by L. L. MacRae
The old man nodded. ‘Well, we’re all doctors now, I suppose. Gotta help each other how we can.’
Apollo’s stomach turned as he remembered what had happened. ‘The attack on the palace?’
‘Terrible thing it was. Could see the smoke for days.’
‘Days?’ Apollo’s heart pounded. ‘How long was I asleep?’
‘Must’ve been three days now. Of course, you were unconscious when that Olmese lad brought you in, so might’ve been longer than that?’
Olmese? Apollo didn’t know anyone from Olmir, did he? His mind whirled, confusion muddying everything. He could worry about his apparent rescuer later, once he was fit enough to think straight and walk.
Wait. Three days?
Torsten would have made it to Foxmouth by now. ‘Oh, shit. Are there pigeons here?’
‘Sure. Plenty of pigeons, thank Toriaken.’ He held up a small bundle from under his pillow. ‘I’m sending this to some family of mine down in Horush. I can send something for you, too?’
Apollo shook his head. ‘I need to get a message to Foxmouth. My wife and daughter are there.’
The man’s smile fell, his mouth widening in surprise. ‘Oh…oh! I’m so sorry, lad. Didn’t think there was anyone from there anymore. Foxmouth is gone.’
‘What…?’ Apollo was sure he was delirious.
The old man gave him a kind, sad smile. ‘It was attacked by the Myr, too. Neros rose to fight back, but…the town was destroyed. It’s completely gone.’
30
The Dragons
Fenn
Fenn grabbed the priestess before she hit the icy floor. Her skin was burning up, as if she’d been standing beside a hot fire for hours. ‘Selys? Selys, talk to me! Are you okay?’
She didn’t respond.
Fenn held Selys carefully, crouched on the floor. His breathing shook as he suddenly realised he was alone and responsible for looking after her. There was no Calidra to take charge, no Jisyel with her light-hearted humour, no Varlot to offer his gruff advice.
‘Selys?’ Fenn called again, shaking her gently.
Nothing.
He could feel her breath and heartbeat, which was some relief, but he didn’t know what to do. The injury on her shoulder was bleeding, and whatever Neros had done to her body had obviously taken its toll. He needed to get her help, and soon.
He shrugged out of his cloak and bundled it up on the floor, resting her head on it like a pillow. Then, he paced the chamber, thinking. They were in the middle of the mountains, and the outpost was the closest place he could go to for help. It was also where the Inquisitors were based, and Varlot could still be there, too.
But after what she’d done to the Inquisitors? She was likely to be arrested on sight.
He couldn’t risk going there.
Somewhere south-east was Nethal, he recalled. Again, a large town that would likely have supplies. Doctors. But also Inquisitors.
Fenn turned to Vermecio. ‘Can you heal her?’
‘I cannot.’
He rolled his eyes. Then again, the reason it had been able to help him was because his pain and weakness had been due to the Myrish curse. It made sense the Myrish construct could help him but not Selys.
But that thought sparked an idea. Perhaps he should get her to the Lasseen Ocean? It was Neros’s domain, after all. And the dragon who apparently never blessed her priests and priestesses had just broken that rule. He didn’t understand why, and doubted Selys did either, but getting her to Neros was probably his best bet.
He squeezed his eyes shut, tried to think. A shrine would probably be able to help, too, but he had no idea if there was one anywhere near. The ocean was easy to find, though. He’d seen it in the distance when they’d climbed up the mountain. He just hoped that Neros actually cared for her priestess.
Fenn sat down and rooted through their meagre supplies. There was dried fruit, smoked fish, and a couple of small, sour apples. It wasn’t much, but he wolfed it down, one eye on Selys in case she stirred. It had been almost a whole day since he’d last slept, but thanks to Vermecio’s help, Fenn knew he could make it back down the mountain—even carrying Selys—without too much trouble. And given her condition, he ought to get going sooner rather than later.
Her desire—or rather Neros’s desire—to destroy the bastion was a concern. Right now, it was his only chance at getting his memories back, and he had no intention of letting that chance be taken from him.
Food eaten, he stood up and wiped his hands. ‘Vermecio. I will be back with the thing you asked for, and you will restore my memories.’
‘I look forward to your return, Fenn.’ Vermecio grinned again, teeth glinting in the dawn light that spilled into the cavern.
The gesture was unnerving, and Fenn quickly looked away. ‘Come on Selys, we need to get you some help.’ He carefully pulled her up and over his shoulder, then picked up her glaive, which was surprisingly light. Once he adjusted their bags, weapon, and Selys herself, Fenn took a deep breath and made his way back down the tunnel to the mouth of the cave.
It was strange, retracing his steps but without the ability to see any of the dark mist that he had before. He smiled. It was the next piece of evidence that the curse—in part—had been lifted. He just hoped there weren’t any Myrish spirits around that he wouldn’t be able to see, now.
Fenn was greeted by a cold, brisk wind blowing across the face of the mountain. There hadn’t been any more snowfall, for which he was grateful, and the rising sun gave him plenty of light to navigate by. With another deep breath, he headed east, towards the Lasseen Ocean and help for the priestess of Neros.
It took until well past midday before Fenn reached the treeline near the base of the mountain. A river flowed between the peaks, and he followed the sound of that for most of the afternoon, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw the distant trees.
His feet were numb with cold, yet sweat rolled down his back from the effort of hiking downhill while carrying Selys. She hadn’t stirred at all during the trek, and Fenn was beginning to worry something was seriously wrong.
How did the spirits’ magic work, exactly?
Trying not to think too much, he continued on doggedly through the snow towards the shelter of the trees. It had been so long since he’d had any energy at all that it was difficult to work out when he was becoming tired.
Periodically, he checked on Selys. He stopped to rest, checked the wound on her shoulder, made sure she was breathing easily. The wound hadn’t healed at all. It was an angry red and swollen. He rinsed it with the cold river water, half-expecting the shock to wake Selys, but she didn’t so much as twitch.
Lumps of ice drifted down the river, sinking every so often only to pop back up to the surface with a splash. Fenn wished he could sit on them and be swept downriver—it would certainly let them cover ground more quickly.
The quiet was disconcerting. He’d become so used to the voices in his head, or the chatter of his companions, that being left alone with his own thoughts and footsteps crunching through the snow was almost too much for him to cope with. He tried not to speak aloud, but by the time he reached the treeline, Fenn was having full conversations with Selys—even if she couldn’t answer him.
He narrated his movements and thoughts, reassuring her every so often that she would be okay, and that Neros would know what to do when they eventually made it to the sea. He also joked several times that the going would definitely be faster if she was awake and walking.
Thankfully, the trees provided some shelter from the wind—although it was less bitter lower on the mountain than it had been closer to the peak—and Fenn carefully cleared away snow before gently setting Selys down, resting her up against the trunk of a tree.
‘Let me just get this place tidied up a bit,’ he muttered, aware how foolish he sounded but taking comfort in the illusion of conversation. He kicked away rocks and broken twigs, clearing a wider space under the branches of the fir tree he’d picked to rest und
erneath. There were a number of pinecones, too, and he was sure to move those out of the way.
They were still relatively high up, and Fenn was afforded a clear view of northern Porsenthia. The trees grew into a small patch of forest directly to the south, fed by the river he was currently camped beside. The river meandered downhill, cutting through the snowy fields until it became grassland, where a small town sat just before the horizon. Further down the mountain, a herd of deer made their way through the snow, nosing away slush to get to the grass underneath, their thick, russet coats blowing in the wind.
Fenn returned his attention to the town, squinting as he tried to make out more details and see if it jogged any memories. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t so much as recall the name of the place.
Far to the east, beyond a larger forest than the one he rested by, lay the coast and the Lasseen Ocean. Something dark lingered across the treetops, and Fenn blinked, frowning as he questioned what he’d seen.
The shadow disappeared.
Had it been a trick of the light? Or his mind?
Columns of black smoke rose on the horizon, adding to his uncertainty. He wished he knew where he was, wished he could remember the towns and cities of Porsenthia. Damn the Myr for taking something so small, but so essential.
After spending a couple of minutes watching, Fenn turned back to the small camp. Selys hadn’t moved, and he was beginning to wonder if she’d wake up at all. He threw his cloak over her and got a fire going, enjoying the warmth and light from the gently crackling flames.
‘How are you holding up, Selys? Having too good a dream you don’t wanna wake?’ Fenn wrapped his arms around his knees. ‘Can’t say I blame you. It’s not great out here. Must be a fire or something further ahead. Can’t tell where, though. But there’s a lot of smoke.’ He rested his chin on his knees. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve had any more ideas about the thing Vermecio wants?’
The priestess said nothing, letting out a quiet snore as her eyelids fluttered.
Fenn sighed. ‘Yeah, me either. Gold. Blade. Bow. Gold. Blade. Bow…’ He closed his eyes, letting his mind wander, trying to piece together a puzzle he hardly understood.
If Calidra and Jisyel were with them, they’d probably have some useful ideas. Those two would probably be in Foxmouth by now. Had Calidra found her sister? He hoped she wasn’t anything like Furyn. That woman had bigger anger issues than Varlot.
At the thought of his old friend, Fenn’s stomach turned.
Varlot.
Betrayer.
He shook his head, annoyed with himself for being such an idiot. For not listening to Calidra. For hoping that people weren’t as selfish as she’d warned him they were.
As his mind whirled, Fenn slipped into a doze. The rustling of birds roosting in the tree above him, or falling twigs, disturbed him slightly, but it wasn’t long before his tired body gave in and he fell into the sleep he’d been putting off for a day.
Instantly, Fenn was in darkness. With certainty, he knew he was back on the edge of the spirit world again.
‘You are no longer weak. Vermecio helped you, as I said it would.’
Fenn felt the cold around him before he heard the Myr talk, although the fire in his chest kept much of it at bay. Now he wasn’t at death’s door, now he knew what he faced, a slow fear trickled in. ‘Vermecio removed the curse. Well, part of it. It didn’t restore my memories.’
‘It is good that you live. Almost all the other echoes have crossed into the spirit world.’
The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, but some invisible force kept him from turning to face the creature that addressed him. ‘It said it could help me with my memories, if I helped it.’
‘Interesting.’
‘It wanted me to find something. Some sort of riddle.’ Fenn thought back to the details—in this place, everything was a blur, from his vision to his mind, and it was difficult to tell what was real and what was imagined. ‘A sliver of…gold? A blade that you can’t fight with. And a bow—’
‘From which an arrow cannot fire,’ the Myr finished for him.
‘You know what it is?’
‘What you seek lies far to the east. Beyond the dragon of the sea.’
There was a flare of cold, as if the Myr had allowed some emotion to be released for a split second, then it regained control of itself.
‘Why don’t you tell me what it is?’ Fenn whirled around, his desperation to lay eyes on the creature that taunted him overwhelming his fear.
He gasped at the sight, and the fire in his chest burned fiercely.
The Myr stood about half a foot shorter than him; skin blue-purple, with snake-like yellow eyes that watched him intently. It appeared humanoid, despite a domed back, with smooth black hair and a slightly oval-shaped head. It had two pairs of arms—each ending in three clawed fingers, which looked vicious. The strangest part of the Myr’s appearance was the small, pitted nose above a mouth filled with dagger-like teeth. ‘We are dying. We need your help.’
Fenn swallowed. Everyone he’d met had told him how terrible the Myr were. The atrocities and deaths they’d caused. They had even cursed him, not that he could remember how or why. The creature in front of him was terrifying, yes, in a deeply primal way that he couldn’t explain. But it wasn’t as terrifying as the dragons.
Discovering whatever Vermecio wanted would certainly help the Myr. And helping these creatures went against the Iron Crown.
But without them, he wouldn’t be able to restore his life. Find friends and loved ones.
The Inquisitors wanted him locked up, anyway.
Would helping them truly be so terrible?
His chest tightened with a flare of heat, and it was suddenly difficult to breathe. ‘What will you do once Vermecio has this…this…object?’
‘The bastion will restore your memories. As promised.’
He frowned.
‘We honour our promises. Will you?’
Fenn’s eyes snapped open. It was getting dark. Beside him, Selys was sitting up, poking the fire, his cloak wrapped around her shoulders.
‘You were talking in your sleep.’
He swallowed, relieved that she was awake, and afraid at what he might have been saying. ‘Oh. Um. Good to see you’re awake, Selys! How are you feeling? Do you remember what happened in the cave?’
‘Neros.’ The single word sent a shiver through him. ‘You carried me down the mountain, I suppose?’
Fenn nodded. ‘You’re injured. You need help.’ He pulled his bag over and offered her some of the apples they had left.
Selys shifted, reaching to grab one, and winced. She clutched her shoulder and shook her head at it. ‘I shouldn’t have let myself be caught by that Inquisitor.’
Guilt stabbed Fenn through the gut. ‘It was my fault. They were after me. If—’
‘No. Don’t blame yourself, don’t you dare blame yourself!’ Selys spat, a viciousness lacing her voice that he’d never heard before. ‘Varlot is the one who caused it.’
She wasn’t wrong, but it didn’t make him feel any better about the situation. Trying to change the subject, Fenn said, ‘I thought Neros never blessed anyone? You were glowing pretty brightly back in that cave.’
Selys lowered her gaze, her hand dropping from her shoulder to her chest. ‘I feel her fire. It’s here, within me.’
Fenn’s eyes widened at her words. He had a fire in his chest too. ‘Wait…what?’
She smiled. ‘All those blessed by a spirit carry their fire. They’re part of you, and you them.’
His breathing quickened. Was he blessed, too? The thought flooded him with fear. ‘You…does it hurt? The fire? Inside you?’
Selys shrugged. ‘It can. Depends on you and the spirit. If you’re not used to it, I imagine it’s uncomfortable. It’ll certainly take me a while.’ She leaned back, the hint of a smile on her lips, the apples forgotten. ‘I can’t believe Neros chose me. Of all people, of all places! Fenn, Neros has never do
ne this before. Do you understand what that means? How important this is?’
Fenn tried to share in her jubilation, but was too stunned by what she had said about fire. His chest had burned with heat since…well, since he could remember. Voice trembling, he asked, ‘What was it like?’
Selys giggled, sounding more like Jisyel than herself. ‘It was wonderful. I was the sea, Fenn. The sea! There was nothing else but the water.’
He frowned. ‘You don’t remember what you said?’
‘I spoke?’
He chewed his lip, debating whether or not to tell her. ‘Said something about destroying the Myr.’
‘Well, that’s not surprising.’ She raised her trembling hands and studied them. ‘I’ve been chosen, Fenn. By a goddess.’
It took them two days to hike along the river, making their way towards Westbrook. When Selys had named the town, Fenn nodded, as if he’d always known what it had been called.
Selys’s strength grew every hour, and it wasn’t long before she didn’t need to lean on him. It was a relief. Fenn hadn’t been sure the priestess was even going to wake up, let alone be able to walk unaided.
Her shoulder wound had darkened, and although she’d rinsed it several times in the freezing river, it wasn’t improving. Yellow pus had started to leak from it, along with blood.
‘We need to get to Westbrook quickly. They’ll have medicine,’ Selys said. It was easy enough—they simply had to follow the river.
So far north, there was no path, no people. Just leagues and leagues of icy hills, deer racing from them and eagles circling high above. It was a far cry from his journey with Selys and Jisyel through Bragalia, where they saw dozens of people every day and the intense heat was a constant companion.
Up here, it was expansive and lonely.
When they saw a small group of horses and riders heading their way, Fenn’s first emotion was hope. Perhaps these people would have medicine if they were used to travelling these frigid hills.
When he saw the dark uniforms and grey dragon insignia, his stomach dropped.