“Tamra,” she said. “Send for the rest of the clan.”
Her daughter, who was still sour-faced after losing her bid to make Valkea their first Forged Raptor, did as she was told. D’Mara knew the girl demanded watching; she was getting too independent, with too many ideas. Normally she’d have sentenced Tamra to some terrible post—such as scouting the wastelands or standing sentry atop Mount Lennix—as punishment for running off on her own mission like that, especially at such a crucial time for the clan. But the possibility of the scale’s power was too great to be ignored. D’Mara could not postpone testing it.
In the future, however, she would have to keep a closer eye on her ambitious daughter, particularly since she’d Locked to their most ambitious Raptor. Tamra and Valkea made for a formidable pair, and they could be magnificent indeed—so long as they remained under D’Mara’s control. If they went truly rogue and turned against her leadership, she would be in grave trouble. This was certainly a big reason why she could not allow Valkea to be their first Forged. That would be too much power in the hands of Tamra and the ferocious Red. The rest of the Raptors could very well desert her entirely if that were to happen.
In moments, Tamra returned with Edward and Kaan, while Mirra came slinking down from the tower, a bright red spot on her cheek. D’Mara barely noticed it; she watched the dragons, and let them watch her, waiting for her to speak. Silence was a powerful tool when wielded well, and she allowed it to rope the Raptors into her control. They quieted one by one, their eyes turning to the head of the Lennix clan.
“My brothers and sisters,” she said at last, when the yard was quiet. “By now you’ve heard the news.”
She nodded to Valkea, who stared back at her with gleaming dark eyes. D’Mara was sure Tamra had relayed to Valkea that she would not, in fact, be the one to be forged with the Silver scale. Clearly Valkea was not happy with this decision, but she seemed to be holding her tongue for now.
“Behold,” D’Mara said in a strong, clear voice. She raised her hands, clenching the scale above her head. The Raptors chuffed and growled at the sight of it, flashing silver in the sun. “This is the scale of a Silver, and according to legend, it may be our key to the Lost Lands. But nothing is certain, and this legend bears testing. And so I personally will embark on a mission to discover the truth, and I must have a dragon of strength and cunning to accompany me.”
Across the throng, she saw Krane lift his head.
I am sorry, my love, D’Mara sent to him. Not this time. You know why.
Krane only gazed at her in a way that ripped her heart.
Unsettled, D’Mara had to gather herself before she could speak again. “Where is Zereth?”
A murmur rippled through the Raptor ranks. Scaly heads turned to look around, but there was no sign of the young Red.
Then Valkea spoke, her dragonsong clear and steady. “Tragically, young Zereth was wounded this morning in a training exercise. His wing was injured. He won’t fly for weeks, poor creature.”
D’Mara stared at Valkea, working very hard to show no emotion, even though shock and fury were exploding in her head. Accident, my left boot, she thought. Obviously Valkea was behind this. She must have learned through Tamra that D’Mara intended to forge the Silver scale onto Zereth, and so she’d arranged for the Red to meet with an accident. That was a bold move. Too bold. Striking down another Raptor in D’Mara’s own fortress? Valkea was on the verge of a full-scale revolt. D’Mara couldn’t possibly go on a journey to the Lost Lands and leave Valkea here to scheme behind her back. No, there was only one thing D’Mara could do, though she hated being backed into a corner like this.
Valkea watched D’Mara hungrily, no doubt fully aware that D’Mara was thinking through all of this.
“Ah,” said D’Mara, scrambling to recover. “That is too bad, because I was going to tell Zereth to take charge of the next mountain patrol.”
Valkea tilted her head, eyes gleaming. She knew—they all knew—that that was Valkea’s primary responsibility. Glancing to her left, D’Mara saw Tamra watching her with narrow eyes.
“Yes,” D’Mara continued. “Because I have been watching you, Valkea, and you have proven yourself to be a worthy Raptor indeed. Therefore, I have chosen you to be our harbinger, the first Raptor to enter the Lost Lands since our exile began. We will fly together, you and I.”
More than a few Raptors looked at Tamra, probably thinking how unconventional it was for a human to fly with another’s dragon Lock. Tamra, to her credit, held her tongue, but D’Mara didn’t miss the look that passed between her daughter and Valkea. If she had to guess, she’d say the Red was telling Tamra to stay out of it.
D’Mara couldn’t let her rage at being outmaneuvered show. Instead, she had to turn this to her own advantage. Fine, she would fly with Valkea—but Tamra would stay behind. She had to keep them separate, at least until she figured out a way to curb their ambition permanently.
Feeling the weight of both Tamra’s and Krane’s betrayed gazes, D’Mara lowered the scale and beckoned Valkea nearer. “We will go now to the smith, who will forge this scale onto your brow. Do you accept this mission, Valkea the Red?”
Valkea gave a single nod. D’Mara could have sworn the Raptor was smirking at her.
“Then we will delay no longer.” D’Mara climbed onto Valkea and settled into place. Tamra turned and disappeared into the fortress without a word, but she was clearly unhappy with this arrangement.
“Clear the yard!” D’Mara ordered, and the Raptors withdrew to either side, opening a clear path to the runway. With a snarl, Valkea threw herself forward. D’Mara leaned low and held tightly on as Valkea reached the end of the cantilevered platform and launched into the sky. She caught her breath—the Red really was a strong flier. She hadn’t realized how old and infirm Krane had gotten until she felt the power of this young Raptor beneath her. Valkea roared, circling over the fortress in a superfluous show of pride, then winged south, toward the village where the blacksmith was.
Farrelara me soll, sa nar Mifra a te, whispered Krane in D’Mara’s thoughts. Farewell, my soul friend; may the spirit of the air be with you always. It was a strange message to send, given that it was usually only spoken upon the death of one’s Lock.
I wish it was you, she returned truthfully.
Then she and Valkea were out of sight of the fortress, and her connection with Krane weakened. If he replied, she did not hear it.
Sirin, Joss, and Allie were halfway back to the park where the dragons were hidden when the bus they’d caught suddenly braked. With startled cries, the passengers looked around and demanded an explanation. This was not an ordinary stop, and traffic jammed on both sides of the street.
Sirin couldn’t have explained why, but her stomach dropped. Dread flooded her system, until she felt glued to the hard plastic bus seat.
“Something’s wrong,” said Joss. “Sirin?”
Her mouth dry, Sirin leaned across him to look out the window. There were two uniformed policemen approaching the bus, waving for the driver to open the doors. The driver did, and the policemen came aboard. They showed a piece of paper to the driver, who nodded, turned in his seat … and pointed directly at Sirin.
“Oh,” whispered Sirin. “Not good.”
“Who are they?” asked Allie.
“Police. That librarian must have called them. I knew I should have worn a disguise!”
“Sirin Sharma!” called the first policeman, who began edging through the crowded bus toward them. “You’ve had a lot of folks very worried. If you’ll just come with us, then, like a good girl.”
Sirin turned to the others. “Upstairs! Quick!”
They scurried out of their seats and darted for the stairs, Sirin taking the rear. She was nearly grabbed by the collar, but the policeman was a second too slow.
“Hey!” he shouted. “Blasted delinquents. There’s no way out up there!”
“Go, go, go!” Sirin yelled. They burst onto the upper dec
k, which was even more crowded than the lower, and pushed through the students and tourists crammed in.
“Where are we going?” asked Allie.
Sirin pointed up.
The emergency hatch was overhead, just out of Sirin’s reach. Without a word, Allie pointed to her own shoulders, and ducked so Sirin could scramble up. She wrestled with the hatch, while adults yelled at them to cut it out. The first policeman had reached the top of the stairs and was trying to push his way through to them.
“Back off!” Joss yelled. He pulled from his pocket the last remaining wad of athelantis, wrapped in its oiled leather pouch. When he opened it, the rancid, rotting smell filled the bus. Gagging, cursing passengers scrambled to back away from the smelly, sticky, dripping mass in Joss’s hands, which he swung around, flinging gross-smelling droplets everywhere.
“I will use this!” he warned.
The press of passengers blocked the policeman’s path and gave Sirin time and space to wrench open the hatch.
“Let’s go!” she shouted. She stood on Allie’s shoulders and pulled herself up, then, lying on her stomach, extended her hand downward. Allie climbed up next, using the backs of the seats to clamber out. Joss was last out of the bus. He tossed up the stinking athelantis first, which Sirin caught with a groan. She held her breath, trying not to wretch from the ghastly stench, and stuffed the wad of leaves into the side mesh pocket of her new backpack.
Once they were all atop the bus, they slammed the hatch shut. All around, cars were honking and drivers yelling, and another policeman stood in the road, shouting at them to not move.
“We have to get away from here,” said Sirin.
“They’re after you,” Allie pointed out. “Not us.”
“We’re not leaving her!” Joss said, staring incredulously at his sister.
Allie scowled, but at least she didn’t press the possibility.
“Oh no,” Sirin moaned as the sound of sirens reached their ears. “More police are coming.”
“We’re trapped!”
Desperately, Sirin looked around and spotted a tall van stopped next to the bus. It was still a fair jump, but she thought they could make it.
“This way!”
Without waiting to explain, she leapt from the top of the bus and onto the van; the vehicle rocked beneath her when she landed. Allie and Joss jumped to either side of her, leaving sizable dents in the roof.
Then they were off again, jumping to the next car, then the next. Then their feet hit the sidewalk and they took off at a run.
“We have to lose them before we can circle back to the dragons!” shouted Allie.
“Duh!” said Sirin.
They cut left down an alley as the sirens grew deafeningly loud—and Sirin realized the police were already cutting off the exit. Skidding to a halt, she panted for breath and looked around.
Suddenly Sammi’s voice burst into her head. Sirin! What’s wrong? I am coming!
Panicking, Sirin turned left and pelted down the sidewalk, knocking over a café sign and nearly tripping over a startled cat. Stay put, Sammi! I’m fine!
You don’t feel fine. You feel afraid!
Stay put! We will come to you when it’s safe!
Then, around the corner just ahead, three officers appeared, blocking the way to the park. Sirin skidded to a halt, her legs tangling with Joss’s, and they both fell hard. Allie tripped over them and landed with a grunt.
In a pile of limbs, hair, and still-attached clothing tags, the three of them looked up in dismay as the police casually closed in. There were two men and one woman. They shook their heads at the children.
“You just had to do a runner, eh?” panted the one who’d nearly caught them on the bus.
“Still,” said the woman, “good effort.”
Sirin, Sammi sent again. Watch the skies.
Sirin met Joss’s eyes. He looked at her steadily, then his gaze flicked to Allie’s. Allie looked back and gave the tiniest nod. They’d gotten the same message as her.
“Now get up and play nice,” said the first officer. “We’ll sort out who’s who at the station. Miss Sharma, there is a very frantic social worker looking for you.”
Just like that, the real world came grasping for Sirin, trying suck her back into the black vortex she’d barely escaped from the night she’d met Joss, Lysander, Allie, and Bellacrux. And Sammi. Her Lock. She couldn’t leave Sammi. She couldn’t go back.
Sirin’s temper flared.
She wouldn’t go back to Life Before.
She was a dragon’s Lock. She’d traveled between worlds. And she was on a very important mission with two people who needed her.
“All right.” She sighed. She extricated herself from Joss and Allie and stood. “You got me. Fair is fair.”
“Good girl,” said the first policeman. “Come along, now, and no more games. I’ve got a cramp in my leg already, and I’ll be very cross if you—”
“Do this?” asked Sirin.
She bolted left, into traffic.
The police shouted; she didn’t stop. Cars slammed on brakes and blasted their horns. Sirin slid across the hood of a little green car while the driver leaned out the window to yell at her. She heard Joss and Allie behind her and knew the police would be steps away.
Running down the center stripe of the street, Sirin felt her heart pounding in her ears. And even with cars screeching to halts all around her, she kept her eyes fixed on the sky.
Until she saw them—three dark shapes descending from the clouds, wings whipping up a gale.
“SAMMI!” she yelled.
Up and down the road, people began screaming. She saw a man get out of his car and fall to his knees, pulling the cap off his head. Children poked their heads out of windows and gaped. A window washer, stunned by the sight, dropped his sopping brush onto the head of a teenage girl.
The dragons swooped so low their wing tips brushed the buildings on either side of the street. First came Sammi, dipping and diving like a hawk. Then came Lysander, gleaming bright and baring his fangs. Behind him soared Bellacrux, who let loose a roar that rattled every window for blocks around. People on the sidewalk covered their ears or ran screaming. The great Green’s shadow darkened the street.
Sirin leapt, planting one foot on the fender of a van and using it to vault into the air, where she caught hold of Bellacrux’s outstretched talon. Allie caught the other, and Joss was plucked up by Lysander.
Allie climbed up quickly, then extended a hand to help Sirin.
“Thanks,” Sirin said.
She looked down. The police were staring wide-eyed. One had taken out his baton and held it up uncertainly, as if it were a sword and he were Saint George.
But once their riders were settled in place, the dragons swooped upward, their wings blasting a gale that sent hats, papers, coats, and even a small cat tumbling away. As Bellacrux’s wingbeat overturned a flower cart, petals and blossoms went spiraling over the street, making the whole thing look like a strange and magnificent parade.
“That was awesome!” Joss yelled.
Sirin laughed. “We made it!”
“This time,” muttered Allie.
As Oxford shrank away and a cool northern wind rose to meet them, Sirin’s spirits rose too. She’d escaped again. The real world had receded for now. The black, hungry vortex of rage and sorrow that had opened up in her mother’s hospital room wouldn’t have her yet.
“Right,” she said. “Next stop: Scotland.”
D’Mara supervised the forging closely, watching every movement the smith made. Melding dragon scales together was a delicate process, even more so when the scales were still attached to a live dragon. It had to hurt quite a lot, but Valkea bore it silently, her eyes shut and her only sign of pain a thin tendril of smoke that curled from her nostrils. D’Mara was impressed by the dragon’s fortitude.
The smith embedded the Silver scale in the center of Valkea’s forehead, where Tamra said the ancient Raptors had borne theirs.
To fit it, the smith first had to pull out one of the Valkea’s own scales, and a trickle of dark blood ran down the Red’s snout from the procedure. But not once did Valkea grumble or complain.
“There,” said the smith at last. He was a brawny man with a large black beard and a bald head, but despite towering over D’Mara, he quivered at her approach. “Mistress Lennix, if you’re pleased with my work, perhaps you’d consider freeing my family now? I beg you.”
D’Mara almost snapped at him to shut up but bit her tongue. “If this scale works,” she said, “and the Lost Lands are opened to us at last, then of course your family will be returned to you.”
She had no idea what state the man’s family was in. For all she knew, they’d already been made into Raptor snacks. But it didn’t matter. Nothing in this world would matter once she reached the Lost Lands. She might well never return here again.
But the smith’s work was admirable. The Silver scale looked as if it had grown there on Valkea’s skin. It was held in place by small points all around it where the smith had welded the metal of her other scales to it. The only way it would ever be removed would be if half the scales on Valkea’s face were pulled out by their roots.
D’Mara laid her hand on the Silver scale, and Valkea let her. She shut her eyes and tried to feel its power, but it only felt cold.
“We will return to the fortress,” she said. “And then you, Valkea, will lead the First Flight into the Lost Lands.”
“Somarla lessa,” said Valkea. Let it be so.
* * *
They flew in a line, ten dragons connected nose-tips-to-tails. The flight was short two—wounded Zereth was limping around the landing yard, looking more injured in spirit than body, and Edward and Decimus remained to oversee patrols and other Lennix business.
They had departed the fortress in a frenzy of roars, trumpeting calls, and jets of celebratory flame as the other Raptors wished them luck and good fortune on their mission. Valkea flew high and proud, clearly basking in the attention. The rest of the First Flight drifted into formation, a long line of dragons that snaked through the air. Eventually the fortress fell behind them and they steadied enough that each one could reach out and gently take the tip of the next one’s tail in their teeth, linking together. Valkea led the line, piercing the sky at a steady pace, intent on finding the first portal she could. D’Mara leaned forward in anticipation, her heart hammering and her palms sweaty. She hadn’t felt this nervous or giddy since she was a little girl. It was hard to believe that after generations of Lennixes, she would be the one to finally lead them all home.
The Lost Lands Page 11