by C. K. Rieke
He crossed his arms over his chest and looked back east, in the direction of the egg, somewhere in the mountains between the three Great Cities of Voru, Azgobinadan, and Godan. “I’ll figure it out, but until then . . . we are just going to keep walking. Up you go.” He motioned for her to get on his back once again.
She scrunched her face again but knowing that she could hardly keep walking through her tiredness, walked over to him and jumped onto his back as he crouched. “We don’t have much time, so I hope we figure out something, because I’m tempted to call Herradax, and I may, but again I don’t know if she could carry me or would let me fly atop her back. I wish Lilaci was here, she’d know what to do.”
“I hope you get to see her again,” Veranor said. “I hope that I get to someday.”
“I used to have to tell Fewn that I’d try to stop Lilaci from killing her,” Kera said.
“It seemed you did a good enough job at it,” he said.
“I can’t promise it’ll work for you,” she said. “And I wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t listen to me this time.”
“Neither would I.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Just before the cool dawn the following day, Veranor opened his eyes, squinting to avoid the bright glow of the yellowing clouds growing on the horizon. His eyelids were heavy and hard to open, because opening them was like pulling back thick wool drapes from a sunlit window. Lying on his back on his outstretched cloak’s cape on the hard desert floor, he rubbed his eyes with the backs of his hands. He pushed himself up from the sand to look over at Kera who slept less than a meter away. A slow, light-wheezing snore came from the young girl.
Her cape was pulled snuggly over her body, and she had curled her knees tightly up to her chest, only her toes hung out from under the tan-colored cape. Her black hair rustled delicately in the early-morning breeze. Even the hard-hearted Veranor found it difficult to wake the girl from such a sound and peaceful sleep, but he knew time was not on their side.
“Rise, child,” he said, placing his hand on her arm and nudging her back and forth softly.
She let out a sigh that broke through her snoring. He shook her again, this time with a bit more force. Another sigh, this time louder.
“The sun is rising Kera, we need to be off,” he said.
She turned over to look at him, her silver eyes glistening yellow and orange in the glow of the rising sun. Her face had a thin layer of sand, like a second skin. Kera looked as if she wanted to cry with her sad eyes looking up at him, Veranor wondered if she had enough water in her body to release tears or not.
“Come, girl, let's be off,” he said, holding out his hand for her to take.
Again, it looked as if she wanted to let tears fall, but none came. She took his hand.
“If you’re still tired, I will carry you.”
“It’s impossible,” she said softly. “There’s no way we’re going to make it there in time. There’s no sign of Herradax. And I’m so thirsty.”
Veranor knew all of what Kera said was true. But first thing was the water. He’d need to find some water soon, even from a fresh cactus, then he’d need to do the impossible; he’d need to find a way to get to the egg within that week, or Dânoz would send out sure-death to find them.
“Either way, we need to be getting on our way,” Veranor said. “Come, now, hop on up.” He knelt, with his back to her, and she jumped up, wrapping her slender arms around his strong neck. “There you go. I’ll find you something to drink, you just rest.”
Her head dropped to his shoulder, and shortly after he heard the delicate sounds of sleep come from the girl.
Midway through the day, the sun loomed high overhead, and even in the ‘cooler’ months of Wendren, the heat of the sun crept through their hoods and Kera shifted on Veranor’s back, trying to shake off the uncomfortablity growing from being on his warm back. She released her arms from around his neck and fell back to her feet. Her shoulders sunk as she walked next to him.
In this stretch of the desert due south of Voru, the region known as Barra, hard dirt stretched out far and wide between the high dunes in the distance. Small patches of dry grass and dead shrubs spotted the ground. Fresh, green cacti were scattered around sparsely, and weren’t plump with water, but stale and sinewy. Veranor knew that they were about to enter into the area of the Arr, known to him as the Divine Triangle, the area that was cornered by the three Great Cities. This would be where the gods had their most influence, and most control.
After another thirty minutes, Veranor spotted a green cactus, thick at the bottom and shooting out into three ‘branches’, each with a collection of three to six bulbous cactus leaves. At the top of each was a three-petaled flower of red and white. He went over with his dagger and went to carving each cactus branch apart and removing the prickly spikes. First, he removed the skin from one and hastily handed it to Kera in slices, who eagerly plopped it into her mouth and chewed. It was bitter and smelled of aloe, but she groaned in ecstasy, even having a new thin layer of moisture in her mouth. Then he placed one in his mouth, he bit down on the cactus, letting its warm juices flow down his dry throat.
“Thank you,” she said, her mouth full of the white flesh of the cactus.
They both sat next to the plant, as Veranor continued to dissect the entirety of the cactus, placing each smooth piece into his pack for later.
“What we need are some Ioxi,” she said. “I don’t know how you expect to carry me across the desert, even you are going to get too tired to go on.”
“I don’t want to dampen your spirits,” he said, “but even with a full caravan of wagons and well-fed Ioxi . . . we wouldn’t make it in time. We have to find another way.”
“What other way is there? Besides the magic of the gods themselves?”
“Herradax would be the only way I can think,” he said.
“But I haven’t seen her in days, and I don’t know if she is strong enough to carry me, or if she would even let me.”
“She seems to know you as her queen, if you will,” he said. “She killed that oncoming attack of Reevins back there. Surely she only did that because they were after us—and you. Perhaps you should try to call her, and you’ll have to go on by yourself, as much as I dislike that decision. Go ahead, try.”
Kera called out the dragon’s name into the air. Once, then again louder, and a third time. The name of Herradax echoed slightly in the silent desert, only the sound of the wind was heard between each call. They both eagerly looked up to the sky for the gray dragon with the three red stripes that had grown quickly between each time they’d last seen her.
Nothing.
A flock of birds long-necked flew in from the west, flying in a V-formation.
“You know what else flies high in the sky?” she asked him.
He turned to her with a curious gaze.
“The elders used to have a myth they’d tell me about when I was young, just a story to get me to fall asleep. It was a story of an animal that lived long ago, back when the dragons lived. But it died when they did. It was never seen again, but in the Age of Orn, it was told to have the slender body of a lion with silky, black fur and white, angelic albatross wings. It was a creature of magic called the Aridon. The elders told me there was only one way to call the Aridon. It was an ancient tune, forgotten long ago. I don’t know how this would help at all, but I’ve been thinking about that tale the last couple of days.” She looked up to see Veranor hold a strange expression on his face, with his brow furrowed and his lips slightly apart. His eyes fixed heavily on hers. “Have you heard the tale?”
“I—I know it,” he said.
“Oh,” Kera said. “You’ve heard of the Aridon?”
“No, no.” He shook his head. “It hadn’t occurred to me, it’s an old tale that has been slowly forgotten over the ages. But you were right, they were last said to be alive when the dragons were here in these lands. It’s as slim a chance as finding a fish with feathers, but I know i
t . . . I know the tune . . .”
“You . . . you do?” Kera asked. “How . . . how could you know it?”
“In the Book of the Unknown in Voru, there is a tune called Operum Vanti Aridon. There was no specific note that it summoned the Aridon, but what other tune would call them? And I was never able to test its merit, as the creature has been extinct for such a long time. I believe I can create the tune . . .”
“Then do it,” Kera said.
Veranor rose at once, and rummaged around the bushes. “Help me find some sort of reed, or hollow plant. We’ve got to create a wind that can carry a pitch.”
Kera rose and searched the area as well for a plant to create a flute-like instrument with. Kera knew what to look for, as her people had been making instruments for themselves for generations. Pushing her way through heaps of brown plants, at the center of one a few minutes later, she found an outshoot of four reed-like sticks, one of them appeared to be without cracks, and was long enough to carve out perhaps enough holes to carry a tune. She pulled her dagger out with a ringing sound and slit the reed at its base. She quickly ran it over to Veranor who took it.
After the first hole was carved, without looking up at her, he asked, “Did the elders tell you the other part of the story of the Aridons?”
“Other part?” she asked. “I—I don’t know. I didn’t know there was another part.”
He continued carving out the second hole in the reed. “The part they left out is trickier than just playing a handful of notes to attract the Aridon. Once it comes, or they come, they are vicious predators, and they seek to kill those that call them. To reign an Aridon into submission, you must mount one and caress its neck three times. But they are quick, with sharp teeth and claws that are ready to tear skin from bone.”
Kera paused in thought, scratching her cheek. “Well, once, and in the rare chance, they come, we will just have to figure that part out. I don’t see another way forward. Do you?”
Veranor grunted, moving on to carving out the third hole. “This is almost certainly not going to work, but no, I don’t see another way forward.”
“Then let's hope we get attacked by some Aridons soon,” she said.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Is it ready?” Kera asked as she jittered up and down, her shoes clicking on the hard-stone floor of the desert.
Veranor inspected the reed that now resembled a poor man’s flute. Eight holes lined the top of the dry, smooth brown reed; it held a slight shimmer in the sunlight. Veranor checked each hole, then lifted the end of the reed up to his lips. Yet, before he did he looked at Kera with as serious a gaze as she’d ever seen from the already serious man.
“There is almost no way this is going to produce anything but a handful of slightly off-key notes,” he said, “but if something does come . . . If the Aridon has returned to the Arr, you stay behind me. No matter what happens.”
She returned his gaze with a startling glare and nodded. He then lifted the reed to his lips and blew. It was a hollowed, airy sound with a slightly high-pitched tone. He then placed his index finger on the first hole, and a clearer tone emitted from the wind instrument, one that Kera recognized. She watched with eager anticipation.
Veranor lowered the reed, and carved at the section at the mouth-end of the flute, then blew the freshly carved pieces from it, and raised it back up to his lips. He blew again, this time a clear tone came. And as he moved his fingers up and down on the holes a mélange of melodies rose into the normally stale desert air. It was the first instrument Kera had heard in months. She was surprised Veranor was so adept at creating music.
“I haven’t played it yet,” he said, lowering the flute. “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” she said. “I must admit, though, I’m scared.”
“Just stay behind me.” And with that he raised the reed and blew once more, then he closed his eyes, and as his fingers rose and fell to the wind in an elegant pattern, a beautiful sequence of notes created a tune that was both enchanting and old. It was a tune that hadn’t been played on the sands in generations. Kera was fixated on the way he played the reed, and she found it difficult to look away. There was something about the melody that took every bit of her attention. It was intoxicating.
Veranor’s eyes remained closed as he played, as it seemed it took every bit of his own focus to play the song. Time faded and the scene around Veranor darkened, it was similar to the warm feeling of dazing off to sleep after a warm meal. The song danced through her and she felt her body relax, her hands fell to her sides and she felt a calming serenity.
Even Veranor seemed to be swaying back and forth as he played the song, his eyes still closed and his fingers moving majestically along the smooth reed. The two of them were in a dance of sorts to the tune as they moved back and forth. Something broke the bright sunlight in half behind Veranor’s closed eyelids, and his eyes shot open. Kera saw this and the terror returned to her, looking into the panicked eyes of the commander.
Veranor rose and grabbed Kera by the arms, his grip was so tight the girl was jerked toward him before she even knew what was going on, but she quickly found out. Veranor tossed her to the sand behind him, where she fell to her side. Kera lay on the sand, looking up at Veranor as he unsheathed his sword, its metal reflecting in the sunlight. Then the sky above him turned black. It was a slender, long black with bright white wings like that of an angel.
“Stay down!” Veranor yelled.
The Aridon had flown just over the commander and Kera, it was so close they could smell the musty aroma of the beast. She rose and watched as the black body of the lion shot through the air at an unnatural speed, but just as quickly it came back toward them with its white-feathered wings outstretched. Veranor rushed in between Kera and the Aridon, with his sword held with both hands at his side, in a defensive position.
The Aridon didn’t fly past but let its black-furred feet fall to the desert floor, with its long claws easily tearing into the hard ground. Its eyes were wild, as feral as any beast’s eyes they’d ever seen, save for Herradax’s. It let out a low growl as its eyes fixated on the sword at the commander’s side. He moved the sword from his side to hold it out directly in front of him, with its sharp tip aimed directly at the winged creature that moved silently toward them.
“You will obey my command,” Veranor said, moving the sword back to his side. “I summoned you here for our aid. This girl here, she is the reason you have been—”
But the Aridon let out a roar that silenced the commander and made Kera cover her ears. It was indeed the roar of a lion, but so loud it might shatter glass and send all alive to hear it running for cover.
“This girl, she is the reason you have been resurrected to the sands. She is the Dragon’s Breath. You’ve been gone many years, great Aridon.” The beast continued its slow approach toward them, its head dipped low, as if on a hunt. “She’s already risen one of the ancient serpentine, and we are on a path to raise another, but we have far to go, and not long to get there. I command you to—”
But with a speed that surprised even Veranor, with a quick brush with its sparkling white wings it leaped toward him with another loud roar, the great cat’s milky-white teeth gliding through the air toward them. The commander’s sword was quick too, and as the Aridon flew high toward his chest, he slashed his sword toward the animal as the commander slunk to the sandy ground. Veranor looked up to see the long black body float above him, and he felt a fear unusual to him. He only felt that type of fear among the gods or the dragons. He watched as his sword, with as sharp as it was, glide harmlessly along the Aridon’s chest and stomach. Not a single drop of blood was spilled.
“Kera,” he murmured. The body of the beast, easily twice as heavy as the commander, fell onto Kera, who collapsed to the ground. “Kera!”
Veranor rose, but he knew he was already too late. The black lion mauled the girl viciously, clawing at her as if to tear her apart. He watched in horror as its neck muscles glisten
ed as it sunk its teeth into her. Its sharp claws thrashed her, as the wings of the beast jostled from the vicious attack. Kera had been letting out short calls for help and terror, but her voice soon faded.
“Kera, no—”
Veranor watched as the Aridon raised its head from the attack, and slowly turned back toward Veranor. The commander caught a glimpse of Kera’s body behind the beast, it was motionless. He held his sword up to his side again. “You devil,” he said. “She was as much a queen to you as any in these cursed lands. Go ahead, come on! You like to kill innocent children? You don’t know what you’ve done, she was our only chance! Come on, surely not every part of you is invincible.” The Aridon continued to creep toward the commander, its head lowered, and ready for another attack. “Let's find which part of you can bleed . . .”
Veranor raised his sword, his hands gripping it tightly. He worried not for his own death at that moment, no, he only focused on one last kill—the death of the first Aridon in many lifetimes—and as he shifted his feet to burst toward the beast, eager to find a weak point in it, a pair of silver eyes rose from behind the beast.
“It can’t be . . .” he whispered. The Aridon seemed to notice the commander’s confusion, and went to turn around, but before it fully could, young arms wrapped around the creature’s strong neck from behind. “Hurry, Kera, three strokes!”
In a whirlwind of confusion, the Aridon twisted and thrashed, with its long wings rustling on both sides as Kera held on a tightly as she could.
“Great Aridon,” she called, and with a single stroke of her hand on its neck the Aridon thrashed even more violently. “You have returned to the sands because I have risen the dragons.” Another stroke then, and the beast let out a roar as loud as a dragon itself. “You will obey me. I need your strength and your flight.” It let out another roar again, its eyes opened wide in a wild fury. It flew straight up into the air—twirled and flailed—with Kera hanging from its neck, her feet swaying harshly in the wind. She could fall at any moment as it tried to shake her from its back, and she would fall all the way back to the sands.