by T P Sheehan
Artur reached through the prison cage bars and rest a hand on Hannah’s shoulder. She continued to sob and rubbed her eyes with the balls of her hands. When she was done rubbing, she blinked her eyes into focus and looked again at Artur. Artur gave a nod. It was as though he somehow understood what he needed to know.
“I have something for you. I must go now and comfort my sister and mother, but I shall return.” With that, Artur stood and walked away.
A short while later, Artur returned to Hannah’s prison cage. She was glad to see him again, if nothing more than it being a change from the other OhUid folk who stared at her through the bars like she was a caged animal about to attack. Relieving the prison guard as he had the night before, Artur looked about, apparently making sure no others were present. He squatted by the cage again and looked at Hannah.
“Here,” Artur said, feeding a clenched fist through the prison bars. Hannah hesitated. “Take it—quick!” Hannah offered an open palm and Artur dropped something into it. He closed Hannah’s fingers over the object before she had a chance to see what it was. “Hide it.” Hannah sat back cross-legged and tucked her closed fist beneath her jacket.
“What is it?”
“Nëven’s last wish. She wanted you to have it. I’ll be outcast if anyone knows I gave it to you, but Nëven meant the world to me. Granting her last wish is the last thing I can ever give her.” Hannah stared awkwardly at Artur. “Vevila is looking for it, but she could never wield its powers, else it would have gone to her, not Nëven. You can wield its powers and you should… as soon as you can.” Artur stood and smiled as sad a smile as Hannah had even seen, then walked away once again.
Hannah spun about, her head facing away from the guard who was returning to his post by her cage. She pulled her fist out from beneath her jacket and prised open her fingers. In the palm of her hand, wrapped in macramé netting and still hanging from its string necklace, Hannah was holding Nëven’s Jasper stone.
CLIMB - TWO
Wisps of cloud brushed the sheer walls of the Romgnian Mountain crevice carrying a bronze glow from the setting sun to the west. Catanya had been watching the dancing spectacle, imagining the misty tendrils were dragons flying about the skies in the final battle of Allumbreve. They were bringing an end to the Quag, the Authoritarium, and even erroneous members of the Irucantî in the same manner she had seen with her own eyes when the dragons destroyed Ba’rrat. They flew about the crevice extinguishing foes without restraint or pardon. As only dragons can do…
Catanya looked to her left. Magnus was still sleeping which pleased her. He had denied himself sleep most nights and even though he rarely seemed to need it, everyone had their limit—even the Electus.
Before he slept, Magnus told Catanya more of his conversation with Balgur at the Red River. It was a revelation that ‘Steyne’ was not responsible for the great dragon’s death—that his sword was pre-destined to slay Balgur. She hoped Magnus would soon have the opportunity to share this truth with Eamon.
Catanya had spent much of the day reiterating the layout of the Romghold to Magnus. They would approach from the training field where her induction into the world of the Irucantî had started. To the east of the training field was the central, paved common. To the common’s north was the Temple of Fire that towered high thanks to its four steeples. South of the common was a neat network of alleyways and two semi-circular lines of priest quarters—each a separate, small building. There were three larger buildings north of the common and adjacent the temple that formed the common kitchen, training hall and storage facility.
Details to the east of the Romghold seemed irrelevant other than the narrow crevice that split the eastern mountain face and ran a mile deep. “Dragons will not fit here, although their flames will funnel through and reduce to cinder anything that flees this way,” Catanya explained. Nevertheless, through this crevice they would find the Dormiul Path that descended southward, and the Domult Path leading to the north face of the Romgnian Mountains and the Traas River—a river that flowed from Froughton Forest to the Neverseas. Either the Dormiul or the Domult could prove an essential escape route if necessary. The Dormiul Path certainly had when Catanya fled the Romghold on a fateful, rainy night not so long ago. When Catanya was satisfied Magnus had a clear picture of the Romghold in his mind, they had delved into their food rations. Catanya had then taken time to sleep.
Much of the day had passed when Catanya woke and found Magnus sleeping peacefully next to her. It seemed a good investment in a day spent waiting for the return of night. Then they could complete their climb to the Romghold fresh and focused.
Catanya looked again at the cloud of bronze dragons dancing across the crevice walls. The sun eventually waned and the dancing dragons turned teal before silently spiralling into a sombre grey. Catanya walked to the edge of the crevice. Dusk… The grey band of clouds spread over the eastern margin of Froughton Forest—the very clouds that hid them a mile up the Romgnian Mountainside. Catanya spread her arms and felt the warmth of the narrow crevice walls. Ideal for climbing again, she thought, yet there was an inconsistent chill within the crevice. The chill took hold at the nape of her neck. Catanya crossed her arms and looked about the crevice. The walls were beginning to frost over. The frost was growing, like climbing ice-blue vines spreading a winter chill. All about the narrow walls the frost spread upwards to the sharp peak of the crevice. It was not a normal occurrence—that much Catanya knew. She drew her lance and held its pulsing grip just shy of firm enough to ignite it. She followed the source of the creeping frost down the walls to… Magnus.
Magnus was still sleeping. His breathing was slow. The veins of his arms, thighs, face and neck were iridescent. Each vein pulsed with alternating, contrasting surges of amber and blue. Parts of Magnus’s body were layered in a creeping frost and from where he rested against the crevice wall, the frost spread. Venous surges of amber would course through him intermittently as though reclaiming their territory. But it was Magnus’s face that made Catanya reel. A hundred branching veins flushed with the same amber and blue. One moment a cheek’s veins pulsed blue bringing with it frost, only to be vaporised as the veins turned amber with heat again. Catanya knew what it meant. It was just as Marsala said. Within Magnus, Thioci’s blood was battling with Iisilée’s for supremacy.
“Magnus!” Catanya shook his shoulders, only to have the frost take hold of her hands. She stood back, shaking her fingers free of the burning cold. “Namon hama fara meo…” Färgd’s spell worked, burning the frost from her hands. “Magnus!” She shook him again—violently this time. “WAKE, MAGNUS!” Magnus gasped a long breath and his eyes opened wide. Thick rings of flame shimmied down Magnus’s body and limbs making him leap and then fall heavily to the stone ground. The rings of flames stripped his body of the blueness and frost but did not stop there. The flames spread from Magnus, across the stone ground and up the crevice walls. They moved in lines like a legion of soldiers, stripping away the creeping vines of blue and chilling frost. Magnus gripped his chest. He looked to Catanya and his eyes flashed a brilliant, sapphire blue like they had back in Thwax, only far more intense. He blinked and blinked again, winced as if in pain and shook his head. Magnus’s eyes burned as bright as a fire dragon’s before returning to their usual, blue-green colour. Magnus stared hard into Catanya’s eyes, reached for her and held her face in his hands.
Magnus had woken from a dreadful dream. At first, the dream was familiar, like the dream he had in Ba’rrat just before Brue made his attack.
Lucas stared at him in silence. Magnus tried to explain, again, why he never returned for him in the Uydferlands. The more Magnus explained the more Lucas retreated into the darkness of his hooded robe. Now Jael was there in Lucas’s place, beckoning him.
“Come,” Jael said.
“Do you know where Lucas is?” Magnus repeated the question. Jael would not respond. She placed a hand on his chest. Energy passed between them—a feeling of elation. He looked into Jael’s
dark eyes and lost track of his thoughts. “Why am I here?”
“I can show you everything you need to know,” Jael said, her voice smooth… knowing…
Magnus looked around. There was something… something he was meant to do, to know…
Jael was still there and was growing impatient. Her eyes sharpened. Magnus reached and placed his right hand on Jael’s chest. His hand discharged teal and turquoise fibres of living ice that spread across Jael’s Ferustir suit, up her neck, strangling her. Her eyes frosted over and her final breath left her mouth as a pale puff of mist. She fell to the ground, dead.
Behind her stood Alavia, dressed in her azure robe. This time, her white sword was sheathed at her side. This time, the legion of Rhydermere warriors was a thousand strong. Alavia smiled—pleased with what Magnus had done. This time, he had killed Jael…
“Magnus…”
“MAGNUS!”
Magnus gasped and his body heaved involuntarily. His mind and body swam in a sea of insatiable cold and his heart pumped heat fast and hard to counter it. Lying back against the hard stone ground, he gripped his chest, beckoning his fire-dragon blood to counter the cold.
Magnus looked at Catanya. His vision was foggy. He blinked again and again, squeezing his eyes and still, he could only make out Catanya as a spectre. A crack of white heat scorched his eyes. He grimaced, shook his head and looked again—his vision had cleared. He saw Catanya again. Her eyes… her beautiful eyes. Magnus reached for her, cupping her face in the palms of his hands.
I killed her… “I killed her!” Magnus mumbled. The image of Jael—dead—was still clear in his head.
“It’s okay. You had a bad dream,” Catanya’s voice was soothing, but she looked confused.
“I killed her, Catanya,” Magnus was almost shouting.
“Shh…” Catanya said, looking about, then back to Magnus, holding his hands in hers. “Who Magnus? Who did you kill?”
Magnus thought back to the dream. He had never told Catanya of his first dream, where his mother killed Jael. Now he killed Jael, and his mother was pleased. Magnus sighed and let his eyes close.
“Magnus…” Magnus looked back to Catanya and saw the panic-stricken expression on her face. “I think your mother has lifted her spell.”
“What happened?”
“You froze over! The whole crevice… your whole body. You were blue and then, it was like the fire in you took over and… burned you out!”
Magnus got to his feet and steadied Catanya’s shaking shoulders.
“Who did you say you killed just now?”
With some degree of clarity returning to him, Magnus felt awkward about the dream. “I was having nightmares, Catanya, it doesn’t matter.” As he spoke, Magnus looked to his right hand. A small vein, tracing from his wrist to the tip of his little finger, pulsed an iridescent blue.
Catanya grabbed his wrist, raising his hand. “That matters, Magnus.”
He drew the hand into a tight fist. Heat came and the vein’s iridescence changed to amber. His hand gave off a puff of vapour, then the vein faded to nothing. Magnus sighed. He was relieved he had some control over the condition. At least, he seemed to have control when awake. “I can control it,” Magnus said. He studied Catanya who stood rigid. She looked entirely unconvinced. Magnus knew though that right here in the crevice, a mile below the Romghold and a mile above the Red River, there was nothing he could do. “I’m okay.” He smiled and Catanya stared a moment longer before giving an almost imperceptible nod. Then she squinted and clenched her jaw.
“You know, when we get up to the Romghold to confront the High Priests and the dragons, we could both die.” Catanya’s words came as a punch, like she was forcing Magnus to face a truth they needed to acknowledge.
“Balgur said one High Priest will be slain, the other I will learn from. I don’t think we’ll die.” Magnus knew he spoke with less certainty than Catanya and it was far easier to believe Catanya’s prophecy than Balgur’s. “We can only do our best.” Catanya turned from Magnus and scooped her duffle bag from the ground with an aggressive, sweeping arm. “What choice do we have, Catanya?”
“None!” Catanya barked back. “We have none,” she repeated as a murmur, her hands raised. “Look at us.” Catanya looked over Magnus and then herself. Magnus knew what she was saying. The two of them were warriors in Ferustir armour. “This is what they’ve made us.” She threw her bag hard against the crevice wall and drew her fingers into claws, grunting in frustration. “For so long I told myself—‘become the warrior and there’s nothing you cannot do’. Yet, no matter what I do, death comes for us. And here we are, literally on the precipice of death.” Catanya sat cross-legged and slumped, head in her hands. “We should just go home. We should climb back down the mountain and go home. I need to see Hannah. I need to know she is safe.”
Magnus leant against the wall and folded his arms. Hannah… He thought of her for a moment, remembering her smile, the spark in her eyes—she must be seven now… He felt Catanya’s frustration and knew that to her, Hannah was no further away than a day’s journey on a dragon. “Do you think Hannah is safe?” Catanya lifted her head and sighed. “Your mother wouldn’t let anything happen to her, Catanya. Nor your father.”
“They’d better not.” Catanya extended a leg and leant forward to retie her lace. “Csilla,” Catanya said.
“Csilla?”
Catanya swapped legs and retied the other lace. “Csilla won’t let anything happen to her. If the Quag overrun Nuyan, Csilla will make sure Hannah is safe.”
Magnus thought of Catanya’s aunt whom he had never met until he, Lucas and Breona came skidding down the banks of the Nuyan River after the wyvern had attacked them. Csilla had charged her Uydfer archers to protect Nuyan’s borders along the river and north of the Quarry. She was an extremely capable warrior—he was certain of that. Magnus stood over Catanya and offered her a hand. She took it and Magnus pulled her to her feet. “Let’s get this done, Catanya. Then we can go home.”
‘Aye,” Catanya conceded.
They walked to the cliff edge and peered again through the darkening cloud.
“I’ve just had a thought.” A spark returned to Catanya’s eyes. “There’s an old priest in the Romghold I told you about named Trax. He’s a caretaker of sorts. I’ve never seen him leave the Romghold so there’s a good chance he’s there. He’s as smart as a whip, too.”
“The one with the Ahrona swallows,” Magnus recalled. “Would he be sympathetic to the High Priests?” Magnus asked.
Catanya bit a thumb, thinking things over. “Perhaps not. He’s proud of the Irucantî traditions. I can’t imagine he’d condone what’s happened of late.”
“Perhaps we may find him and ask?”
“If I do the asking, then yes—that may get us somewhere.”
Magnus thought the spark in her eye resembled a glimmer of hope. “Let’s do it, then.” Magnus reclaimed his sword and duffle bag, but Catanya did the opposite—removing her scabbard and placing in on the ground. She came to Magnus.
“If there is a chance we’re going to our deaths…” Catanya grabbed Magnus by his breastplate and pulled him close to her. “I want to go knowing I’ve known you, loved you… made love to you, Magnus.” She released the buckles of his Ferustir suit and pulled the armour plates forward leaving his chest bare. She discarded his armour then gripped the bottom of her own chest piece and pulled it up and over her head, dropping it to the ground. She stood, facing Magnus, baring herself to him, waiting for his response.
Magnus extended both hands and they met Catanya’s. Their fingers interlocked. They drew one another closer. Magnus felt Catanya’s chest touch his, then she pulled away slightly and ran gentle fingers down Magnus’s toned chest and abdomen. This time, there was no awkwardness or discomfort between them. Catanya took Magnus’s hand and placed in upon her own chest. Magnus’s heart raced. He looked over her beautiful body. In all the years they had known one another, they had never sha
red such physical intimacy. Why now? Magnus thought, but she had just said why—because it may be the last chance we ever have…
Magnus stepped forward and kissed Catanya. She drank his kiss with a passion that made him dizzy. Her lips and tongue were so sweet, her breath so warm. Magnus held Catanya by the waist, feeling the lines and curves of her body to the soft underside of her breasts. He dared to let his thumbs caress them. Catanya gently bit Magnus’s lip and sighed.
“Are you sure?” Magnus asked.
Catanya had always yearned for this. Not so long ago, her father refused to let her marry Magnus, then the Irucantî insisted on her abstinence, but this moment was void of judgment. It was Catanya and Magnus and that was all it should ever have been. Catanya had never been surer of anything in her life. “I’m sure,” Catanya replied.
Taking a hold of her hips, Magnus lifted Catanya off her feet. She wrapped her thighs around his waist and squeezed him tight, kissing him passionately once again before tilting her head up. Magnus lingered on the smell and the texture of her neckline down to the soft skin beneath her collarbones. Catanya pulled her torso back and Magnus supported her body with his arms. He kissed Catanya’s chest, gauging her reaction, daring to explore further.
Catanya closed her eyes and drew a long breath between gritted teeth, overwhelmed by Magnus’s touch. She squeezed her legs tighter around his waist, crossing her boots over one another. She looked back at Magnus. He stared into her eyes. There was a beautiful wildness to them—a surety that lay waste to any doubts or thoughts of predicaments beyond the two of them. This was the Catanya he loved—the powerful woman who put their needs first. Catanya wanted Magnus and knew he would never suggest the same without her initiation. That he was a gentleman only made her want him more. And in this moment, Magnus wanted her more than anything.
