Invasion and Dragons

by Jekka Jones

  He waited, listening for wingbeats, until his parched throat demanded attention. He lowered Myra onto the sand and scooped a small pile into a pillow for her head. When he stood, his back and legs protested, drawing a moan from him, but he forced his legs and torso to stretch.

  Landon staggered to the spring, and gulped down several mouthfuls of frigid water. The fire had burned down into coals, and he added a few thick chunks of wood to the embers. The flames sprang up at once and with it came the heat. He went back to Myra and sagged against the wall.

  Landon sat at Myra’s head. He expected sleep to claim him, but Sri’Lanca’s feelings were too sharp to let him rest. He stroked her hair with one hand, lost in thought. More of her color had returned, but her breath was still shallow and her forehead hot. He took out the Seal, wrestled with it for control, and destroyed the little infection that had taken root. He wanted to try healing more of her wound, but he still felt weak. He would need to eat first before he could try again.

  “Stupid,” he grumbled, both to himself and the Seal. He would just have to keep destroying the infection until Sri’Lanca returned.

  Landon put away the Seal and took a good look at the cave. Despite the evil atmosphere that infested Menrye, the cave was comfortable. The spring trickled from an opening two feet off the ground and into a pool. A tiny stream wound away from the pool and towards the entrance before vanishing through another fissure halfway across the cave. Landon leaned forward to peer at the bit of sky he could see through the cave’s opening. He couldn’t make out much, but judging by the brightness it was noon, or a few hours after.

  He settled against the wall, stroking Myra’s hair and letting his thoughts wander. Sri’Lanca’s tumultuous emotions dissipated, but his elation grew stronger. It wasn’t until Landon’s stomach snarled with hunger that wingbeats reached his ears. Sri’Lanca landed in the entrance a moment later and began maneuvering a large wagon through the crack.

  Landon blinked, but his eyes weren’t fooling him. “You have a wagon,” he pointed out, incredulous.

  “I have two wagons,” Sri’Lanca replied. He squeezed the wagon inside, the canvas top scraping against the rock, and gave it a slight push. The covered wagon trundled through the cave, rattling and clanking in protest. Landon watched it roll by and bump to a stop at the very back. Sri’Lanca squeezed his bulk through the opening, bringing in a second wagon that was wrapped in his tail. He set this one next to the first and turned to Landon, beaming.

  “Hello!” Sri’Lanca said brightly. “How long have you been awake?”

  “A couple hours,” Landon answered, eyeing the wagons. “What’s in those?”

  The excitement rolling off the dragon hurt Landon’s head. “Food and medicine. I wanted to grab a weapons cart, but I had wasted more time than I wanted in trying to get to Nircana unnoticed.” Sri’Lanca settled against the opposite wall, his tail curling at the entrance like a large snake. He yawned, and the light glinted on his teeth, showing off their length and sharpness. Landon tried to suppress the nervousness he felt, even though he couldn’t hide anything from Sri’Lanca.

  “Don’t worry, no one followed me here,” Sri’Lanca said assuredly. “I made sure of it.”

  Landon didn’t bother to correct him. “Which camp gave you the wagons?” he asked, walking over to them. “Meyer’s Run? Landeen’s Vale?”

  “The samurai.”

  “What?” Landon whirled around, shocked.

  Sri’Lanca chuckled, and his excitement sharpened. The tip of his tail began twitching like a cat’s. “I stole it from them,” he said, grinning. “I wanted to go for the Caborcans because they were closer, but I was trying to keep my distance from the Dragon Guard.”

  Landon stared at him. “You stole two wagons from the samurai?”

  Annoyance flickered through the bond from Sri’Lanca, yet the dragon’s face didn’t change. “Yes. Why? Because I figured it was better to rob our enemies of supplies rather than ask it from our people. They need those supplies just as much as we do. I made sure to fly towards Tsuregi before coming here. If Balaam wills it, the samurai will think we are hiding in Tsuregi, or Caborca. That should buy us time.”

  Landon barely heard his explanation. He was confounded by four words: our enemies and our people.

  His confusion must have been detectable in the bond because Sri’Lanca’s elation diminished. The dragon cocked his head, frowning. “Speak your mind, Landon. What are you thinking?”

  Landon shook his head. “Nothing,” he said, turning away from the dragon. “Thanks for doing that—and I’m glad you weren’t captured . . . or followed.”

  “What are you thinking, Landon?” Sri’Lanca repeated, raising his voice.

  Landon’s shoulders tightened, but he ignored the dragon. He walked to the first of the two wagons and unlatched the tail gate. Although he knew Sri’Lanca wouldn’t lie, he was still surprised to see the dragon had been true to his word. Crates labeled with vegetables, dried fruits, cheese, and cured meats were stacked on one side of the wagon, whereas bags of rice, flour, and other grains were neatly organized against three water barrels. In the middle were open crates with cooking supplies, utensils, and bundles of chopped wood. Landon went to the second wagon and looked inside. It was more cluttered than the food wagon, with folded mattress pads, crates and bags of medicines, and blankets ranging from thin sheets to thick quilts. More crates stood in the back, but he couldn’t make out the labels with all the other things in the way.

  Landon clambered into the wagon, picking around the blankets and boxes. He set aside a box of bandages and another labeled For Medicinal Use Only. The crates in the back were labeled with types of clothes, from nightshirts to uniforms. Sitting on top of a uniform crate was a long, thin box stamped with a sparrow. Landon grabbed it and hefted it in his hands. It was heavy. He returned to the end of the wagon and sat down on the tail gate. A slow smile spread across his face when he opened it.

  Nestled in a bed of straw was a katana. The sheath was dark turquoise with the picture of a sparrow stamped in the middle. The handle was wrapped in dark turquoise leather and a silver guard. Landon guessed one of the samurai had left it in the wagon thinking it would be the safest place for it.

  Landon drew the sword and slid from the wagon, falling into a defensive stance. He practiced some swings and lunges, relishing the feel of the sword in his hands. He spun on the spot and sliced the blade through an imaginary Darrin.

  If only he had had this yesterday. He could’ve fought off the samurai and Borikans at the falls—scared them off or wounded a few of them. Yet even as he imagined it, Landon knew the situation would have been worse. He was a good swordsman, but he was no match against Darrin on his own, let alone sixty Borikans and samurai working together. He would have skewered Myra with the katana, rather than stab her with a knife.

  That thought punctured his elation. Landon sheathed the sword and put it on the tailgate. He stared at the swallow insignia, lost in thought for several seconds. He turned back to Sri’Lanca and realized the dragon’s happiness was gone. Instead there was sadness and shame.

  “What?” he asked.

  Sri’Lanca stared at Landon for a moment and then answered, “You don’t trust me.” It wasn’t a question.

  Landon said nothing. He couldn’t lie, and he couldn’t admit the truth.

  Sri’Lanca sighed, flicking one wing. “You can admit it, Landon. I knew you wouldn’t trust me. I knew you wouldn’t forgive me so easily.”

  “Who says I want to forgive you?” Landon asked quietly.

  Sri’Lanca winced as if Landon had slapped him. “I was hoping since we are bonded . . . that you would forgive me for my actions.” He snorted and looked away. “Nevermind. I am a fool and a sinner. I don’t deserve your forgiveness any more than Balaam’s.”

  Sri’Lanca’s shame filled Landon. He almost said nothing, but the feeling drove him to speak. “How much did you see? At the falls . . . how much did you see?”
/>   Sri’Lanca kept his eyes averted from Landon. “Enough.”

  “How much?” Landon repeated.

  The dragon shuddered and, as if every word were being forcefully drawn from him, he said, “I came back as the Seers were admiring the Seal, when Sayre was holding it in the cloth. I watched the whole thing.”

  “You watched . . .” A strange roaring sound began in Landon’s ears. He clenched his fists. “You watched as I begged them to stop?” he accused. “As Darrin and Sayre and Niklas used the Seal through me? You watched as I stabbed Myra and you did nothing? I prayed you would come back! I screamed for you!”

  Landon yelled, his words ringing through the cave, but he didn’t care. All the fear from the previous day burst like a flood. He wanted to take up the sword and attack Sri’Lanca, but the bond restrained him, reminding him that they were bonded no matter how much it hurt. Instead, Landon clenched his fist and threw all his anger at Sri’Lanca, both verbally and emotionally, and hoped that would wound the dragon.

  “Where were you when I needed you? When we needed you? They sentenced Myra to death and I was her executioner! My only hope was a kind-hearted Borikan promising to save us. You were supposed to protect me! Come to my aid when I needed it! But you watched! Of course I won’t forgive you! Who can forgive you after that? Myra almost died because of you! Because of us! I as good as killed her!”

  Next to the fire, Myra stirred and muttered Landon’s name. He went to her, more to put distance between himself and Sri’Lanca than to check her condition. He hunched over her with his back to Sri’Lanca.

  “Just go away and leave me alone,” he choked. He knew that was an empty request. If Sri’Lanca left, abandoning them somewhere other than a Menrian cave, Landon’s only protection would be the Seal. He didn’t want to rely on the Seal, but he didn’t want to rely on Sri’Lanca either.

  He started stroking Myra’s hair again, mouthing his apologies to her. Sri’Lanca made no attempt to comfort Landon. He felt those cat-like eyes studying him. After a few minutes, Sri’Lanca spoke.

  “I did nothing when the Seers captured you because I was enjoying your terror,” he said, his voice rumbling through the cavern. “It was what you deserved for killing Judan and then taming me. I was going to rescue you, of course. I didn’t know when or how, but I knew I had to. I couldn’t risk your sorrow driving you to suicide.

  “But . . . I was grateful I could watch. Because we couldn’t hurt each other, this was the only way I could at last get my revenge. I relished your pleas, and your terror coursing through the bond tasted sweet. Your pain finally matched mine. That is . . . until the Seers began using the Seal’s power through you.”

  He paused, waiting for a response. Landon said nothing, his hand resting on Myra’s hair. Sri’Lanca swallowed and continued. “You vanished from the bond.”

  Landon turned to look at him but maintained his silence.

  “Usually, our bond is muffled whenever you use the Seal,” Sri’Lanca continued. “I can still feel you, but it’s distant, almost like you are on the other side of the continent. I felt this for several days after we bonded, and it took me a while to realize what was happening: you were using the Seal to heal.”

  Sri’Lanca paused, waiting for Landon to comment. The Seal affected Sri’Lanca too. That fact would have interested him and his parents before, but not now. Landon kept a steady gaze, waiting for the dragon to continue.

  “This time, however,” Sri’Lanca continued shamefully, “I felt nothing. Your terror, the feel of your body straining against the ropes—all of it disappeared. It was like Judan’s death all over again and . . . it scared me.

  “Then you stabbed Myra . . . and I felt as though I had been stabbed. I knew you would never do that to her. You—who begged me to spare her life, whose grief was so strong when your father died that I could barely think—would rather die than so much as scratch her. It was then I realized how much of a fool I had been, how far I had flown from Balaam’s side. My tamer was in danger and I was withholding my aid.”

  The dragon looked at Landon, his pupils wide and imploring. “I didn’t feel you until you were released from the Seal’s power. I felt your terror, your horror, and your grief sharper than anything I’ve felt before. I felt your heart break as you fell beside Myra and begged her to hold on. I too silently begged for her life. I knew that if she died then your heart would die too, and I would be on my own again. Your hope lay in her survival, and so did mine.”

  The emotions shifted. The shame slid to the back of Landon’s awareness, and confidence stepped to the front. “If I sound selfish, it is because I am. I was tamed and raised by a selfish man and so that is all I know, but Balaam opened my eyes.” Sri’Lanca’s voice became firm, reflecting his confidence. “The God of Dragons showed me my sins, and he showed me how I could be redeemed. You two were right below me. . . . The Seers were celebrating your defeat, and their minions were watching the forest but not the cliffs. A sudden drop was all I needed. But there was one problem. . . .”

  “Niklas had the Seal,” Landon said.

  Sri’Lanca nodded. “A Seer had the Wizard’s Seal and you were so traumatized that I couldn’t catch your eye. Yes, Landon, I tried to signal you. In the end I had to reveal myself. I was nervous to do so, but Balaam guided my words, and the rest you know. Balaam be praised that Ti’Luthin came to my aid so I could get you and Myra away from there.”

  “Yes . . . Balaam be praised,” Landon echoed.

  Sri’Lanca grimaced. “The road to forgiveness is a long one, Landon. I have taken the first step, and I hope you will too.” He rose and went to the medicine wagon. “How about we give Myra’s wound the proper care it needs?” He began rummaging through the wagon’s contents.

  Landon stared at him, unsure if he wanted to let the conversation drop or pursue it. He felt like he had fought Sri’Lanca all over again, but this time with his emotions—and just as Sri’Lanca had dragged his weakened body across the prairie after Landon, Landon wanted to drag his crippled heart after Sri’Lanca. Landon wanted him to pay for his sins. For once, couldn’t Landon get his turn for revenge, rather than choose the kinder path of forgiveness?

  “Here, take this and make a bed,” said Sri’Lanca, thrusting two mattress pads towards Landon. “Let me know when it’s ready and I’ll move Myra onto it.”

  Landon took the mattresses, grunting under their weight. He found a level spot near the fire and laid down the mattresses one on top of the other. He returned to Sri’Lanca, who handed him sheets and several thick quilts.

  They worked together in silence, occasionally broken by a request from one or the other. Sri’Lanca busied himself with removing the crates and sorting them into two piles, one for medicinal use and the other for bedding and clothes, while Landon worked on the bed. Once it was to his satisfaction, Sri’Lanca moved Myra onto it, and gave Landon a lantern he had found. Landon lit the wick and set to work on her wounds.

  The wounds were harder to clean than he thought. Landon cut away her shirt with a sharp knife he had found among the medicine supplies and dabbed at the blood-soaked bandages with a wet cloth. Carefully, he cut them loose and peeled them from her body. Once the bandages were off, he eased the bloodied remains of his shirt from the wound, swearing softly once he got the injury uncovered.

  “What?” asked Sri’Lanca, and the dragon’s head materialized next to Landon’s. He sucked in a breath and concern flooded through the bond. “Balaam’s claws, that doesn’t look good. I felt you use the Seal as soon as we landed here, and then shortly after I left, but I don’t think that helped.”

  Two red fissures, each an inch long, marred Myra’s belly. They appeared dark and ragged in the firelight, and Deon’s herbs were a muddled mass of black and brown shoved into it. Despite the two times he’d used the Seal to destroy infection and heal the wound, the area was swollen. Landon grabbed the pouch once more, ignoring the spike of fear from Sri’Lanca, and used the wizard’s power to obliterate the c
ontaminants. It frightened him with how quickly the infection kept returning.

  As he drew the drawstrings closed, Sri’Lanca said, “I would prefer it if you didn’t use that. It dampens our bond.”

  “I have to,” Landon replied adamantly. “We don’t have a doctor and I’ve already used a lot of my energy to heal her. It’s easier to destroy the infection than let it run rampant. I think I’m going to have to stitch this closed.” His stomach fluttered with nerves. He looked to Sri’Lanca for guidance, half surprised that he would do so.

  He was rewarded with an equally perplexed look from Sri’Lanca. “It can’t be much different from sewing two cloths together, right?”

  “Maybe?” Landon replied.

  It took them a moment to find the stitching kit—a small box with various needles and thread. With Sri’Lanca peering over his shoulder, Landon cleared the wounds of the herbs and blood clots. He shuddered as blood seeped around the edges and threaded the stitching needle.

  It was unnerving, and his hands shook the whole time. Waves of nausea rolled up his throat, and he paused a couple times to run to the cave entrance and vomit over the edge. Sri’Lanca took those moments to wipe the blood away and rumbled encouragement for Landon to continue.

  In the end, he managed to sew the wounds shut. His work was far from perfect, and would leave a scar, yet it was better than nothing. Landon placed more herbs on the wounds and bandaged it up. Myra remained quiet and still, which was both a worry and a relief. He didn’t like how unresponsive she was, but her breathing was steady.

  That task done, Landon wiped the area around the bandages clean, taking care to not get them wet, and pulled the blankets up to Myra’s chin. He sagged against the wall, physically and emotionally drained.