Darkness swirled around me like a living thing. I stood, nearly blind, my feet submerged in a warm, soft substance that felt like it was breathing. When I tried to lift a foot, it wouldn’t move. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I saw that I was surrounded by a low wall over which I could barely see. It seemed like a stall of some sort. A pen.
A nest.
The swirling ooze pulled at my feet, irresistible and comforting, and I found I suddenly wanted nothing more than to sink into it and sleep. Slowly, I became aware of dark, hulking masses huddled around me—silent forms that breathed along with the muck at my feet, sinking into their own nests of undulating goo.
Dragons. Dozens of them. Their eyes were luminous in the dark, so that I was surrounded by pairs of blue and red and deep purple orbs that alternately gazed steadily and blinked sleepily. Voices ricocheted across cavern walls that I couldn’t see.
We will rise again.
What if no one wakes the she-king Nuaga?
She will awake.
And who will pen her Lament?
Rest easy. It is already penned, and in the hands of Mennek the Lesser.
What human would dare to sacrifice for us? This last dragon moved toward me as if I weren’t standing there. It is without hope that I go to my rest.
Peace, Solara. When he comes, he will bear her mark, and all will be well.
The dragon Solara continued toward me, oblivious to my presence, as though I were invisible. I tried to move out of her way, but the muck pulled me down, down, even as she stretched her great form over me, ready to crush me to the bottom of her nest.
“No!” I cried. “Stop!”
“Storm?”
I gasped forcefully and found myself kneeling in the dark near my post. The dragons were gone.
“I’m here.” I didn’t even know who I was talking to.
“What happened?” Jasper approached, weapon in hand.
I swallowed the dryness in my mouth. “It’s nothing, sir. I’m sorry.”
“Why did you yell?”
“I…” Sounds of others approaching caught my ear, and I felt utterly stupid. “A wild beast. It … caught me off guard. I’m sorry.”
Jasper nodded; I could barely see his face in the darkness. “Better to rouse us for nothing than to let us sleep when danger is near.”
I felt even smaller in the face of his mercy. “Thank you. Yes, sir.”
Jasper and the others shuffled back to their tents, and I was left alone in the wake of magnificence unlike any I had ever seen. These, then, were the dragons Nuaga wanted me to call forth—intelligent and dangerous, beautiful and terrifying.
I chose not to fear them.
* * *
The rest of the week was a grueling blur, during which Jasper did everything he could to hone us for what lay ahead. He also reminded us daily what Tan Vey’s victory would mean for our people—the slaughter of surplus citizens, the ruining of women, the murder of children. His words held fire and fear and turned my heart toward my family at home. Would Jasper’s plan truly be the means of protecting those we loved? Or did our salvation lie in the dragons?
Every day, I thought of my brother, safe at home and oblivious to the danger I had taken his place to face. How long would he stay safe? I imagined the expression of uncomprehending terror on his face as nomads rushed toward him—eyes cold, weapons raised to kill—and my heart knotted with fear.
More and more, I felt as though the fate of those I loved best lay not in the hands of the high king’s army, but in mine.
The cooler edge to the air made the long days more bearable, and in the evenings the fire brought more comfort. Outside its glowing circle, the night air held none of the late summer warmth it had a short while ago.
Nuaga didn’t appear again, though every night I dreamed of dragons waking from their slumber and rising from their secret chambers. And every morning when I awoke, I was filled with a renewed zeal for the dragons that was hard to contain.
On the night before Oradon, I crawled into my tent and lit the lamp I’d hung from the crossbeam, hoping to capture a few minutes of study before joining the others around the fire. I had just unrolled Dalen’s scroll when Forest lifted the flap and slipped inside.
“I was wondering why you had a lamp in here,” he said, frowning at the scroll. “What are you reading?”
I’d apparently done an excellent job reading in secret. I was ready to offer a vague answer, but then I caught the expression on Forest’s face—open, earnest. As though his question were born from friendship instead of curiosity.
“The Lament of Nuaga,” I said.
“Why?”
I lowered my voice to a near-whisper. “I have something to tell you.” And it struck me that I should have, perhaps, told him sooner.
“Go on.” He sat on his blanket and waited while I turned to face him.
“I started hearing Nuaga’s voice in my dreams after we arrived at Grigsbane,” I said. “And then she began appearing to me.”
Forest’s expression was flat. “You’ve seen a dragon.”
“Yes.”
“Where, exactly?”
“They’re waking dreams,” I said. “It’s like she’s taking me somewhere else, but I’m not really there.”
“And you’re sure you’re not actually dreaming?”
“I’m sure.” I watched the skepticism growing on his face. “She shows me things, Forest. And she talks to me. She wants me to learn this Lament and wake the other dragons. I’ve memorized it.”
“Why you, though? Why would she arbitrarily choose you?”
“It’s the powder,” I said.
“For your pigeon toes?”
I cringed, hating the lie. “Yes. The woman I bought it from warned me that I might have dreams. But I never thought she meant anything like this.”
He seemed, for a few moments, to withdraw into his own thoughts. “I don’t know, Storm.”
My stomach tightened. “I’m not lying.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“But you don’t believe me.”
“Great God, Storm, you’re telling me you’ve been talking to a dragon.”
I swallowed the indignation that was creeping up my throat. “Yes. Because I thought you’d listen.”
“I am listening. But—” He sighed. “A dragon.”
“I thought you’d believe me.” I fought to keep the wobble from my voice.
Forest studied me, as though assessing my sanity. “You might’ve given me too much credit.”
“My mistake.”
I returned to my scroll, breathing through the hard lump in my throat.
“I’m sorry, s’da?” Forest said. “I don’t know what to say.”
I closed my eyes and opened them again. “Let’s see if the meat is cooked.” I rolled the scroll and shoved a million emotions deep beneath my breastbone.
And wished I hadn’t told Forest anything.
We joined the others at the fire. Cedar was busy cutting chunks from the wild boar he’d knifed earlier—the best kill of the week—and throwing the steaming meat into bowls. Forest and I each grabbed a bowl; we were headed toward the fire when I saw Dalen standing off by himself. I slapped Forest on the back—boy code for “I’m leaving but I’ll be back”—and joined Dalen.
“Why are you standing here?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Sedge said I always grab the food before everyone else. I’m waiting my turn.”
“Oh.” Now wasn’t the time to tell him not to take Sedge seriously. “Can I ask you something?”
“As long as you’re not asking for my share of meat.”
“Nothing so awful,” I said. “I was wondering if you thought maybe there’s more to the Lament than what you gave me.”
He frowned. “Why would there be more?”
“It feels cut off. Like there should be another stanza, at least.”
“Onen is a common name in Ytel. It means ‘not one.’”
> “Not one?”
“As in, becoming a father to many sons. That’s why a lot of mothers give their boys this name.”
“But why does the Lament end with it?”
“It’s a general call for someone to step forward and answer Nuaga’s beckoning.”
I thought for a moment. “A general call.”
“Yes. Why does it sound wrong to you?”
“I’m a poet. I would never end something like that. It breaks the rhythm.”
He hesitated. “Some people believe there’s more. But I don’t.”
My heart quickened. “Why do some people believe it?”
“Like you said. They think it sounds cut off.” He motioned toward the fire with his chin. “Kendel thinks there’s more. It’s the one thing we disagree on.”
“But it would be easy enough to find out, wouldn’t it? You said yourself that the original Lament is in the Archives at the commune.”
“It’s not like you can walk in there and look at whatever you want,” Dalen said. “I’ve heard tales of people who traveled days to get there and were turned away. And some people don’t even believe the commune exists anymore.”
“But you do.”
“Always have. My great-grandfather stayed there for three nights when he was a young man. But they wouldn’t let him inside the Archives.”
“So no one can be sure the Lament is actually there.”
“I’m sure,” Dalen said softly. “Mennek was the first keeper of the dragon writings and relics after the dragons went to sleep. Legend has it his daughter is the one who wrote the Lament.”
My heart thrilled; the dragons Nuaga showed me had mentioned Mennek, and I believed Dalen’s story. “Well, I hate to disagree with you, but I think part of it’s missing.”
“That gives you and Kendel something to talk about.”
Not that Kendel talked much. “I think it’s probably safe for you to grab some meat now.”
Dalen smiled wryly. “If there’s any left.”
We walked to the fire and I handed him a bowl. There was plenty of wild boar, and Cedar filled Dalen’s bowl while I sat farther from Forest than I normally did.
“Winter falls faster in the north,” Forest said through a mouthful. “It will affect everyone’s ability to fight.”
“The nomads are used to the cold,” Dalen said, sitting beside me. “We’re the ones who will feel it.”
“The cold does fall faster, but it isn’t that much greater.” Jasper stood by the edge of the fire. “Not until you go far beyond the borders of the outlying tribes.”
“Well, that’s something.” Dalen scooted closer to me to make room, and Jasper sat on the other side of him, a mug of ale balanced between his hands.
In the beginning, something had always shifted when Jasper was nearby. Leadership set him apart, as it had set apart everyone else in authority in the training camp. Now, after all these days together, Jasper mostly felt like one of us, and the awkward hesitation when he wanted to join us at the fire had faded.
He seemed pensive, though. All day, I’d noticed his gaze drifting to the north, looking for another message from the outpost. But none had come.
“Commander Beldan and I have planned something special for tomorrow, to test how well you’ve honed your skills,” Jasper said, breaking into my thoughts.
“What could be more special than roasted field rat?” Mandrake said, and several boys laughed.
Jasper offered one of his rare smiles. “We’ll do a series of rope pulls with our strongest climbers, and some three-man melees with practice swords. We’ll also have a Neshu match among the officers. The captains have motivated their companies for the first three weeks by telling them that their best men will be invited to a small tournament this Oradon. They’ll be bringing more ale.”
At that, a cheer went up. After it had died down, Jasper continued.
“For the sword fights, we’ll have River, Briar, and Flint on team one, and Forest, Coast, and Kendel on team two. Everyone else on the rope pull, except you, Storm. You’re our Neshu fighter.”
I almost dropped my mug. “But…”
“I drew the lot for judging instead of fighting,” Jasper said. “I want you to fight in my place.”
“I’m honored, Commander,” I said.
“You’re a natural,” Jasper said. “I’ll bet money on you myself.”
Rock slapped me on the back. “I’d place my coin on you any day.”
“To our rising Storm!” Mandrake raised his mug.
“Rising Storm!” and “Stormrise!” came the answering calls.
I wanted to smile and swagger a bit, the way I thought I ought to. But visions of the entire mass of boys and men watching me spar with military officers made my insides quiver. The expression on my face was probably closer to a grimace than a grin.
“There will be two Neshu matches, and the winners from each will fight for a prize of fifteen coin and a bottle of spirits.” Jasper’s eyes glinted in the firelight. He seemed truly eager to create this final diversion for us.
“What happens if I lose?” My voice cracked halfway through the question, making me sound like I had the confidence of a dead dog.
“You won’t lose,” Jasper said. “That’s why I’ve chosen you.”
I bowed my head, a silent thank-you. His certainty that I wouldn’t fail left me without words.
“Jasper thinks highly of you,” Forest said later, as we were preparing to go to sleep.
“I don’t know.” Things felt stiff between us, and for the first time I didn’t feel like talking with him. I lay on my back and pulled my blanket up to my shoulders.
“Um. About the dragon.”
“What about it?”
“It’s not that I don’t believe you. Exactly.”
I sighed. “I’d never make something like this up.”
For a while, Forest was quiet. Then he said, “It could be visions caused by that powder, couldn’t it?”
“I suppose.”
“But you don’t think so.”
I rolled to face him, though it was dark. “I never believed dragons were real, same as you. If I had a rational explanation, I’d offer it. All I know is—I’ve met a dragon and she’s chosen me.”
“Chosen you for … what?”
“To wake the dragons. She says it’s the only way to save Ylanda.”
He was silent for another little while before he spoke. “You sound crazy. You know that.”
I didn’t answer.
“If you have another dream, will you tell me?” he asked.
Something in me softened. “Yes.”
“And if these dreams keep happening, you’ll tell Jasper?”
“I don’t know. If you don’t believe me, why should he?”
“I want to believe you, Storm. It’s just…”
I rolled onto my back. “S’da.”
More silence. “Are you afraid of dying?”
“No,” I said. “I think I’m just afraid of the pain that will come first.”
“Yes,” Forest said. “That.”
I closed my eyes and wondered if Jasper truly thought highly of me. Hadn’t that been what I’d been striving for? Becoming Jasper’s equal—perhaps surpassing him—would surely restore the honor Papa had lost by not having a mentally sound son to march off to war. For Papa, for my brother, I would do anything.
And a small, quiet corner of my heart whispered that the honor would be mine as well.
13
Forest fell asleep immediately, but I lay awake for a long time, unable to quiet my thoughts. The sense that I was being watched dawned gradually, until I sat up in a rush, blanket clenched in my fists.
“Nuaga?” I whispered.
Rain.
Her voice was so powerful inside my head that I jumped. I took a calming breath, reminding myself that she was visiting in a dream, not in the flesh. Then I closed my eyes. Immediately, I was drawn into the waking-dream state that had become
so familiar, my true body as lost to me as if I were sleeping. Nuaga stepped forward, and for a moment I fought the desire to claw myself free from her.
This was a dragon. With teeth. And breath that could melt flesh.
At first, I couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. The reality of what she was—what she could do—stole my ability to think beyond it. Nuaga was beautiful and terrifying. Magnificent and awful.
Yet she had become so much a part of me that I couldn’t allow fear to render me powerless. I had spent days memorizing and studying the Lament, and my heart burned to understand more.
I met her gaze.
Nuaga drew her face near mine. Her expression was so human that my breath stuttered in my throat. She was almost … smiling.
Do you fear me?
“Only sometimes.”
She regarded me for a few moments. Do you understand my Lament now?
“I still have questions.”
Tell it to me.
Faltering at first, then growing steadier, I recited the Lament. When I finished, Nuaga was silent. Her breaths came slowly and evenly, and I tried to imagine what it would feel like for her to turn that breath toward me with the intent of melting my flesh. I waited, but still she said nothing.
She seemed, for the first time, uncertain. Perplexed.
“Nuaga?”
Something is missing …
“Tell me what’s missing.”
Her gaze was sad. The words you will need to awaken the dragons. And the need for sacrifice.
Sacrifice?
“Meaning what, exactly?”
The greatest dragon magic is only released through sacrifice, such as T’Gonnen’s own life. And the dragon-waking words will speak for themselves.
“Why can’t you just tell me?”
The sadness in her eyes deepened. I did not write them; I spoke magic over my beloved scribe so that she could imbue the words with my power. The minds of the slumbering dragons are intertwined; if the waking words were in my mind all along, they would have long ago disturbed the ages-long sleep.
“So I must bring these words to the dragons.”
Yes. If you don’t, there is no hope for Ylanda.
“But why?” I whispered. “How can there be no other hope?”
Her eyes grew large and transparent, as they had done before, and drew me somewhere else. This time, I didn’t close my eyes or brace myself—I simply stood tall and waited while the scene settled around me.
Stormrise Page 13