Stormrise

by Jillian Boehme

  Not that I wanted to.

  I read the Lament several more times, and the conviction that every word was true burned deep in my belly. There was no plausible reason for feeling this way—I simply felt it. Knew it.

  Perhaps it was the dragon powder, coursing through my veins. Or the simple fact that I had spoken with Nuaga before I had ever read the Lament.

  There wasn’t anything about having to spill my blood so she could find me, though. It only said that she would speak and beckon.

  I ran my fingertip over the final line: Where is Onen? I’d studied and written poetry almost since I could hold a pen. The more I thought about it, the more it sounded incomplete.

  But why would Dalen have an incomplete version? It made no sense.

  If only I could slip away to the Archives, to see if the original Lament really did reside there. Or perhaps I was thinking too hard about this—perhaps the Lament ended exactly the way it was intended.

  I rerolled the scroll and tucked it deep inside my pocket, the words still tingling on my lips. “Help me understand,” I whispered to Nuaga.

  She didn’t answer.

  * * *

  I rolled gratefully onto my side that night, exhausted from the day’s training. Forest’s good-night faded into the distance as I fell quickly into dream-vivid sleep. Throughout the dreams, my name, clear and strident, rang in my ears, until I sat upright, fully awake, sweat dampening my face.

  Release me, Rain.

  I pressed my fist against my mouth and closed my eyes, reminding myself that Nuaga only came in dreams.

  I’m waiting.

  Though my eyes were closed, she loomed before me, as though I had been transported into someone else’s dream—and in the dream, my eyes were wide open. I felt the heat of her breath and smelled her musky scent as she dipped her head toward me. Her eyes were luminous, and she held me in her gaze until I felt I would explode.

  She was terrible. And beautiful.

  Release me. You can then receive my mark and wake the dragons.

  Nuaga’s eyes, shades of vibrant blue mixed with honey and topaz, regarded me with such intensity that, for a moment, I closed my own eyes.

  I feared she would consume me, though she wasn’t really there.

  “Why do you want me to wake the dragons?” I asked, my words scratching their way out.

  Because the dragons are Ylanda’s only hope. Look into my eyes, Rain L’nahn.

  I looked, and her eyes grew large and transparent, drawing me into them as though I were mere breath. I cried out as darkness closed around me. Immediately, light and a thousand colors sliced into my eyes, and I sank to my knees and pressed my hands over my face.

  Behold. A single word, whispered into my soul.

  Birdsong and the warmth of sunlight on my neck both calmed and confused me. Had she taken me somewhere else? I lowered my hands and gasped—I knelt in the shade of a sprawling tree, my knees sunk into the dirt. Not far away, the grass sloped gradually downward, and a strange keening wafted on the breeze.

  “Where is this place?” I asked.

  But I was alone.

  I rose and followed the sound of the keening, the ground’s dip becoming steeper until it widened into a hollow. By the time I neared the bottom, the keening had stopped. In the middle of the hollow lay a freshly born dragon, the slime of birth still glistening upon its neck and back. Nearby, its mother rolled toward it and lowered her head, nuzzling it with affection so great that my heart ached.

  The cries of men pierced the air. Startled, I looked up to see them hurtling down the hollow on the opposite side—fifteen, twenty men in braided armor, swords aloft. Panic tore through me as I realized I had nowhere to escape their advance.

  But they seemed not to see me. I stood rooted to the grass as their weapons bore down upon the mother dragon, swords slashing. Blood arced from the dragon’s neck and breast, and I screamed as three of the soldiers descended on the baby, throwing a thick-roped net over it and cinching a cord around its neck until it could barely breathe.

  I backed away, stumbling over myself on the way up, unable to tear my eyes from the horror before me. Cold wind rushed at my skin as darkness once more swept over me, and then all was still. Nuaga stood before me in the shadows of the waking dream.

  That is the legacy of the northern tribes, she said. They must be stopped.

  The horror of what I’d seen stole my words. I folded my arms across my chest to try to stop the shivering.

  “H … how?”

  She blinked. Only the dragons can stop Tan Vey and his army from destroying your people. Release me and receive my mark so you can wake the dragons.

  I stared, words failing me.

  The mark of my breath, she said. Only the worthy survive it—but T’Gonnen is strong within you. I believe you are worthy.

  Fear crept through my body. “Why me?”

  Because you have awakened me, Rain. And the other will not listen.

  The other?

  Will you release me?

  “You’ve asked me to spill my blood.”

  Yes. The scent of faithful blood will show me where to find you.

  I couldn’t reconcile it. My heart was drawn to Nuaga, but what of the men in my unit? Could I willingly invite such a creature into their midst?

  “I’m not ready,” I whispered.

  Her face reflected a thousand sorrows before she faded into black. I opened my eyes in the darkness of my tent, my breathing loud and ragged. Forest lay sleeping; I was careful not to wake him as I lay down, bathed in sweat, my heart banging against my ribs. The throaty warmth of Nuaga’s voice echoed in my mind.

  The mark of my breath. Only the worthy survive it.

  Dear Great God, did she think I was mad?

  And who was “the other”?

  The Lament said nothing about dragonbreath or receiving Nuaga’s mark. What else was missing? For the first time, I wished I had grown up believing in dragons. Surely this would be easier if it weren’t all so terrifyingly new.

  * * *

  I slept little for what remained of the night, which was long. My sporadic dozing deepened into actual sleep some time before dawn, and when Jasper yelled us from our tents, I could barely raise my head from the ground.

  “Are you alive?” Forest hovered like a rain cloud.

  I groaned and rolled onto my back. “Barely.”

  “You’d better get moving.” His boots were already on; he ducked out of the tent.

  I jammed my feet into my boots and started running toward the latrine, twisting my hair back as I went. Several boys were relieving themselves along the outskirts of the tree line that hugged the stream. I hoped that meant the latrine itself might not be full, but as soon as I ducked inside, I saw that all three holes were taken up.

  I groaned inwardly, then made my way to the private place I’d found just behind the latrine, in a not-quite-big-enough cluster of holly bushes. I considered skipping it altogether, but my bladder was full, and I knew I wouldn’t make it through warm-ups without relieving myself.

  I stood for a few moments in the holly bushes, pantomiming. Moments later, Cedar squatted behind a tree, obviously having forgone the latrine for other business. It seemed reasonable that I might get away with it, too.

  I had just finished when someone squatted on the other side of the bush. I froze, feeling too exposed to pull myself together. I continued to squat until my legs began to fall asleep, and then I summoned the nerve to stand up. When I did, I got a clear view of the boy on the other side. It was Sedge.

  He didn’t see me, and as soon as my pants were up, I cut a wide arc around the bush, hoping he was too intent on his business to notice me. I was a few steps away from moving outside his range of vision when I saw him shake something from a small bottle into the palm of one hand. He rubbed whatever it was into his neck, first on one side, then on the other.

  I should have kept moving, but I knew in the pit of my stomach that whatever he was rubbin
g on his neck was his purchase from Madam S’dora’s shop. In the next instant, he looked up, as though he had sensed me watching him.

  He narrowed his eyes, like the time we’d first met and he thought he’d recognized me. Was he thinking the same thing now? Straining through layers of memory to figure out why my face looked familiar?

  “What are you staring at?” he said.

  I frowned and walked away, embarrassment coursing through me like a boiling river. I hated to think how this would incite further abuse from him. I was supposed to be working to make things better, not worse.

  And then it struck me, like a blow to the skull—Sedge could be “the other.” Whatever he rubbed into his skin was surely imbued with dragon magic, similar to the powder I swallowed. Perhaps it wasn’t as strong, or Sedge wasn’t having dreams.

  Nuaga may have been drawn to the magic in Sedge’s oil, but I was the one she reached out to.

  Asked to wake dragons.

  I headed toward the open field, hoping I’d find the courage to say yes.

  12

  By the end of the week, our weapons and breastplates had been delivered from the main camp, though without the helmets we would have worn into battle. The breastplates were specially crafted—thin and supple, made from tightly stitched braids of leather, so that we could engage in Neshu without being encumbered. Not as protective as a full breastplate, but better suited for our unit. Intense training with a weighty practice sword made my real sword feel lighter, though the added bulk of the breastplate, despite its lightness, made me feel slow.

  Jasper pushed us to our limits, demanding stamina when we flagged while sparring and speed when we faltered from exhaustion. Over and over, he drilled us on the details of the high king’s rescue and the layout of Ylanda City. We practiced walking silently through the grass and slipping into shadows; we took turns launching surprise attacks on each other to heighten our reflexes. And we stood quietly when twice runners came with word from the north, speaking privately with Jasper before spurring their steeds for the return journey.

  My dreams were laden with Nuaga’s unseen presence and with visions of the slaughtered dragon and her captured dragonling. I was certain Nuaga had imprinted the scene in my sleeping mind, and the horror of it hung thick in my heart every day when I awoke. It was hard to ignore the fact that, despite her beautiful eyes, Nuaga was the embodiment of the violence she’d shown me. Huge, scaled, serpentine. Surely that broad, thick-haired snout contained rows of merciless teeth. And stories from my childhood had emphasized the dragonbreath—hot enough to melt flesh from bone, or to ignite a field of dry grass with one exhalation.

  This was what Nuaga wanted me to receive as her mark. I couldn’t imagine saying yes.

  * * *

  “Storm! What are you waiting for?” Rock’s deep voice called from somewhere within a stand of trees.

  I straightened my shoulders and checked my sword. “Coming.”

  It was the last training round of the day—my turn to deal with an unexpected attack. It was easier to feel fierce when I was the one hiding in a hollow or around a bend, but bracing myself for a surprise melee made me tense to my bones.

  I picked my way carefully along the path, a half mile of mostly wooded terrain where four of my colleagues were hiding, ready to challenge me. I hadn’t gone a hundred paces when Rock barreled toward me.

  His role was clear—unarmed attacker with brute strength. Rock was a vast expanse of muscle; in comparison, I was a dwarf. He knew he could best me at tests of strength, so my natural instinct was to move immediately to Neshu in the hope of outwitting and defeating him.

  It worked—barely. As I gave the Great Cry, I felt as though I had already used all my strength—and three more surprise attackers remained hidden.

  “I thought I was ready for you,” he said, breaths heaving.

  “You shouldn’t have called out to me,” I said. “It was easy to guess you were nearby.”

  Coast and Briar were next, accosting me from opposite sides of a small clearing. Their practice swords were drawn, and I drew mine as I quickly debated which to engage first.

  They were both excellent swordsmen, but Coast was definitely the better—and also more than a head taller than I. I was able to disarm Briar and kick his sword into the undergrowth with a series of Neshu moves, but Coast engaged me quickly and efficiently, pressing his blade against my neck before I knew what had happened.

  “You took your eyes off me when you kicked Briar’s weapon,” he said. “That was all the time I needed.”

  I rubbed my nose with the back of my hand. “You always beat me with the sword.”

  “Not always,” Coast said. “Not when you’re paying attention.”

  I looked at Briar, but, as usual, he didn’t offer eye contact. It was as though talking to people were physically painful for him.

  “You’re fast,” I said to him. “And good. Maybe be prepared for Neshu combat next time?”

  He nodded, but his face was knotted into a frown. “S’da.”

  Coast clapped Briar on the shoulder. “Let’s see if we can down some pheasants while there’s still light.”

  I watched them go, angry at my defeat and wondering if Briar spoke more when he was alone with Coast. Still seething, I turned toward the heavily wooded rise of ground that held my final hidden enemy. I gave myself a few more seconds to catch my breath before heading into the trees.

  Forest came at me silently, like a panther. I assumed a defensive posture and reached over my shoulder for the wooden dagger sheathed in my breastplate as soon as I saw the practice blade in his hand. He danced lithely to my left, avoiding my block and lunging headfirst into my stomach. I fell backward and he landed on top of me.

  I cried out and used a swift cut with my knife arm to knock the blade from his hand. He countered by slamming both my arms into the ground and pinning them with his knees. The dagger fell from my grasp, but I was able to use my leg to knock Forest off-balance, and moments later we were wrestling on the ground, neither getting the better of the other.

  Until suddenly he had me pinned. His forearm was tight against my neck and his nose was inches from mine.

  “Surrender,” he said.

  “No.”

  I struggled to twist from his grasp, but the advantage was his. Determined, I snaked one arm free and used the heel of my palm beneath his jaw, shoving his head up and back in an effort to dislodge his hold.

  “Storm, stop. You’re beat.”

  “Not … beat.” I kept shoving.

  “If this were real, you’d be dead. My blade’s right here.”

  He loosened his grip as he reached for the dagger, and I growled and flipped him over, landing hard on top of him. He went limp, and for several seconds my body rose and fell with his breathing. Every inch of my skin awoke, feeling his heat and the strength of his muscles beneath me.

  I lifted my head and met his gaze, and the brown-gold of his eyes arrested me. I’d never noticed the depth of their color before.

  “Storm. Get off me.”

  I rolled onto the ground, melting with embarrassment I couldn’t show, and reached for my dagger. “Sorry. I should’ve stopped.”

  “It won’t be the same with a real enemy,” Forest said. “It’s hard to say what would happen if we really wanted to kill each other.”

  I stood and resheathed my dagger and couldn’t seem to make myself look at Forest. “True.”

  “Ready to head back?”

  “Ready.”

  We walked mostly in silence, catching our breath. I couldn’t find words to speak, anyway—I felt as though I had thrust my heart at him in full view, and there was no way to take it back.

  And yet he hadn’t seen, because he hadn’t expected to see.

  Great God, where had these feelings come from? I would have to stamp them out the way I would an errant campfire.

  If only I knew how.

  * * *

  The last hold of summer slackened, and
as the falling season approached, the nights grew chillier. As the sun set on Oradon, we were given heavier blankets and leather, fur-lined cloaks from the supply wagon. The coffers of the high king surely ran deep, to provide so well for his army.

  First watch was mine that night. I hurried to my post, my hand sweaty on the hilt of my sword.

  Quiet settled around me as the others disappeared into their tents. River was last to go, banking the fire before crawling into the tent he shared with Sedge. I wondered how he could stand it.

  It couldn’t have been more than half an hour later when sudden darkness enveloped me, and I stood once more inside a waking dream. Soundlessly, Nuaga stepped forward.

  “Nuaga.” I spoke her name as boldly as I could.

  She stopped several paces from me and lowered her face to the level of mine; she was huge and magnificent and real. She was also undeniably familiar. As though I had known her a long time.

  Time grows short. Release me and receive my mark.

  “You’ve said that before,” I said, “but I don’t understand.”

  Do you carry my Lament in your heart?

  “Yes.” I’d had it memorized for days. “But I still don’t understand what you’re asking of me.”

  A long, hollow sound, like a sigh, escaped her. The Lament contains the words you will need to wake the dragons.

  “I don’t understand.” Remorse wound its way through me, and I couldn’t account for it. Was this the magic of T’Gonnen rising up within me, or was it my own heart, finally opening to Nuaga? I thought of the baby dragon and its slaughtered mother. I thought of how Nuaga seemed sure I was worthy of her mark.

  Yet what had I done to be worthy, other than to accidentally wake her by taking the dragon powder?

  Nuaga seemed to be waiting for me to say something. I licked my lips and chose my words with care. “Teach me.”

  Behold.

  Her eyes caught mine before I could look away. Once again, I was drawn in, as through a thousand doorways.