Nessa gazed at it. It was a large, drooping low on the woman’s chest, composed of a bar of curled wire that a number of items hung from. There was a fine quartz wand and a collection of gems threaded into long strands, and in the middle was a long white bone and a dainty skull of a songbird. The woman’s fingers stroked the bones as if they were a live pet.
Nessa’s eyes darted up, instantly snared in the woman’s gaze. Her eyes were a flinty grey, deep set and troubled. She was not youthful, and had threads of silver in her thick black hair and creases around her mouth and across her forehead. There was something about the woman, something that made Nessa commit her face to memory. The way that her gaze went straight through Nessa reminded her of Helen. Nessa shivered and forced herself to turn away. But even so, she could still feel the woman’s stare on her back, and that feeling didn’t leave until distance and tents severed the connection.
Nessa breathed a sigh of relief when Orm finally brought them to a stop. However, her relief was short lived when she saw their destination.
Tucked away by itself in a gloomy alcove was a tent. It was large and round, a rich cream colour edged in gold, the middle of the roof raised in a towering point. It looked out of place amongst the smaller and darker tents around it. But the truly unsettling thing about the tent was the aura of power emanating from it, deep and formidable.
“What is this place?” Nessa whispered. The people, their deep eyes and hidden stares, the waves of power that came from the tent…
“They said that it might be him,” Orm muttered. “But I had hoped that they had been mistaken.”
“I presume you know whoever resides in this delightful place?” Hunter asked.
Orm nodded. “I do.” He didn’t sound particularly happy about that either.
“And?”
“He doesn’t like me much.”
“Does anyone around here?”
Orm looked wounded. “Plenty of people like me, I’ll have you know.”
“Oh yeah, like who?”
“Uhh...”
“Guys,” Nessa interrupted. “Stop dithering around.”
Hunter smirked. “Dithering?”
“Dithering.” Orm rolled the word on his tongue. “That’s a good one. I like that word. Dithering.”
“I’m so glad,” Nessa remarked dryly. “Now, can we get on with things? I don’t want to be here any longer than I have to be.”
“I agree,” Hunter said.
“Fine, fine,” Orm grumbled. “But first things first, I must give you a warning, specifically you, Hunter, my boy.”
Hunter’s eyebrows went up and he grinned, amused. “Oh?”
“Don’t speak unless spoken to,” Orm continued. “That means no sarcastic comments, no stupid questions, and no damn jokes. I don’t even want to hear one teenie tiny, minute quip out of you. Out of either of you.”
“Fair enough,” Nessa said, more than happy to let Orm do all the talking.
“And, if you value your eyeballs, do not stare.”
“Huh.” Hunter frowned. “That’s delightfully concerning.”
Orm turned, and with a trembling hand, pushed aside the tent’s flap, revealing a dark void beyond. He stepped inside, and was almost immediately swallowed by the lurking shadows. Nessa stared after him with a feeling that was akin to horror. A voice told her to run, to pull Orm back and get as far away from there as possible. But just as there was an impulse to flee, there was a stronger force that pulled her forward, and before she knew it, the tent’s shadows closed in around her.
At first there was nothing but darkness, and then ever so slowly, light began to bloom. With a whisper of breath, candles suddenly came to life, small flames jumping up and dancing merrily away. There were hundreds of them, ringing the edge of the tent, every size and shape imaginable. Despite the numbers, though, the tent was still bathed in muted shadow. It was as if something was holding the light at bay, some unseen entity half-smothering the flames, making them burn weakly.
Nessa swallowed nervously as the whisper came again, blowing softly across the ground. Mist appeared, drifting up out of the rocky floor, first in trailing fingers that soon turned into a thick blanket that floated around Nessa’s ankles. Aoife squirmed in her bag, sensing Nessa’s growing unease, and Hunter moved closer to her side.
“Well,” Orm said with forced lightness, “it seems that no one is here. I propose we leave before they come back.”
Orm was right. Save for the candles and mist, there was nothing else in the tent other than them. Nessa started turning, ready to leave, when a low, ominous chuckle filled the room. Nessa could feel it deep in her bones. Unease transformed into dread, and her hand somehow found its way into Hunter’s, gripping it tight.
“It’s far too late for that,” said a deep, cold voice.
Shadows parted like curtains and a figure was revealed.
With a hunched back and bowed legs, an old man shuffled into the middle of the tent, the mist stirring in his wake. His hair was wiry and grey, falling around his shoulders and down his back, and his face was down-turned, partially hidden from Nessa’s wide, staring eyes. His clothing was dark and tattered, hanging loosely from his emaciated frame, and clenched in one age-spotted hand was a twisted walking stick.
His appearance was less than intimidating, but he radiated power. It came off him in waves, almost palpable.
Whatever he was, Nessa was sure that he wasn’t human.
Orm’s warning came back to her, and she was beginning to understand his worry. Her eyes darted to him, finding that he stood rigid, a pained smile fixed on his face.
The old man came to a stop, standing in the centre of the tent, and lifted his head.
Nessa barely stifled a gasp.
His face, deeply lined by age, was devoid of eyes. There were no empty sockets or withered flaps of skin, or even scars. In their place were two smooth, shallow hollows. The sight was, to say the least, startling.
He smiled, as if he delighted in her shock.
Orm took a step forward, a very small, very unwilling step. “We’re he―”
The man snarled, his smile vanishing, and bared his teeth. “Yes, you and your companions, coming in unannounced. That’s very rude, you know.”
“Bu―”
“And speaking of your companions,” the old man hissed. “Who are they? I find myself most curious.”
“Well,” Orm said slowly. “This is Hunter and N―”
“Nessa,” the old man interrupted with a sigh.
“How do you know my name?” Nessa blurted, troubled.
The man’s eyeless face turned towards her, as if he could actually see her. “Because, girl, I know many things. The Veil of this world fluttered and shifted when you came through. The wind whispers your name when it blows, and the ground remembers where you had stepped long after you have passed. Trees sing at your touch when you brush against them, and animals watch you with reverence. It has been a long time since this world has seen one such as you, and it remembers. Oh yes, it remembers. As do I.”
The back of Nessa’s neck prickled at his words, and a shiver ran down her spine.
“That doesn’t sound alarming whatsoever,” breathed Hunter.
“Come come,” the old man cackled. “Let us sit and talk.” It wasn’t so much a request but an order. He waved his hand and the mist around him shifted and churned. It pulled together, rising and solidifying, and turned into a circle of four chairs.
Orm didn’t budge as the old man settled himself down into one, and neither did Nessa or Hunter.
The old man growled.
“Sit,” he barked. “Now. Before I lose my temper.”
Orm shot Nessa and Hunter a cautionary glance, and then did as he was bid, sitting down to the old man’s right. Nessa reluctantly let go of Hunter’s hand and followed suit. She stepped around a chair, resting a hand on its back as she did so, feeling that, despite it forming from mist, it was as solid as a real one. She sat, half expe
cting the seat to vanish beneath her. When it didn’t, she relaxed a little. Hunter grudgingly joined them, forced to take the remaining chair to the old man’s left. He did so with distaste, and Nessa was glad that she was sat between him and Orm.
“There we go,” the old man sighed happily. “This is so much better, so much more civilised. Now we can perhaps talk like sophisticated people.”
“People?” Hunter muttered under his breath.
Nessa had to clamp her lips shut to stop a nervous bubble of laughter.
Orm shot them a glare of warning, and they quietened down like a pair of scolded school children.
The old man set his walking stick down and leaned back in his chair. “Yes,” he murmured. “This will do nicely. Now, since I know your names, I shall be fair and tell you mine. You may call me Chaos.”
Nessa blinked. “Chaos?”
“That’s what I said.”
“But that’s not a name.”
“It’s my name,” Chaos all but snarled at her.
Nessa gulped. “And what a lovely name it is.”
Chaos instantly calmed, his demeanour suddenly turning to something you’d expect from a normal elderly man. “So what do I owe to such an unexpected visit?” he asked almost pleasantly. There was still a hiss to his voice, but Nessa was beginning to think that’s just how he sounded.
Orm responded first, pulling out the rolled up piece of parchment with the sigils Nessa had drawn on it. “We were wondering if you could tell us anything about these, particularly about the language and their usage.” He handed it to Chaos, who lazily took it between two fingers.
Nessa wasn’t quite sure what she expected to happen, considering that Chaos had no eyes, but it wasn’t what followed.
Chaos lifted the parchment to his nose and inhaled.
Nessa’s eyebrows shot up.
He leisurely sniffed at each of the charcoal sketches. Nessa didn’t know what to make of such an odd display. Chaos stilled, the parchment held in front of him. A muscle ticked in his cheek and his head turned to face her, giving Nessa the impression that if he could see, then he would have been staring.
“You bring these to me,” he asked. “Why?”
“Because I want to know what they are,” Nessa said slowly, sensing that she was treading on thin ice when it came to the being sat across from her.
“And why is that?”
“Because they have something to do with how I was brought here.”
“And?”
“And they might be able to send me back home.”
Chaos snorted. “But my dear, you are already home. Why ever would you want to leave?”
“Because this isn’t my home,” Nessa murmured. “I don’t belong here.”
“You belong here more than you think you do.”
“You’re wrong.”
“Am I?” He shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. I think you are exactly where you are meant to be.”
Nessa denied it. “You’re wrong.”
Chaos batted her words away with a wave of his hand.
“You’re wrong,” Nessa argued, gripping the chair’s arms. “You are wrong.”
“No, I am not,” Chaos said with a cruel twist of his lips. “And a part of you knows it.”
Something in Nessa’s chest constricted painfully, and tears welled in her eyes. She took a shuddering breath and stared Chaos down. He seemed to sense the torrent of emotions swirling inside her and shifted in his chair, uncomfortable under her gaze.
“I don’t care if the wind whispers my name or if the trees sing at my touch,” Nessa said through gritted teeth. “I need to go home. I have to.”
“You have no idea, do you?” Chaos whispered, almost too quiet to hear. “She never told you.”
Nessa dug her fingernails into the chair’s arms, focusing on the discomfort so that she didn’t snap and do something she might regret. “What do I have no idea about?” she demanded. “And who didn’t tell me?”
“How extraordinary.”
“What is?” Nessa cried.
Hunter reached over and pried her hand open, fitting it into his, holding it tight. His thumb ran over her knuckles, slow and methodical, trying to soothe her.
“How very extraordinary,” Chaos repeated, thoughtful. “You really don’t know, do you? You don’t have the slightest inkling of how rare you are.”
“We already know what she is,” Hunter said. “We know that she’s from one of the Twelve Houses. And trust me, there’s more than enough of them around for anyone’s liking.”
“THE TWELVE HOUSES!” Chaos bellowed, making everyone flinch. “You think she has those curs blood running through her veins?”
Finally, Nessa thought, he says something agreeable.
Hunter blinked. “Uh...”
“Told you I wasn’t,” Nessa muttered.
“Indeed you’re not,” Chaos agreed, his tone making her pause. “What you belong to is a much more prestigious bloodline. Isn’t that right, Orm?”
Nessa turned to Orm, who had been uncharacteristically quiet so far. His face had gone bone white, and he stared at Chaos with troubled eyes.
“Maybe,” he said slowly, hesitant. “But there is one thing that strongly indicates that she does, in fact, belong to one of the Twelve Houses.”
“If you are referring to the dragon hatchling that is in her bag, then you are misinformed. That means nothing.”
Nessa frowned, not knowing what they were talking about, and rested a hand on her bag, which was sat on her lap. Aoife had been quiet and still since they had entered the tent, and Nessa wondered how Chaos knew that she was there. Nessa looked over at Hunter, hoping he might be able to shed some light onto what was happening, but he appeared to be as bewildered as she was.
Orm sounded like he was reciting something. “Only those with blood from the Twelve Families―”
“―Can hatch and bond with a dragon,” Chaos cut him off. “Yes, I know what most have been taught. However, there’s more to it than that.”
“I am so confused,” Nessa muttered.
Hunter’s hand tightened on hers, a small comfort, but one she clung to like it was a lifeline.
Chaos sighed. “I can see this is going to be more difficult than I originally thought.”
Nessa looked between Orm and Chaos, feeling that a panic attack was fast approaching. This wasn’t going how she had thought it would. Something loomed on the horizon, something big and life altering. Something scary.
“Can someone please explain what you are talking about?” Nessa all but pleaded. She regretted entering the tent, and she regretted it more because she found it impossible to leave, despite the growing misgivings in her gut.
“Fine, fine,” Chaos huffed. “But I want some tea before I start. I find tea is always a nice way to help unravel the truth of things.”
Orm spoke up. “I don’t think this is the best way of dealing with something like this.”
“Quiet, half-breed,” Chaos snapped. “The minute she entered your pathetic excuse of a shop, you knew what she was. You could have told her. You could have saved her from this.”
Nessa gazed at him in question. “Orm?”
Orm shook his head mournfully, unable to look her in the eye.
“I presume, girl,” Chaos said, “that you know why and how the bonding between human and dragon came about.”
“Hunter explained some of it to me,” Nessa murmured hesitantly.
“Good. Now for the tea.” Chaos lazily clapped his hands together and, out of thin air, a steaming mug appeared. Nessa caught it before it had a chance to fall, more than a little startled. She peered into it, finding that it was some kind of herbal tea. Nessa grimaced. God, what she’d give for a brew of proper English tea right then.
Nessa looked at her companions, finding that they were holding identical beverages. Hunter, like her, was less than impressed.
“My kind has inhabited this land since the dawning of time,” Chaos
began, slurping his tea. “We were here long before the humans arrived and we will be here long after they leave. We are beings of magic, it is who and what we are. Dragons, too, are creatures of magic, and together we are tied to the weft and warp of the world. What harms us, harms the land. And what harms the land, harms us.
“When the humans first came to these lands, they brought a great number of things with them; knowledge of things that we had yet to discover, how to build mighty castles, how to kill one another over land and materialistic goods. But they also brought with them a terrible sickness.
“It decimated the dragons population.
“As a result, my kind and the land began to suffer. We came together, forming a spell that would save the dragons from the sickness. Since it was the humans who had caused it in the first place, we decided that they would be the ones bonded to the dragons, in case there were any side effects from the spell.
“We are not stupid creatures. We knew that the humans had a lust for power. They did back then, and they still do today. We knew that binding them to the dragons would give them an advantage, give them supremacy over lesser beings. So we wove in a loophole, a means that, should the Dragon Riders ever get out of control, we would have a way to rein them back in. You, Nessa, are our loophole.”
Nessa sat quietly, absorbing his words.
“What kind of loophole are we talking about here?” Hunter asked.
“Well,” Chaos smiled grimly, “we wouldn’t give the humans all the power of the dragons without saving some for ourselves, now would we?”
Something clicked. “Your loophole is...”
Chaos cackled. “Yes. The loophole is an Old Blood.”
Stunned silence.
“Impossible,” Hunter breathed.
“Not as impossible as you think, little human,” Chaos snapped.
“But it is,” Hunter argued. “The Old Bloods have been hunted to extinction. There is nothing left of them but descendants, mixed bloods like Orm.”
House of Fear and Freedom (The Wyrd Sequence Book 1) Page 29