The Mark Of Iisilée

by T P Sheehan

  Sarah was motionless. Bonstaph waited. A long, silent moment passed without a word and then, without looking back, Sarah began to walk into the cave again.

  “Sarah… Wait!”

  “Commander?” Bonstaph turned about. Walt was there. He was standing back at the corner. “What are you doing, sire?”

  Bonstaph snapped his head back to the cave. Sarah was gone. He looked back to Walt. “Keep everyone moving, Walt. I’ll catch up.”

  “You’re not going in there—”

  “Go! I’ll catch up.”

  Walt nodded unconvincingly, turned and left. Bonstaph ran into the cave after Sarah. Plunged into darkness, he rubbed his eyes free of the sun rings blemishing his vision then continued on. The darkness soon became absolute. He had to feel his way with his right hand against the cave wall that was eerily smooth to the touch. It did not feel naturally formed, but as though it was burnished with seams than ran diagonally in smooth waves. No man-made tool did this, yet it is not naturally occurring.

  The deeper he went into the cave the more Bonstaph’s footsteps echoed, suggesting the cave was widening until he came upon a broad intersection. His hand felt an opening to the right. Further around he found another opening, then another and another. A fifth opening he deduced to be the one he entered though he could not be sure, and so he counted back five, holding fast to this entrance for fear he may lose his orientation and never find his way free of the caves again. There was absolute silence and the darkness seemed to close in around him. He stood as still as a statue, frozen in time, and kept his hold on the tunnel wall he hoped would take him out.

  “SARAH!” Bonstaph called just once. It echoed a long, endless pulse down each of the five tunnels. He listened until the final echo petered off to nothing.

  “Do not follow me, Bonstaph.”

  Sarah’s voice startled him. She was right there at the junction of tunnels. Bonstaph opened his mouth to reply but Sarah cut in first—her voice darker than the Caves of Cuvee.

  “Where I go, there is no coming back.”

  With that, Sarah was gone.

  PYRE

  In the healing room, Catanya discarded her white robe and dressed in her Ferustir suit again, buckled up its ancillary pieces and sorted her weapons. She double knotted her laces then tucked the iris into her chest armour beneath her left collarbone. I will see you soon, little sister…

  Standing tall, Catanya made for the external door. Liné was waiting outside just as Jael had said.

  “Semsame,” Liné greeted her.

  “Liné. Thank you for protecting me.”

  “The gratitude is mine. You saved my unhatched child. I am forever in your debt.”

  “You owe me nothing. Your child should never have been used to blackmail you and Brue. Liné, have you seen Magnus?” Catanya did not want to sound abrupt, but she was determined to leave the Romghold with the speed and discretion with which she arrived. Only one thing mattered to her—finding Hannah.

  “On the training green, Semsame,” Liné instructed.

  “Please… Call me Catanya.”

  Catanya walked to the front of the temple and stopped dead at the sight before her. There were a dozen Ferustirs and the same number of fire dragons standing about the common. Among them were Jael, Austagia, Trax and Eamon. Austagia spotted Catanya first and came running toward her, followed closely by Eamon.

  “Catanya! You’re awake.” Austagia placed his hands on her shoulders. She could feel the relief in his touch.

  “Aye, finally.” Catanya smiled, eyeing Jael and wondering why she had not told Austagia as much.

  “Catanya!” Eamon had no time for formalities. He hugged her. “So good to see you well!”

  “Thank you, Eamon. It’s good to see you, too. What is going on here?”

  Eamon and Austagia stood back. “See for yourself.” Eamon pointed toward the training field.

  Catanya walked down the temple steps onto the common and looked across the field. Her jaw dropped at the sight before her. As a silhouette centred to the amber setting sun, Magnus and Brue stood in profile, bowing their heads to one another—Magnus with his head against Brue’s nose, his arms holding the long snout of the large dragon. It was a most unexpected, yet beautiful sight.

  “They have not left one another’s side for three days,” Eamon said.

  “Jael said as much, I just didn’t believe it.” Catanya felt her emotions choking her, part of which was her ever-present thoughts of Hannah.

  “Jael spoke to you?” Eamon asked quietly.

  Catanya looked at him, then back to Magnus and Brue. “It doesn’t matter. This is good news.” It was more than she could ever have hoped for. She looked over to Liné, whose smouldering eyes squinted back. Catanya waved in acknowledgment.

  “This is a good thing… A wonderful thing,” Eamon whispered.

  Catanya knew exactly what Eamon was saying. “Magnus shows compassion.”

  “Aye, Catanya, he does.” Eamon took Catanya’s hand and squeezed it enthusiastically. “Forgiving the dragon that tried to assassinate him. A meeting of the mind of two great warriors.” Eamon leant in and whispered to Catanya—“This could save the relationship between priests and dragons.”

  “Let’s hope so.”

  “Not a bad start for the Electus.” Eamon squeezed Catanya’s hand again.

  “You’ve always known Magnus was the right choice, Eamon.” Catanya smiled.

  “Aye. I have.”

  Magnus learned more about the world of dragons in a day than he had in all his life. Brue had finally opened up to him. Every nook, cranny and crevice of the dragon’s mind was a revelation and Magnus accessed it all. At first he thought Brue was revealing too much. He then came to realise that dragons did not think of their minds and memories as their own—they were part of a greater collective. Brue took Magnus beyond the threshold of his own memories and through kaleidoscopic arrangements of the memories and thoughts of other dragons. These in turn guided Magnus through further thresholds and so on and so forth. Brue was one part of an endless collective consciousness.

  “Could I lose myself here?” Magnus considered.

  “Breathe,” Brue whispered back.

  Magnus did as told. He took a slow, deep breath and concentrated on more grounded things—the breeze on his face, the touch of Brue’s scales on the palms of his hands and the soft grass beneath his boots. As fast as he entered, he withdrew from the consciousness of dragons and was back in his own mind. Another breath and he re-entered the labyrinth once again.

  ‘Wow…”

  Brue steered Magnus through one threshold where he came across everything that was Thioci. Magnus saw how he was entwined in the young dragon’s fate even though he only shared the last days of Thioci’s life. Magnus could see himself by the youngling’s side and understood now that it was not darkness Thioci passed into, but an infinite abyss of shared thoughts and memories. Thioci’s last breath of life—the final rustling of autumn leaves—was in fact the tinkling transition from physical form into the stars beyond. Infinite in number, the stars embraced Thioci’s consciousness and were all the more magnificent for doing so.

  Magnus witnessed an age of memories in the blink of an eye. It left him questioning—“What use is all this to you?”

  Brue’s response washed through his mind like a smooth flowing river—“Wisdom…”

  Magnus withdrew, feeling humbled.

  “Wait. You are a part of the greater plan, Magnus. Come see.” Brue drew Magnus into his thoughts one more time. “Look again. Think of what matters to you.”

  Magnus immediately thought of Catanya, his parents, Lucas and Eamon. In an instant, Magnus was pulled through a different threshold of thought and into his own kaleidoscope formed of the most seductive shades of bronze and ice blue shifting over one another like the scales of dragons. From the bronze and blue, every colour imaginable was born. As he moved through the spatial spectrum, each colour was a memory, a thought, an i
dea or a dream he had experienced at some stage of his life. Each of these was a creation that was somehow linked with that of every Couldradt fire dragon—present and past. Magnus was overcome by the realisation.

  “You are a part of all this, Magnus. Thioci made you so.”

  “And others—Catanya? Eamon?”

  “All living things are linked together. You have merely been given a tool to make it easier to see. We each form a unique link. In the realm of consciousness, there is no hierarchy—no pyramid of importance.”

  Magnus withdrew with a breath once again. His eyes bathed in the amber sun that was starting to set again over Froughton Forest. Brue lowered his head. Magnus rested his hands on the dragon’s nose again—scarred from the sword he himself had driven through it. He bowed forward, letting Brue know how grateful he felt. “Thank you.”

  “Thank you, Magnus.”

  Magnus rose again. Brue stood tall and his eyes burned like a blacksmith’s forge. Magnus caught his reflection in the glimmer of Brue’s pale underbelly scales and gasped. His eyes were just like Brue’s—burning fires of a forge.

  Magnus turned toward the common. Two-dozen pairs of eyes were locked on him. Half were Ferustirs, half were dragons. With vision far sharper than usual, Magnus looked at each of the faces in turn, making out every detail—every nuance of expression. Among the faces were Austagia, Jael, Eamon, Trax and… “Catanya!”

  “She is well!” Brue was as happy as Magnus.

  Magnus and Brue walked across the training field. Catanya came to Magnus, wincing from pain she obviously still harboured. Magnus embraced her gently. “I’m so glad you’re awake.” He studied her for a moment. She seemed pleased to see him, but something was troubling her. “Catanya, is everything okay?”

  Catanya glanced about, aware as Magnus was of the many eyes on them. “It can wait, but Magnus… if you thought your eyes were different in Thwax…”

  “I know.” Magnus squeezed his eyes tight and blinked several times. The peculiar sharpness to his vision faded and became normal once again. A dragon appeared to his left, nosing him in the shoulder. It was Rubea.

  “We’ve not been properly introduced.” The curious dragon looked from Magnus to Catanya and back again.

  Magnus smiled at her. “Hello, Rubea. I am Magnus.” He felt he should indeed properly introduce himself.

  “Oh, I know who you are.”

  Magnus smiled at Rubea and glanced back to Catanya. “Should we go somewhere to talk?”

  “It’s okay. It can wait,” Catanya assured Magnus.

  “What have you got to say for yourself, Magnus?” It was Eamon. He spread his arms and collected Magnus and Catanya into a hug. They exchanged smiles. “Never mind, we can discuss things later, dear friend.” Eamon stood back and looked Magnus over, shaking him excitedly by the shoulders. ‘So proud… so proud…” He looked at them both. “You did it. You said you would and you did it. Trax has told me all. What a tale! And what a pair you two make!” Eamon turned to the field behind Magnus. “Brue!” he said. He excused himself and walked to the long-tailed dragon.

  The rest of the Ferustirs and dragons fell into discussions. After a while, Austagia called for attention.

  “It is good we’ve returned to the safety of the Romghold. There are matters, however, we need to address. All but one of these matters can wait until tomorrow. A priest’s pyre will be prepared at the northern end of the training field for Joffren. Those who so wish may convene at the temple for reflection in one hour. At midnight, the pyre shall be lit and the verity light shall burn its course. In the meantime, a meal is prepared in the common kitchen.”

  Many of the dragons took flight and headed over Froughton Forest. Magnus gathered they sought game to satiate their own hunger. Most of the priests moved toward the kitchen, some catching Magnus’s eye and giving a nod as they passed. He took it as a sign of respect and yet, it was not respect he wanted. He just wanted to trust that none of them would try to kill him.

  Catanya took Magnus’s hand. “Come. I want to show you something.” Catanya led Magnus to the small stone building of her personal quarters. She opened the door and removed a small lantern from an outside hook. “Come.” Catanya led Magnus into the small room. He looked back across the common. Austagia remained behind and was talking to Eamon. Jael shared their company but her eyes were on Magnus.

  “Magnus,” Catanya said, shutting the door.

  “This was your room?” Magnus looked around. He was most curious. It was neat with a small table and single chair at its centre. There was a narrow bed along the far wall with a bow and quiver of arrows leaning against the foot of the bed. “I like it.” Hanging from a brass hook on the back of the door was a robe made of black, burgundy and white silk with gold embroidery weaving throughout the design. “Magnificent.”

  “Magnus,” Catanya repeated. He looked at her. Only now did he notice the anxiety in Catanya’s face.

  “I’m so sorry, Catanya. I was distracted. What is it?”

  Catanya reached beneath her chest armour and presented a flower. Magnus smiled, but Catanya’s face told this was no romantic notion. “I found this…” Catanya forced the words. She held the dried, pressed iris to Magnus’s face. “I found it on the chamber floor beneath the temple. Hannah was there, Magnus. Hannah was standing there, holding this.”

  “When was she there?” Magnus could not get a bearing on what Catanya was saying.

  “I saw her when I rescued Liné’s egg. Then the High Priest arrived, we fought and… Hannah vanished.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I went down to the chamber when I woke up just now and found this flower—my flower. It’s from my own diary that I kept in a dresser in my bedroom back in Nuyan.”

  Catanya and Magnus stared at one another in silence until Catanya sighed and closed her eyes, lowering the flower. Magnus reached for her shoulders to appease her, but she turned away and began pacing the small room. “I know this sounds ludicrous but I know what I saw. It was Hannah.”

  “Could it have been a spell, or an enchantment by the High Priest to distract you? I wouldn’t put it past them—”

  “No. I thought that when I woke earlier. That’s why I had to go see for myself. Then I found this!” Catanya held the iris up again. “That priest is long dead. Trax killed him. And I’m pretty sure he didn’t conjure a flower from the afterlife.”

  Magnus took the flower from Catanya. He looked it over. It was certainly dried and pressed and looked as if it had been for many years. Catanya sat herself in her chair, folding her arms across her chest. She wiped the tip of her nose with the palm of her hand and sniffed.

  “This was your flower?”

  “You gave it to me. It was one of the first you ever picked for me, from your side of the Nuyan River.”

  Magnus remembered the story. She told it to him before they parted ways at the same river long ago. “You put them in a pitcher… in your kitchen.”

  “All but one,” Catanya smiled awkwardly. “I knew they wouldn’t last forever, so this one I pressed in my diary. I know it’s the same one—I used to look at it each night before going to bed. I know every petal. Look, the second petal has a black inclusion through it…”

  “And Hannah knew of it?”

  “Yes. It was our secret. I would…” Catanya sighed. “I would tell her stories about you. I would tell her how much I loved you and how we were to be married.” Catanya smiled at the memory. “Hannah would stare at the flower with those big, brown eyes of hers.”

  Magnus was more than touched by Catanya’s story and could see she was convinced it were true. But… Hannah in the Romghold? If it were true, where would she have gone? He could only think to make a weak suggestion—“Perhaps Eamon could help us look around. I don’t know of anyone better suited to solving a riddle.” Magnus smiled weakly, knowing his idea was lame at best.

  “Perhaps. But I don’t need him thinking I’m crazy. I can see you think I’m crazy.” />
  Magnus handed the flower back to Catanya. “I’ve seen enough crazy to know you are not, Catanya. If you say this is your flower, then it is. Which means Hannah has been here.”

  “I need to find her, Magnus. If not here, then at home in the Uydferlands. This is a sign if nothing else. I have to know she is safe.”

  “All the Irucantî should be returning to the Fire Realm now and finishing this war.”

  “They will be deliberating for days, weeks, perhaps even months. I could be there by tomorrow night. Rubea will take me.” Catanya huffed. “She brought me here all those months ago. She can damn well take me home again.”

  Two dragons stood either end of the pyre. One was Rubea, the other a male dragon named Altair. The pyre was made from a tall stack of dried pine logs. Joffren’s body rested atop the pyre on a bed of pine needles. He was dressed in his formal silk robe—the same robe he wore during Catanya’s inauguration. The priests walked about the pyre, throwing gladiolus flowers onto his resting body.

  ‘Gladiolus…’ Catanya remembered Joffren explaining during her inauguration. ‘The flower of strength, faithfulness and honour.’ Joffren had so honoured these virtues, as he had honoured all the rituals and philosophies of the priesthood. At the time, ‘strength’ was the only virtue Catanya believed she possessed. On reflection, she thought her time as Joffren’s Semsarian had taught her ‘faithfulness’, but not faithful to the order of the Irucantî. Catanya had been faithful to her own beliefs in what was right and wrong. Yes—she was convinced that her training had been her personal test of faith in her own beliefs. So now, as Joffren was about to be sent to the realm of the gods, ‘honour’ was the virtue Catanya was unsure the gods would recognise in her. Still, two out of three isn’t bad, Catanya decided.

  Beyond the virtues of the gladiolus flowers, there was another that spooked Catanya more—‘Fleatermara’. On her first night in the Romghold, she asked Joffren what he believed her purpose for being here was. He had said ‘righteousness’. It did not sit well with her at the time. Even now it felt wrong. Catanya decided to let that virtue burn at the pyre with Joffren.