing but trees and rocks. Still—she ran her eyes over the wide expanse of green—it wasn’t hard to imagine eyes in the dark emerald depths. Cowed, she sidled closer to Kieran. The oppressive stillness thickened as the egg’s voice drifted to silence. Did the egg sleep?

  Time dragged. The rain slowed, no longer beating downwards. Instead it dripped sporadically, falling through the thick canopy of branches. She started to dry off. The non-stop walking was monotonous. Kieran’s insistence that they stay quiet began to irk like a burr under her cloak.

  Bored, she lagged behind, taking time to look more closely at her surroundings. A small creature resembling a fat dust mote shrieked and made an impossible leap between two trees. It scampered the length of a bough, barking shrilly before diving into a nest of leaves. The trail curved, leading them deeper into a dark copse of cedar. Thick blue-green moss drooped from dizzying heights and touched the ground in fat drifts. The moss, so thick and soft, felt like kitten fur when it brushed her face. Purple cup-shaped flowers poked their heads free of the forest floor. The rain had filled them like brimming mugs of ale. That made her think of Shay Lann. She wished she could tell her the tales of doom and gloom were nothing but trees and bushes. Except for the furry corbin earlier, they’d seen only birds and small tree-dwelling creatures all day.

  She kicked her feet through a thick gray weed winding close to the trail. Its leaves imploded with a satisfying pop. Intrigued she looked for more of the weed, leaving the path to walk through it, laughing as tiny clouds of powder exploded with every pop.

  “Kieran,” she called. “Look.” She jumped on a fat clump of the weed and smiled as the leaves collapsed with a hollow snap.

  Kieran muttered and glanced back. He stopped.

  “No, you can’t . . . I . . .” He ran towards her.

  The sharp crack of the pods under her sandaled feet delighted her. She looked up laughing and found him next to her, staring as though he had never seen her before.

  Her heart beat faster. Her cheeks felt warm and tingling. “What?”
she asked. “Have I dirt on my face?” She scrubbed self-consciously at her nose and checked her hand for smudges.

  He blinked and looked down at where he stood beside her in the midst of the crunchy plant.

  “Merdon!” he muttered. He leapt away from the mashed plant and gave her another of his dirty looks. “Look what you’ve done. You might as well leave a trail of gold for them to follow.”

  Confused, she looked at her sandaled feet. “What now, Kieran? I stepped on a plant.” Her simple pleasure in snapping the crunchy pods withered.

  “We have to find water,” he said.

  Meara gawked.

  “You are insane. The rain had finally stopped falling and you want to find water?” She shook her head.

  “You don’t understand. You can’t walk in that. You have to avoid it. If you track through it, you’ll leave a trail even you could follow.”

  Meara bristled, glaring at him.

  “Even I? Do you think I am the fool? You can’t dance. You can’t order food at an inn. You can’t even walk through a room without getting in a fight. I know how to figure out who to choose for a dancing partner, but you—”

  “That may well be, but we aren’t in town. We’re in the forest, and you have no more sense than a baby!” Kieran’s voice rose sharply.

  “Are you calling me stupid?” Meara’s voice popped up an octave. A flock of birds exploded from the foliage in a whir of black and white feathers.

  The egg quivered and woke chattering. Meara took a step closer to Kieran. If he thought she would back away from a fight, he was wrong.

  “No, you must not . . . you will awaken . . .” The egg drifted back to silence.

  The bushes swayed. Another batch of birds detonated upwards. The ground trembled.

  “We have to get the egg to the First.”

  “You and your stupid First! The egg stays with me.”

  Kieran’s mouth opened and closed at her slur on the First Council of Helligon.

  “Who speaks of a powerful wizard that way? Are you truly a fool? You’re only a street rat from Vendonne. You know nothing of the world.”