by Jekka Jones
Angered flared in Landon, and he almost snapped at her, reminding her that she wasn’t one of the last people to find out he had tamed a dragon, but he stopped himself. He didn’t know if the anger was his or Sri’Lanca’s, and he didn’t want to fight with Myra.
“I’m sorry,” he said instead, forcing sincerity into his tone. “I really am, Myra. I’m just sick of everything. It goes from bad to worse to disaster, and I know it’s going to go downhill from here. Please know it had nothing to do with trust. It really didn’t. I was just hoping that by not telling you, Liliana’s suspicions would’ve been false and Sri’Lanca would disappear.”
“You really thought that?” asked Juan coldly.
“Yes,” Landon answered, meeting the Caborcan’s eyes. “I did.”
Juan turned to Morgan. “How long did you know?”
“When I went with Liliana to talk to Ti’Luthin about it,” Morgan answered matter-of-factly. “She told us all about your conversation at the spring, and then she and Ti’Luthin spent the next few days asking other dragons and tamers if it was possible. They had to be careful so the Guard wouldn’t become suspicious.” He looked sympathetically at Landon. “The Guards and dragons think retaming is possible, but not likely. They all said the dragon or tamer would die before that could happen.”
“And you were coming back to tell me,” Landon said quietly.
Morgan nodded. Juan and Myra said nothing, and Landon knew it would be a while before they would forgive him. Right now, however, he was tired and done explaining himself.
The sun was setting, turning the blue, cloud-scattered sky to a dark indigo. A bright yellow band stretched from horizon to horizon, reflecting off the clouds to give them gold and yellow tints. They looked like wispy golden birds, sailing through the darkening sky.
It was beautiful, and Landon hated it.
“I wish it was red,” he said.
Three pairs of eyes looked at him, confused.
“The sunset,” he explained. “I mean . . . in the stories the sky was always blood-red after a battle or when someone died. I know it’s not how it really works, but Eli’s dead, Oni’s gone, and every nation wants to kill us. The sky should be as blood-red as the battleground, but it’s not. It’s yellow.” He took a deep shuddering breath to calm the flood of emotions raging inside him.
“Maybe the sunrise will be red,” Morgan said. “Wasn’t Eli’s favorite color yellow?”
Landon thought for a moment. “No, he liked purple.”
“Then it should be purple. Red skies are for poets and sissies.”
Juan frowned. “What are you talking about?”
Morgan let out a sound like a cat being stepped on. “By the holiness of the angels, Juan! You’ve been living with us for months and you still can’t understand us? It’s like you’re trying to learn Tarsli!”
“I can speak Tarsli just fine, Morgan,” said Juan, annoyed. “It’s you I don’t understand.”
“What part of my language is confusing?” Morgan responded, sitting up and furrowing his brow.
“All of it.”
They began to bicker. Landon caught Myra’s eye, and although she didn’t outwardly smile, he saw the glimmer of amusement in her sky-blue eyes. As Juan began to reiterate all the strange phrases he had heard Morgan say, Landon smiled. He knew that Eli would have sided with Juan.
As the sky darkened to night and the moon took its place in the sky, Landon joined the bickering, along with Myra, and they passed the time heckling Morgan.
In that moment, everything was okay. Eli was dead, yes, but Landon knew he would see him again. Oni too. He had seen the place where the dead went. That knowledge was strong enough to drive away the grief, anger, and malicious joy coming from Sri’Lanca. Neither the dragon, nor the Seers, could take that from him.
Chapter 20
They held a memorial service for Eli the next day. Landon and Will made a wooden cross and carved horses into the arms. It wasn’t his best work—there wasn’t a lot of time to shape the manes and tails in the aspen—but Landon was pleased with it all the same. He at least captured the wild and free nature of the horses, something he had always associated with Eli.
The service wasn’t very long, only an hour at the most. It wasn’t that no one had fond memories of Eli to share, but there was a war going on. The Nircanians in the Swallow Falls camp wanted to spend all day remembering the life of Eli Durn, but the armies on their doorstep couldn’t care less. Will was halfway through a tender memory when the Lythrans attacked. The memorial disbanded in seconds as every able-bodied hand raced to defend the valley, leaving Landon, Will, Alyssa, and the Dayns alone with the cross.
That was the first of a new set of problems. As they had warned, Liliana and Ti’Luthin had to inform Dre’Goran of Landon and Sri’Lanca’s bond. They both apologized, but Landon understood. Unfortunately, this caused the Rillis Mountains to be constantly under attack by the Dragon Guard. The dragons took after Sri’Lanca’s example and uprooted trees and boulders to drop into random valleys all along the mountain range. Their hope was to destroy the Nircanians’ war machines so they could land and capture Landon and Sri’Lanca.
Many were injured from the dragon attacks, but it wasn’t until a couple days later that the Swallow Falls camp had casualties. A group of foragers got caught in one of these raids, and two were killed. Unlike Eli, their bodies were recovered and buried in a copse of aspens. Reports came in from the other camps of deaths caused by the dragons, of areas being turned into graveyards, and assaults on valleys that drove the Nircanians into the caves.
As the wounded and deaths increased, the Nircanians became more cunning. Driven by grief and anger, they retaliated with fervor by creating new projectiles and attacking the enemy at night, both human and dragon. Their vicious guerrilla tactics forced the Tsuregan armies and their allies to pull away from the mountains, crowding together as far away from the slopes as possible.
“You should tell your judges to surrender,” said Sri’Lanca one day. “Save yourselves before you’re wiped from existence like the Hondelites. Where are your leaders, by the way?”
The dragon lounged in the pool, resting his head on a protruding ledge as the waterfall pounded his back. He looked far too comfortable to Landon’s liking, and the emotions coming from him confirmed that he was.
“None of your business,” said Landon through gritted teeth. He was at the waterfall, washing a basket of bandages for Sam in the stream leading from the falls. The basket wasn’t large, but it was overflowing with strips of bloodied cloths.
Sri’Lanca yawned, displaying a mouthful of pointed fangs. “They must be in another meeting. They always are. Meetings meetings meetings. The only meeting they need is to surrender to the Dragon Guard. They will be the most merciful to your lot, unlike the samurai or any of their allies.”
Landon glared at the bloodstained bandages, wishing they were strong enough to muzzle the dragon. To Temmings’ orders, Sri’Lanca had moved beneath the cover of the trees so as not to attract the Dragon Guard’s attention. Forbidden to venture out into the open or take to the skies, Sri’Lanca had taken to following Landon wherever he went, making a running commentary on how Nircana would be annihilated and Landon enslaved.
Landon tried to ignore him, and succeeded some days. More often he couldn’t, and he would yell at the dragon until his voice was hoarse. He wished for the thousandth time that he could throw something to shut Sri’Lanca up, but he couldn’t. Even when he picked up a rock with the intention to chuck it at the dragon, he stopped himself. A stupid voice in his head reminded him that Sri’Lanca was lashing out from grief. The dragon mourned for Tan’Loraen just as much as Landon mourned for Eli, and he shouldn’t be punished for it.
“How is your woman’s brother doing?” Sri’Lanca asked. “I heard a tree crushed his chest. Is he still alive?”
Hot anger surged through Landon. “Why don’t you make yourself useful somewhere else?” He asked acidly.
A spike of savage pleasure shot through the bond, and Sri’Lanca’s pupils dilated. “No. This water feels nice and I enjoy watching you do laundry like a woman.”
“You say that like I should be offended, but guess what? I’m not.” Landon lifted the bandage he had been washing, wrung out the water, and tossed it into a second basket. This one was almost full and Landon wasn’t even halfway through the dirty basket. Once all the bandages were clean of blood, he would then take them back to camp to be boiled and hung up to dry.
Sri’Lanca chuckled. “I know you hate doing women’s chores. You would rather be on the front lines, slaying the enemy and doing heroic deeds.”
Landon clenched his jaw and his hands shook. “What I hate is your voice,” he said. “Shut up and go somewhere else.”
“I’m taking a bath. You go somewhere else.”
“You know what,” said Landon, “I think I will. It’s better than listening to your jabber—and smelling your stink.” To prove his point, Landon piled the clean basket on top of the dirty one and marched downstream.
“You still haven’t answered my question,” called Sri’Lanca. “Is he alive?”
Landon ignored him. He gripped the sides of the baskets and tried to hide his grief. A tree had fallen on Jake during a dragon attack that morning, crushing his lower back. Mr. Higgins and Juan were able to get the tree off him, but there was a lot of damage. Landon had been gathering up the used bandages when they’d brought him back. Jake had been pale, unmoving, and his breath ragged. Sam and the other physicians didn’t know if he was going make it, but they were determined to do their best. Myra and her family were with Jake now, her mother and sisters having traveled from one of the other camps a few days before. Landon wanted to stay, but Sam was on his last basket of clean wrappings. The doctor begged him to wash them immediately so they could be boiled.
“Would you be a washerman or a launderman?” asked Sri’Lanca. “Do you do the dishes too? You should! Then you’d be a dishwasherman!”
“Shut up!” Landon yelled over his shoulder.
“Make me, tamer!” Sri’Lanca laughed and began to sing some ditty about doing dishes with bloody rags.
Landon navigated the steep slope to a lower pool and resumed his scrubbing. He tried to forget Sri’Lanca’s taunts, but they reverberated in his thoughts, reminding him how useless he was. He was being helpful by washing the bandages for the doctors, but he was always cleaning something. If it wasn’t laundry, then it was dishes. No one allowed him to forage, hunt, or even collect firewood for fear of the dragons spotting him. Everyone else got to do those chores, but not Landon. It was better for him to keep bedding and dishes clean like a servant in the Tsuregan palace.
He sometimes helped with the wounded. Under Sam’s direction, he and his parents used the Seal to destroy infected wounds and heal serious bone injuries. They had tried to be resilient towards the temptation, until children began helping with the catapults. Diego couldn’t stand the sight and was the first to start the healing sessions. Since the Seal was slow to heal and drained their energy, Sam prioritized injuries, and made sure the Dayns had plenty of rest. Because of the dragon-tamer bond, Sam only allowed Landon to help once a day. He feared that excessive healing would cause more harm than good, and so Landon’s main job was to clean.
“I hate you,” Landon whispered to the laundry, to Sri’Lanca, and to the armies. He was so full of rage and shame that it took all his effort not to rip the bandages. The bandages were a precious resource, and if he messed up on this job, then he would really have nothing to do.
A horn sounded from close by, and Landon froze, listening for wing beats. Instead he heard men shouting, calling for weapons and defensive positions.
Landon stood to get a better look at the scene. Far below, the Lythrans were divided into two groups with pockets of Tsuregan soldiers scattered throughout their ranks. One group warred with the Maisans, and another group tried to scale the mountain. They were having better luck with the Maisans. The Nircanians shot burning arrows with small bags of oil attached to them into the climbing soldiers. When an arrow struck armor or shield, or even the ground, the bag burst and ignited the oil as it splattered in all directions. From a distance, it didn’t seem to do much damage, but it caused the soldiers to stumble and lose their footing. Those soldiers would knock over their friends, and they would tumble down the slopes several feet. The army couldn’t get halfway up the mountain without falling back.
He watched and resented not being able to do more. Landon wished he was sharpening weapons or fletching arrows, but that was still too close to the war zone. As much as he wanted to take up a sword or bow and fight, he knew that was impossible. He was bonded to a dragon, and the Nircanians were not going to allow that bond to be severed. Their freedom and survival depended on him, his parents, and Myra staying as far away from the battlefield as possible.
Landon watched the battle, his eyes flicking from the Lythrans and Tsuregans fighting Maisans to the Nircanians. After a couple minutes, he went back to washing the bandages. His stomach twisted with disgust at so much chaos and death.
“Where’s Landon?” said a lovely voice, almost indistinguishable from the falls.
“Down here, Myra.” Landon called, hoping to catch her attention before Sri’Lanca could answer. He scrambled to his feet, climbing towards the pool as fast as the steep terrain allowed. He popped into view and saw Sri’Lanca leering at Myra.
“Washing like a good washerman,” said Sri’Lanca. A spike of malevolence seared through Landon. “Is your brother dead yet?”
“Go to hell!” said Landon.
“I don’t believe in this hell of yours,” said Sri’Lanca, lazily stretching a wing, “therefore I cannot go to it. Fire doesn’t hurt us dragons, you know.”
“Then go freeze yourself!” Landon retorted, changing tactic. Sri’Lanca used that phrase a lot when he was furious with the Nircanians.
Sri’Lanca’s eyes hardened and the emotions broiling within Landon became cold with rage. Clearly, it was a serious accusation.
“That is not polite, my tamer.”
“Well you haven’t been very polite either, dragon.”
“I am just stating the truth, Landon. Do your people not believe in freedom of speech, or is that just talk?”
“You’re full of—”
“Leave it, Lan,” said Myra, placing a hand on his arm. “Let’s go to where you were before.” She turned him around and led the way to the lower pool.
Sri’Lanca hissed and shouted, “Your people can go to the wastelands and freeze, Dayn! Or burn like Hondel!” There was a lot of splashing, and Landon turned around to see Sri’Lanca storm from the pool and into the forest. The dragon whacked the trees with his tail as he passed, swearing at the top of his voice.
Landon and Myra stood there, watching him go until the cascading falls obscured the dragon’s language. He turned to Myra. Her eyes were red and etched with grief.
“How is he?” he asked quietly.
Myra stared at him, her gaze full of insufferable pain.
Landon’s stomach plummeted in his gut. “No . . .” he whispered. “Myra . . . I’m sorry.”
“He went a few minutes after you left,” she said, her voice stuttering as she tried to speak. “Doc tried everything . . .” She choked and fell into his arms, sobbing into his chest.
Landon held her tightly, wishing he could squeeze the pain away. Sorrow welled up in him as he thought about Jake. Excited for his sister’s engagement, Jake had begun spending more time with Landon. They had grown close in those days. Jake had rescued him from Tan’Loraen’s clutches, and then again when he and Juan were being chased by Darrin and his minions. He owed Jake his life just as much as Myra and Morgan.
Beneath the sorrow, he felt a pang of malicious joy—one that came from a sadistic being who took pleasure in others’ suffering. Landon focused on his grief, willing it to overpower Sri’Lanca. He prayed the dragon would stay
away. The last thing his fiancé needed was that creature defiling her brother’s memory.
“How . . . how do you do it?” Myra choked.
Landon shook his head. “A day at a time,” he whispered. “And I remember the good times. I remember him teaching me to ride a horse, hunt, and take care of the farm. I remember him yelling at me for skipping school,” this drew a strained laugh from Myra, “and taking care of me when I was sick . . . and then later when I was recovering from Menrye. As much as it hurts, I wouldn’t trade those memories for anything.”
Myra’s grip tightened. “I don’t know if I can do that.”
Her tone was emotionless. Landon knew that her sorrow had reached the point that she was numb to it. He gently held her away from him and brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ears. “You can because you are not alone. No matter what, my love, I’m here.” He pecked a gentle kiss on her lips.
She wiped her face and sniffed. “I know.” She withdrew a palm-sized drawstring pouch from her pocket, and held it out to him.
Landon stared at it, then her in shock. “Myra, why do you have the Seal?”
“Because of the increased dragon and Lythran attacks, the judges called a war council and wanted Diego and Sierra to attend. Temmings asked that they didn’t bring it with them. He doesn’t want anyone to be tempted by it.” Myra pressed the pouch into Landon’s hand. “Diego asked me to give it to you. I was coming to find you, but then the dragons attacked . . . and Jake . . .”
She couldn’t continue. Landon stared at the pouch and fingered one of the loops through the fabric. He felt the heat of the Wizard’s Seal burning, reaching towards him.
Hot, searing rage filled his body. He didn’t want to hold the Seal, not even for a second. It was thanks to the stupid trinket that Eli, Jake, his horse, and many others were dead. He was now attached to a dragon, one that may be able to use the damn thing, thanks to the dragon-tamer bond. The judges didn’t want it around because of the temptation—because of what it represented—and neither did Landon.