Mystic Dragon

by Jason Denzel

  Take care of your feet, Thudfoot, she’d told him. A ranger never stops moving.

  He’d come to like the nickname she’d given him, even though he’d never discovered the specific thing he’d done to earn it.

  Finally, at the end of the night, the whole village stood, and the old onkai man began to sing. His voice, surprisingly deep and resonate, chanted, “Huzzzz-oh!”

  Sim lifted his head to listen. He’d heard that chant before, but where? The village echoed the old man: “Huzzzz-oh!”

  For some reason, it made Sim think of Pomella.

  The villagers chanted again, “Huzzzz-oh!” and the word echoed off the mountains around them. A flood of Pomella memories came to Sim. He wondered what she was doing, and whether she ever thought of him. But all those thoughts accomplished was making him feel more sad.

  He readied to leave the next morning, before sunrise. His bags were loaded with food, and both his waterskin and Rochella’s had been filled. As he’d anticipated, Swiko was awake and insisted—using gestures and the half-speak they’d devised as their own form of private communication—that she walk with him.

  Sim preferred she not accompany him, but he didn’t have the language or energy to explain that he wanted to be alone. As they left Bith Yab’s house, Swiko gestured for him to follow her up the path toward the summit of the mountain the village rested on, rather than down and back toward Yin-Aab where he and Rochella had come from. Sighing, Sim followed.

  It took the better part of the day for them to reach their destination. Not because of the distance, but because of the snow. All of the paths leading to the heights were blocked by a wall of ice and snow taller than Sim. But it wasn’t the summit Swiko led him to. It was a cliff that overlooked the village, now far below them. Seeing his confusion, the girl took the onkai from Sim’s hand and set them aside. She looked him in the eyes, and when he turned away she gently pulled his face back with her hands, and removed the scarf that he always kept around his nose and mouth.

  “Swiko,” Sim began. “I can’t; I—”

  She placed a finger on her lips, then stepped aside and pointed across the valley to the northeast. There, far distant across the cold, clear sky, was a massive mountain, plainly visible, towering above all others in the range.

  “Sit-ting Mother,” Swiko said in her thick accent. “Go. You.”

  Sim opened his mouth to protest, then closed it. “Why?” he said after a while.

  Confusion swam in Swiko’s eye, but she replied, “Sitting Mother. Find. Heal. After snow.”

  His excuse died on his lips. Heal, she had said.

  Heal.

  Rochella was gone. Pomella was gone. Dane was gone. Sim was alone, without any purpose.

  We are rangers. We do what we always do. We move, and we survive.

  Rochella’s words, returned to him from across time and death.

  Sim gazed to the distant, cloud-wreathed mountain. Swiko wanted him to stay until the snow melted. But he was a ranger now, and rangers didn’t stay in one place too long.

  But heavy snow already blanketed those mountain slopes. Swiko was right. Part of what she was trying to tell him was that he couldn’t go there now even if he wanted to. Without Rochella to guide him through these unfamiliar winter lands, he would have as much chance of surviving as a flower blooming in snow. Maybe even with her help they wouldn’t have been able to survive. There was no shame in wintering here.

  He nodded to Swiko. “Yah, OK,” he said.

  A wide smile bloomed on Swiko’s face. “OK,” she said. She took his hand, picked up the onkai staves, and led him back down the mountain.

  For some reason he couldn’t understand, Sim felt as though he’d failed.

  THIRTEEN

  BEFORE THE THIRD NEW MOON

  Three Years Before Crow Tallin

  Shevia swept the floor of the kitchen like a good apprentice. Above her, sour-scented ropes of garlic hung from the rafters beside iron pots and wicker baskets. A cauldron of soup bubbled over a fire, slowly steaming until the time it was ready to become supper.

  Shevia worked the broom back and forth, her mind numb, not caring whether the floor was spotless. She paused to fold a lock of long hair behind her ear. Master Bhairatonix did not like when her appearance was short of perfect. “Master yourself before you can master the Myst,” he would say.

  A wave of bitterness lapped at the shores of her mind. More and more she wondered whether the previous four years of her life were typical. Did all Mystic apprentices slave over meaningless chores all day? Back home, her family had had servants. She had been free to paint and study language. Now she was little more than a scullion.

  Shevia set the broom aside. With the amount she used the ugly thing, it was appropriate that her Mystic staff had once been a mop. With the sweeping done, all that remained was to wash the highsun meal dishes and finish preparing dinner. Perhaps afterward, if she pleased him enough, Bhairatonix would give her a lesson about the Myst.

  Flicking her gaze out the kitchen door to ensure she was alone, Shevia summoned the Myst and reached out her hand. The Myst rose reluctantly around her, and she willed it to carry her actual Mystic staff across the room to her. The staff glided through the air smoothly, wobbling only once. She frowned at herself. She would have to do better and eliminate the wobble next time.

  As the staff touched her hand, the Myst surged around her. She didn’t fully understand it, but somehow, whenever she touched her staff the Myst seemed more powerful, more immediate. Bhairatonix had declined to explain why when she asked. In fact, he rarely taught her anything. Probably because she was the worst apprentice in all of Qin, despite having the greatest of masters. She would have to try harder to be more perfect.

  Closing her eyes, Shevia sought stillness within herself. She’d long ago mastered the ability to hide her emotions, eventually finding that if she didn’t have any there would be nothing to repress. She found the Myst was most powerful when it wasn’t filtered by weaknesses such as sadness, excitement, or anger. This was one lesson Bhairatonix taught her soon after taking her as his apprentice: that emotions clouded your ability to command and manipulate the Myst.

  Raising her staff an inch above the ground, Shevia tapped it downward, releasing the Myst and willing it to scour the soiled dishes and then dry them when they were clean.

  The familiar silvery light swirled around the dishes, obeying her command. Foamy water rushed across their surfaces, swishing back and forth until they were clean. Tiny bubbles drifted in the air.

  She risked a moment of distraction to peer out the kitchen door, hoping Bhairatonix wouldn’t see her using the Myst for her chores. He’d caught her once using it to clean rugs. The resulting punishment had left her sobbing and limping for days after. After that, Shevia had learned to be a better apprentice. Or, at least, in those moments when she failed to be good, she learned to be better at hiding her poor choices.

  Shevia allowed herself a small feeling of triumph at having saved herself more tiresome work. She returned her attention to the sink and had to stifle a gasp.

  Challop, her master’s black cat, sat beside the dishes, watching Shevia and swishing her fluffy tail. The cat’s green eyes pierced into Shevia, seemingly looking for faults.

  Shevia immediately released the Myst. The dishes dropped back into place, and at least one clay bowl shattered.

  Shevia froze, waiting to see what would happen. She couldn’t prove it, but somehow she suspected that Challop knew everything that happened at Shenheyna and reported back to Bhairatonix. When she was a child, Cilla had told her stories of Mystics who bonded with animals, giving a portion of themselves to the creature in exchange for companionship, service, or secrets. Challop looked like a normal cat, but Shevia couldn’t be sure. She watched the cat glance at the dishes and even lift a paw to swipe at a drifting soap sud.

  “I am leaving on a journey.”

  Somewhere in the numbness of her mind, Shevia felt a surge of what
must have been fear. She turned to see her master’s unusually tall body framed in the kitchen doorway. As always, he held his staff in one hand, and his other was tucked away in his robes. Challop glided across the counter toward him. Seemingly without thought, Bhairatonix reached out and stroked the cat with the same long, bony fingers that gripped his staff. Shevia had become used to his abrupt way to appear and address her. He saw no point in simple greetings.

  “Yes, Master,” Shevia said. “What do you require of me?”

  Bhairatonix’s eyes searched her as if trying to find evidence of wrongdoing. Shevia gave away nothing.

  “Keep my home tidy while I am away. Disturb nothing. I will return within—”

  He cut himself short as he saw the broken dish. He tapped his staff once and the bowl’s shards shot out of the soapy water and hovered between them. His face remained expressionless as it rotated in the air, dripping water. Bhairatonix tapped his staff again and the bowl spun itself back together, good as new. It drifted back onto the counter, gently tapping the surface as it settled.

  Bhairatonix lifted a bony finger in front of his face, and twitched it. Shevia blinked, and realized she was lying on the floor. Everything around her was blurry. She gasped for air but found it difficult to inhale. She touched a trembling hand to her nose and found blood on her fingers. Her first thought was that she shouldn’t get blood on the floor.

  Shevia did her best to steady herself and stand. The blow had spun her fully around, and she had disturbed a table when she fell back. Shevia forced herself to turn around and face her master again. She dared not speak until given permission.

  “The life of a Mystic is not easy, girl,” Bhairatonix said. “As the keepers of the Myst, we have a responsibility to maintain perfection in all we do. Sloppiness like this”—he indicated the repaired bowl—“is the mark of careless commoners.”

  Shevia kept her eyes lowered. She felt blood trickle down her upper lip.

  Bhairatonix stepped forward and put his hand on her shoulder. “But I forgive you, Shevia. You were not raised a noble. These missteps are to be expected.”

  “Yes, Master. I’m sorry I am a disappointment.”

  Bhairatonix moved his hand to lift her chin. She let him. He ran a chilly thumb across her lower lip, wiping the blood away. It lingered just a moment longer than necessary, pressed against her flesh just a little harder than expected. Shevia could not bring herself to shiver.

  His hand drew away, his face stony. “See to your face. I will return before the third new moon.”

  He swept out of the kitchen, bloodred robes swishing behind him. Shevia remained motionless, letting the blood flow from her nose. Time seemed to still around her. She thought of that last day in the Thornwood, where the snow had drifted motionless in the air.

  Challop watched her with a curious expression. She wondered if the hateful beast was entertained.

  Shevia didn’t move, fearing that if she did time would grab hold of her again and her emotions would overwhelm her. Here, in this frozen world, she was in control. She was beyond pain.

  Shevia thought of her friend Sitting Mother, now long lost.

  A drop of blood pooled on her chin, wobbled, then fell. She caught it without thought before it could splatter on the floor.

  Before the third new moon. That meant Bhairatonix would be gone for nearly two weeks. She would use that time to become a better apprentice.

  * * *

  By evening, the main house was clean. Shevia mindlessly wiped her hands on a rag, then folded the cloth thrice, making sure to match the corners perfectly. She allowed herself a relaxing breath, and straightened her robe. Her nose still stung, but the bleeding had stopped. She’d been able to conceal the wound with makeup, something Bhairatonix allowed her.

  Silence enveloped the manor as Shevia walked through each room, hunting for chores. The silence was nothing new to her. She welcomed it. She ended her rounds in her master’s astronomy tower, privately one of her favorite places. Full-sized windows encircled the entire room, looking out on the rocky, evergreen-filled terrain surrounding Shenheyna.

  Only she and the High Mystic lived in the manor atop Mount Hinya within the Saychin Mountains. Bhairatonix kept to himself, welcoming few visitors, leaving only the crisp air and multitude of evening stars to keep Shevia company. She loved the stars but carefully concealed that affection from the High Mystic. She counted them each night from the secret comfort of her bed in her tiny room. That counting awakened her love of numbers, allowing her to add and multiply levels she had never done before. With Cilla no longer around to teach her, she began figuring out the mathematical puzzles herself, even giving names to the factors she had never been taught. Hundreds, thousands, then tibrans, typhons, and so on.

  Shevia examined the large telescope dominating the center of the room. The long tube pointed upward out one of the western windows, stretching as long as her arms were wide. Shevia wondered what was inside it. Her fingers itched for her to look through the eyepiece. She’d been allowed to, once, when Bhairatonix had let her gaze upon the moon. Her hands had shaken with excitement when she saw its cratered surface up close. Now she wondered if she could look again tonight while the moon was near full.

  Sweat trickled down Shevia’s back. Her hands shook. She took a tiny step toward the telescope, then fled the tower back to her room.

  She lay on her bed, not daring to be caught in a part of the manor she should not have been at this hour. Thirteen days. That’s how long it was before the third new moon of the year. She could be a good apprentice for at least that long.

  As the night deepened, she played a game with herself, opening and closing her eyes, trying to see if she could feel weightless and invisible in both worlds, sighted and dark. With the silence of the manor, and her loneliness, she imagined herself to be the only person in the world. Maybe the moon was a world, like the one she lived on? Maybe there were people living there? But how far away must a place like that be to appear so small in the sky? Her mind boggled as she attempted, poorly, to comprehend the distance. She lay there for an hour, calculating, and decided that the next factor after tibros and typhons would be tevons.

  Her names for those units brought to mind her brothers, whom she had not seen since shortly after arriving at Shenheyna. Bhairatonix had sent them away to become rangers. He had told her that if they survived she would likely see them again. He had not said when that would be.

  Shevia eased herself to a sitting position. She pulled her long hair away from her neck, trying to cool it. The noise in her mind overwhelmed her. She had to focus on something else. Had to do something. But after the incident this morning, she was more determined than ever to behave. She had to find something to do that her master would approve of.

  A bath. She could take a bath.

  But as she stared at the small, crude tub in the washroom a minute later, another idea crawled into her. She glanced around for Challop. She had not seen the cat since this morning. Briefly, she wondered, then dismissed, whether Bhairatonix had taken her with him. Feeling safe, and before she could stop herself, she grabbed her Mystic staff, left her room, and found herself facing the imposing double doors leading into Bhairatonix’s bedroom.

  Her hand hesitated over the handle. She had been inside the room many times to clean, but always with her master’s permission or supervision. This was clearly different. A good apprentice did not do what she planned.

  But Bhairatonix would be gone for thirteen days. She turned the handle and pushed the door.

  The High Mystic’s private chambers opened before her. Shadows consumed most of the room. A high vaulted ceiling rose above, boasting a mural of Mystics and fay twisting in elaborate dances outside a tower. Peering through the darkness, Shevia wondered if they were actually fighting a battle. The depicted tower had a single window and a ring of stars surrounding it. A hand, covered in blood, protruded from the window as if its occupant was trying to claw their way to freedom. The darkness
mostly hid an elaborate glass chandelier hanging above the center of the room, directly over a circular floor rug.

  Against the nearest wall sat a huge four-poster bed with heavy wine-colored drapes. The stillness of the perfectly woven curtains assured Shevia that her master truly was gone.

  An old wardrobe that smelled of musky cloth and candles dominated the wall opposite the bed. Between the bed and wardrobe was a large window offering the best view in the manor aside from the astronomy tower. Thick curtains that matched the bed’s concealed the landscape beyond, but Shevia had seen it before, and knew it looked over a sheer drop in the mountainside, and on to the valley beyond.

  She drifted on bare feet across the rug and used a finger to open a tiny slit in the curtains. The valley on the other side was dark except where the moon shone its light. It reminded her of Thornwood. The echo of old memories ached in her heart, but Shevia let them slip. She retracted her finger from the curtain, letting the view vanish.

  Her master’s wardrobe was the next place she examined. Her hands shook as the heavy mahogany doors opened silently, revealing musky robes, shoes, and other clothes. She found nothing of interest until, as she began to shut the door, she caught sight of an intricately carved box, about the size of her hand.

  Shevia’s heart beat faster. She recognized that box. She knew she should leave it alone, but a moment later she found herself carrying it through an open archway beside the wardrobe, leading her to her master’s washroom. Inside she found what she sought. Bhairatonix’s huge bathtub, built for an enormous person of his size. Not daring to hesitate for fear of changing her mind, she lifted her staff and summoned the Myst. Silvery mist swirled inside the tub, slowly filling it with water. She shifted her weight and churned her staff as if stirring a large pot. It took nearly twenty minutes, but eventually the foggy light within the tub shone brighter, and the water steamed with warmth. She added more heat until the whole room fogged over.