by Liz Flanagan
‘Let me see, let me help …’ he tried.
Winter dropped the large sack she’d been dragging and stumbled forwards. Joe caught her, one arm round her waist, and led her across to the stream. He dipped his shirt sleeve in the hot water, bringing it gently to her face. Winter winced, but let him clean the blood from her cheek. Both dragons followed closely, making anxious high-pitched noises in the back of their throats.
‘Who did this to you?’ Joe asked.
‘One of them. He tried to stop me. He tried to keep me from you, Fidell,’ she muttered, keeping one hand on her dragon’s neck all the while.
‘Is this blood? Where are you hurt?’ Joe demanded, as her dress fell forwards, leaving a crimson smear on his hand.
‘Not mine,’ Winter said grimly.
Joe gasped, understanding.
‘He’s not dead – just bleeding. It was his own knife did it. He would’ve killed me, otherwise.’ Winter jutted her chin out defiantly, but he could see her fingers trembling as she stroked Fidell’s head. ‘They killed others.’
‘When?’ Joe managed.
‘It started yesterday, at dawn. And …’ She tilted her head, and looked at him. Her eyes were glassy with shock.
He didn’t want to hear what she was about to say.
‘Joe, they killed a dragon.’
‘No. No, they wouldn’t! Not even them.’ Nausea rose then and Joe had to tip his head forwards, trying not to vomit, breathing fast.
‘I saw. They paraded its body through the streets. And its … its head.’
‘Who? Who was it? What colour?’ Joe prayed it wasn’t Iggie, or Ruby. It couldn’t be.
‘Red and yellow, I think. Or the red might have been blood …’
‘Where’s my sister?’ Joe burst out, trying to make sense of it all. ‘She would never let this happen.’ He paused, realising what this meant. ‘Oh no! She’s not—?’ He couldn’t bring himself to say it.
‘She’s not dead,’ Winter told him. ‘I asked everyone: in the market, at the docks. People said they’re prisoners: your sister and the duke.’
‘But her baby! It must be coming any day now,’ Joe looked down at Ren, full of protective fury. His fear for Tarya came out as anger. ‘How could she let this happen?’
‘You know how the palace gates are always open now? It wasn’t hard to do. The Brotherhood burned the armoury, surrounded the barracks and the palace.’
‘But the dragons! Why didn’t they stop them?’
‘Rumour says they were dosed or poisoned, or – I don’t know. Joe, I’m so sorry, but some of the dragonriders … they’re on their side. They were there, parading with the Brotherhood.’
‘Noah! I bet he is … But who else?’
‘I can’t remember their names,’ she mumbled miserably. ‘That black dragon, who flamed you.’
‘Ravenna!’ Joe remembered Hatching Day, how Lanys had looked at the Potentials with such mistrust.
‘Your sister’s dragon escaped – Heral and Petra, the duke’s dragon, were circling the palace all day, trying to fight back. I saw them in the distance. But then they left.’ Winter’s voice faded out.
‘They left? Heral abandoned Tarya? Are you sure?’ Joe couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe any of it.
She shrugged, seeming groggy with shock. ‘All I know is that they were there, fighting back. And then they weren’t.’
‘Oh my stars. I’ve got to go.’ He was filled with desperate fear, as her words finally sank in. ‘Now! I’ve got to check on my parents. Find my friends.’
‘No!’ Winter cried, grabbing his arm. ‘Joe, you can’t. You didn’t see it. They’re brutal. You’ll be killed, and what will Ren do then?’
Ren’s eyes were fixed on him. Joe stared back, finding comfort in her wise golden gaze, as he always did. His heart felt torn in two.
‘That’s why I brought so much,’ Winter was babbling now, pointing at the large sack. ‘There’s food and water for a week, so we don’t have to leave again while it’s so dangerous. There’s a curfew. There’s blood on the streets. We have to stay safe, don’t you see?’
Joe gulped. He leaned forward and embraced Ren hard, feeling the beat of her heart, the thrum of life in her scaly throat as she rested her head on his shoulder now. How could he leave her? For a moment he was tempted to stay. He was still a ghost, wasn’t he? They weren’t part of the city. They could pretend nothing had changed. Their life could carry on, uninterrupted. They’d have to forage at night, but they could survive down here.
But then he thought of his parents, alone. He thought of Conor and Amina – what had happened to their dragons? Where were Milla and Thom? They would fight back, he knew they would. He couldn’t let everyone he loved risk their lives, while he kept himself safe.
‘Ren, I’m sorry,’ he whispered. His heart swelled to breaking point with the conflicting feelings. Her large purple ears twitched at the sound. ‘I have to go,’ he said, more loudly. ‘I need to find my family. If I can get them down here, we can all stay safe. Till we can fight back together.’
‘Down here?’ Winter’s voice turned shrill. ‘No, Joe. This is their nest. Fidell and Ren are safe here. The tunnels are our secret: they’re ours!’
He blinked, staring at her. How could they feel so differently about this? All winter they’d lived together and worked together, and suddenly she felt like a stranger.
‘Please, Joe,’ Winter begged him. ‘I’ve lost too much. I can’t lose Fidell, and I can’t lose you.’
‘I know. But I can’t hide, not now, not any more.’ He tried to explain, as softly as he could. ‘I might be the only one who can help. I have to find out what’s happened to my family and my friends. And if I can bring them down here to safety, I will.’
But she pulled away and wouldn’t look at him again. She sat on the rocky lip of the stream, hunched up in her blood-soaked dress, barely able to see through one eye.
Joe felt as if he’d hit her himself. He unpacked the supplies, bringing Winter some fresh water and bread. She ignored him.
Ren and Fidell were making hungry growling noises, so next he found some rabbit carcasses in the sack and set to skinning them. Winter had been setting snares in the overgrown gardens of the shadow strip and they were a good source of fresh meat. He threw the finest parts to the hatchlings, hung some meat to keep for later, and washed his hands in the pool when he was done.
Ren and Fidell snapped the meat up eagerly and then licked themselves clean.
The smell of fresh meat filled the cave, making Joe’s stomach roil, and filled his mind with images he wanted to avoid. He fixed his mind determinedly on the plan forming in his head. He knew he needed to stay strong.
Afterwards, he knelt and hugged Ren, leaning on her broad purple chest. Her wings were folded, her scales glinted dully, her ears drooped. Mraa, she growled softly, winding her long neck around his.
‘I know,’ he said. ‘I know it’s dangerous. I will be as quick as I can. I’ll stay in the shadows. I won’t take risks, I promise.’ It was the best he could do. ‘Stay here with Fidell and Winter. Stay safe.’ He pressed his lips to her scaly head, wishing she were coming too. If she were smaller, he could hide her. If she were fully grown, she could fight. But she was still at a gangly, awkward, in-between stage – a bit like me, he thought – and he couldn’t risk her getting hurt.
Walking away from the cavern was one of the hardest things Joe had ever had to do. But having Ren only made it more important to make the right choice. His father would do the same, he was sure. His feet felt heavy as anchors, but he made himself move through the tunnels, clutching Nestan’s compass to guide him, to see what was left of the island and the people he loved.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Joe emerged from the tunnels, choosing the door closest to the Yellow House. He pushed it open and peeked out, checking east, west, and back again. The sea mist crept over everything, pale grey and thick as smoke. It took him a moment
to recognise the familiar street, its stone cobbles and high walls made strange by the floating white mist clouds.
He climbed out into an alleyway just below the Yellow House. Joe looked back at the wooden door he’d just come through, with its peeling wooden frame. In his old life, he’d passed it hundreds of times, assuming it belonged to the next-door house.
He started creeping down the street, so close to home. If the main road was empty, he was just moments away.
Then he heard footsteps. He flattened himself against the wall, listening hard over the noise of the blood pounding in his ears. Tramping feet and men’s voices. It was too late to run back: he’d be seen for sure. But with this mist, and a little luck …?
Joe held his breath, and kept his whole body motionless.
The footsteps grew louder, so loud it seemed impossible they weren’t heading this way. They echoed off the high walls of the buildings and the cobbled road, getting louder and louder.
He prayed not to be seen. He had to stay safe for Ren. He had to get back to her: their lives were bound together now.
‘Some of them don’t even remember – the new ones,’ a man’s voice was saying loudly. ‘We’ll show them how it’s meant to be!’ That earned jeers of approval.
Joe didn’t catch the next sentence. They were moving away, down into the city. He was safe, this time. He waited, to be sure the men had gone. He could feel the mist, chill against his face, seeping under his jacket.
He stumbled forwards, out onto the main street, feeling dreadfully exposed. A few steps further and he reached the gate of the Yellow House. He reached out for the iron handle and pushed, hoping it wasn’t locked, and to his relief, it opened and let him through.
His relief vanished when he saw the lock: smashed, twisted, hanging open. He tiptoed through, into the courtyard, trying to read what had happened here. His whole body was alert, ready to run or fight. There was a reddish-brown smear on the tiles, broken pots and soil spilling out.
‘Dad! Mum!’ he yelled now, heedless of his safety.
He ran up the steps to the front door, but it was barricaded from inside: something heavy had been pushed up against it. He hammered hard on the worn wood: ‘Is anyone there? It’s Joe!’
He cursed himself. He should have been here. Whatever had happened, he should have been here to face it, with his family, where he belonged. Panic gripped him now. His hands were slippery and damp as he tried every window, every handle he could find. He was locked out of his parents’ house.
Eventually, he hauled over a bench, tipped it and climbed up, reaching for a first-floor window ledge. He pulled himself up on shaking arms, and slithered through, head-first, landing hard on the floorboards in his old bedroom.
Barely glancing around, he noted it was untouched, still neat and clean, then he was opening the door, listening hard, and padding out into the gloom beyond.
A sharp blade pressed into his chest. He could feel the cold iron bite into his skin. ‘Stop right there,’ a voice hissed.
‘It’s Joe! Who’s that?’ He raised his hands cautiously, peering forwards into the darkness.
The voice swore loudly. ‘I nearly killed you, bloody fool!’
‘Matteo!’ He rubbed his chest where the sword had been, then found himself hugged hard by the old cook he’d known all his life.
‘Just in time, lad. You’re just in time,’ Matteo said hoarsely. ‘This way, they’re down here.’ He led the way down the main stairs. As they passed a gap in the shutters, Joe saw that Matteo looked exhausted. ‘Joe, I’m sorry. We tried. We fought back, all of us. But there were too many of them, and we had to retreat. They killed Gabriel, and …’
Firelight danced in the largest room, casting shadows on the walls. Matteo gestured to the darkest corner, where a mattress had been piled with blankets, and a familiar shape lay curled amongst them.
Joe dashed over and fell on his knees. His mother was asleep. Her face was in shadow, but he could see clearly where they’d hit her. A bruise bloomed across the whole of her left cheek. He leaned his face close, till he could feel the flutter of her breath, and be sure she was alive.
‘Joe?’ she mumbled, trying to open her eyes. ‘Joe! You came.’
‘Of course I came! As soon as I heard.’ He hugged her carefully, trying not to hurt her. ‘Mum. I’m sorry. I wish I had been here.’
Tears leaked from Josi’s eyes and slid down the sides of her face, into her silver-black hair. She’d always been so strong. Invincible. Seeing her like this was a punch to the stomach.
‘Where’s Dad?’
‘Right here,’ she croaked, trying to turn.
Joe froze. What he’d thought was a pile of blankets was another person, lying next to his mother.
He clambered over, pulling wildly at the closed drapes to let more light into the room. His father lay on his back, very still, the cold light falling on his face now. His skin looked waxen and grey, apart from the dried blood by one ear and in his white beard.
Joe felt all the air leave his body. He heard a ringing noise, tasted iron. The next thing he knew, he was bending over Nestan’s body, gently patting his face, whispering, ‘Dad? Dad, can you hear me?’
His father’s breath was barely there; it had dwindled to a feather-light whisper.
‘What happened?’ Joe lifted the blankets to see how badly he was injured, then wished he hadn’t. ‘No!’ he bawled, shaking his head. ‘No. No. No.’ His father’s shirt was soaked through. The bandages were leaking crimson, low down, round his middle. Joe knew enough to understand you didn’t survive a wound like that.
This couldn’t be happening.
‘It was early this morning,’ Matteo was saying. ‘They pulled everyone out into the street, giving Norlanders a chance to join them. I think they targeted Nestan. If he’d joined them, a man of his standing, they’d have more authority.’
‘Your father refused,’ Josi said proudly, shifting her body round so she could face Joe and Nestan, hissing softly at the pain as she did so. ‘Of course. Yes, he’d served the old duke, once. But he knows what’s right. He would never betray Tarya and Vigo like that. Or me.’
‘We fought them off,’ Matteo said. ‘I’m no soldier, but I have my knives. We tried as hard as we could, but there were more of them.’
‘The Brotherhood are cowards!’ Joe hated them so much. He hated what they’d done. He hated his powerlessness.
‘They think they’ve won,’ his mother said grimly. ‘They think they’ve defeated us. But this isn’t over yet.’
‘I should have been here,’ Joe said, seeing nothing but a blurry haze of firelight now.
‘I’m glad you weren’t,’ his mother told him. ‘They’d have hurt you too.’ She leaned low over Nestan, stroking his face, checking his forehead, settling the blankets around him.
‘Where are the others?’ Joe whispered softly, trying not to disturb his father. ‘Where’s my sister – is her baby here yet? What about Isak?’
His mother told him that Isak was safe in Sartola with Luca; that Milla and Thom were on an expedition far away; and that no one had seen Tarya or Vigo since before the coup.
So none of Nestan’s family had been there when he needed them.
‘I’m sorry,’ Joe said, bending over his father’s chest. ‘For everything.’ He was overwhelmed with remorse then, unable to catch his breath as he wept, gasping and choking.
‘Joe.’ Nestan’s voice was hoarse and low.
‘I’m here, Dad,’ he sniffed, wiping snot and tears on his jacket sleeve. ‘I won’t leave you.’ There was a flicker of a smile at the corner of Nestan’s mouth. Joe fumbled under the blanket, and found his father’s hand. It was cold, far too cold. ‘Can’t we go for a healer?’
‘Joe,’ Josi said softly. ‘I fear we are beyond that. I’m sorry.’ His mother shook her head. ‘And the island’s locked down. You wouldn’t make it back again.’
‘It won’t be long now,’ Matteo said quietly. ‘But
I’ve given him herbs, for the pain.’
Joe made a space for himself next to his father, keeping hold of his hand, and lay down, as gently as he could.
‘Where’s your Ren? Is she safe?’ Nestan squeezed his fingers lightly.
‘Yes,’ he said, with a hiccup that was half-laugh, half-sob. ‘Ren’s with Winter, in the tunnels. I came to take you down there so you’d be safe too.’
‘You did it, Joe,’ Nestan murmured. ‘Did it your way. Always different.’ There was something that might have been a laugh. ‘Always so proud of you.’
‘Oh, Dad,’ Joe could barely speak. He wished he’d done more to make him proud, while he could.
‘Your mother …’ Nestan couldn’t manage the whole sentence.
‘I know,’ Joe told him. ‘I will take care of her. Promise.’
‘Tarya … Isak …’
‘They know,’ Joe whispered. ‘They know you love them …’ He turned to the side so his tears didn’t drip onto his father’s face.
They spent the rest of the day like that, Joe and his mother lying either side of Nestan, Matteo keeping guard in the strange, quiet house. Joe took second watch, pacing by the door, listening to the sounds of violence in the lower city. When it was his turn to sleep, Joe lay down again next to his father and closed his eyes. He thought of Ren and hoped she would understand.
He woke to the sound of his mother weeping. Joe knew what it meant before he opened his eyes. He laid his head on his father’s chest, cold and motionless now. ‘I’m going to stop them,’ he vowed in a whisper. ‘I’ll stop the Brotherhood before they destroy the whole city.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
They buried Nestan in the garden, there at the end, by the olive trees, witnessed by just the three of them: Joe, his mother and Matteo the cook. With the city under curfew, they had no other choice. They sat by the freshly turned soil for a while in stunned silence. It was a clear day, the pale lemon sunshine almost warm on Joe’s skin. His hands were hot and sore from digging, and he brushed the sandy soil from his fingers. The sea in the distance twinkled light blue. He couldn’t believe his father wasn’t here to see it. Arcosi was silent, as if it joined them in mourning.
