by David Estes
Bear closed his eyes, truly feeling at peace for the first time since his mother’s death. For he could see her.
He could see his mother.
Epilogue 5: Gwendolyn Storm
The Eastern Kingdom, Ferria- Circa 600
If Gwendolyn Storm had a tail, surely she would be chasing it. Near on seven decades of searching for something that might never be found did that to a person, even an Orian.
The name was always on her lips, on the tip of her tongue, just waiting to be spoken. Siri…Siri…Siri… Her dreams, more and more, were consumed with dragonfire and adamantine scales, claw and tooth, beating wings and rushing wind.
I’m going mad, Gwen surmised. Which, somehow, felt appropriate. When one’s soul went mad, wasn’t it right that their mind should go next?
Gwen laughed quite loudly to herself, which only supported her theory. A trio of young Orian children stared at her, pointing, whispering behind cupped hands. Their legs dangled over the edge of a thick tree branch high above. Thick as thieves, they were. And so young. What are they—ten? Eleven? Gwen couldn’t even guess. She hadn’t seen children in a long time, her travels of late a solitary endeavor. She’d seen the wonders of the earth, from the fire-tipped mountain south of Teragon to the foggy wetlands across the unexplored ocean. She hoped she never ran into Windy Sandes or the scholar would require a full accounting of all she’d seen. Sorry, my lady, I didn’t take samples of all the flora and fauna. Or any of it, actually. No, she’d not been a sightseer. Even after all these years, she was of a singleminded focus:
Find Siri.
At first, perhaps, her determination had been spurred by the deathbed vow she’d made to Empress Raven Sandes, her friend. But now…
I’m obsessed.
The word felt dirty even in the privacy of her own mind. For what was wrong with searching for one’s own soul? How could such a thing be considered bad?
It’s not, Gwen thought. I’m coming, Siri.
Words that had once been full of vim and vigor now felt empty.
I’m exhausted, she admitted to herself. It was true, she was no longer a young Orian of ninety name days but a refined forest dweller over a century and a half old. Most would be nesting at this age. Hell, most would have children nesting by now.
But Gwendolyn Storm, the heromarked dragonrider of lore and legend, was completely and utterly alone.
Or at least she had been for a while.
Now, however, she couldn’t hold back a very real smile as a too-familiar form approached at a distance. He was crook-backed and balanced precariously on a beautiful cane constructed of Orian ore. It was made to look like a sword, though to Gwen’s practiced eye, it was not. Etched along what would’ve been the broad side, were images of fatemarks. There was the blue-eyed soulmark, and Sir Dietrich’s swordmark, Jai Jiroux’s justicemark, and a split key each side of which were known as the halfmarks. Noura Loren-Arris’s peacemark featured prominently, scattered all around the others. Even Bane’s deathmark had a place on the old man’s cane. Second from the top was her own heromark, the ‘X’ with the squared-off corners, like some modified version of the symbol for ten. And, of course, the final marking engraved in the old king’s walking stick was the three-leafed lifemark. She felt a pang in her chest at the sight of it.
And, she knew, Gareth Ironclad felt the same shot to the heart each time he looked upon the symbol.
“Hello, old friend,” Gareth said now, stopping to rest. He looked out of breath, and she knew he was. At eighty-six, he was beyond the years reached by most humans. Though she was older, too, she didn’t feel it the way he did. I still have a good fifty years left, if I’m lucky. Forty if I’m not. Gareth, however, wouldn’t last another five, a thought that made her feel magnificently sad.
It was the curse of an Orian who had few Orian comrades: To outlive one’s friends and loved ones.
“Hullo,” she said, speaking the greeting with an exaggerated drawl. Gareth liked such silliness, and she was determined to give him everything he liked and more.
He grinned, his face twice as wrinkled as the last time she’d seen him, over a decade ago. His hair was still thick, a shock of white atop his head. It reminded her of the snowcapped peaks of the Mournful Mountains. “What? No grand entrance? You’re losing your touch.”
“Actually, you missed it. I’ve been waiting several hours for you to greet me. You couldn’t have moved any faster?”
Gareth laughed boisterously at that until a cough interrupted his levity, doubling him over. Gwen went to him, rubbing his back while he spat out several thick-looking wads of phlegm.
“Are you ill?” she asked, scrunching her forehead in concern.
“Old,” he said, straightening up as best he could and grinning. “Happens to us lowly humans. You, on the other hand, have not aged a day.”
Perhaps not in appearance, Gwen thought. The long years were, however, beginning to take a toll on her body. She couldn’t walk as far, or as long, and she required more frequent rest stops. When she pinched her stomach, there was slightly more than skin to pinch. How do humans deal with it? she often wondered.
“So…” Gareth said, craning his head to scan the sky above the forest. He didn’t ask the question, for which Gwen was glad. She didn’t want to answer.
She shook her head once, immediately changing the subject. “How is your son?”
“You’ll have to ask him. He’s off in search of adventure in Calypso.”
“Sounds a lot like his father.”
“Does it? I can’t remember that far back…”
“What do you have planned for my visit?”
“Planned? Well, my day usually consists of waking early to drink my herbal tea. Then my nursemaid bathes me—that’s not embarrassing at all. Breakfast is three eggs and a dozen hearty strips of bacon, though I barely eat more than three or four bites. Of course, I need something to wash it down with—northern ale does the trick. Have you heard? They sell us mead in exchange for our armor. Who do you think is getting the better deal? Anyway, by then it’s nearly lunch, which I also don’t eat because it makes me feel ill. My afternoon typically consists of paperwork, which I never finish, and a long nap, which I always finish. I usually wake up just in time for supper, but I’m always falling asleep on my plate after such a long, hard day, so I usually skip dessert and turn in early. Would you care to join me for any or all of it?”
Though Gareth’s monologue was tinged with his usual dryness of tone and comedic flair, Gwen could sense his frustration. What he’d just described sounded worse than madness or even death, a sentiment she voiced, knowing he would appreciate such dark humor. “If I ever get to that point, put an arrow through my eye.”
He chuckled, managing not to cough this time. “Which one? Left or right? When you get old, you get a say in such important matters.”
“Both,” Gwen said without hesitation. “At the same time. I always wondered what that would look like.”
Gareth lifted his cane and pointed it at her. “Done,” he said. Without his walking stick, he lost his balance and would have fallen if not for Gwen’s help, her hand shooting out like a striking snake to grab his elbow. “You still have the touch,” Gareth said, his eyes focusing on her cheek; her heromark hadn’t flared. She hadn’t required it in a long time.
“I can’t stay long,” Gwen said. In truth, Ironwood, the place she’d once felt more comfortable than anywhere else, no longer felt like home. The only reason she returned once a decade was to visit Gareth.
“So only three months this time?” Gareth said, a twinkle in his deep brown eyes.
“More like three days.”
“We’d best get started with our naps and baths then,” he said, turning an about-face and heading off in the direction of the castle. “Give me a headstart, will you?”
“I’ll meet you in the throne room in an hour,” Gwen said.
“That old chair is hard on my bony arse. I’ll be in bed.”
> “Geez, you don’t waste any time, Your Highness. Already trying to get me in the sack? Just like the old days.”
“You’re not my type,” Gareth hollered over his shoulder. “Food and wine are on me.”
“Sounds fair,” Gwen said, watching him go.
Gwen’s home had been consumed by the forest. The change was so significant that she almost missed the gate leading to the path leading to the tree. If not for an errant ray of sunlight slipping through the trees and reflecting off the gate’s smudged surface, she might’ve walked right by.
Now, she ran her fingers over the surface of the gate, not so much reading the words etched on its face—which she’d memorized eons ago—but absorbing them, making them a part of her again. All the loves in her life—Alastair, Roan, Siri—deserved to be felt each and every day, even when their images were becoming fuzzy in her mind, marred by time and experience.
With that in mind, she pushed open the gate, channeling the iron-sheathed tangle of branches and weeds away from her. Vines parted like curtains and she saw it. The tree. Her tree. The first time she’d kissed Alastair was here, high in its branches in an iron-mesh hammock. She’d been so smitten with him then that he could’ve bedded her and she wouldn’t have resisted, but he’d taken things slow, seeming to appreciate her much like a connoisseur appreciated a fine wine.
From then on, they’d rendezvoused as often as they could escape the watchful eyes of her father, who she’d assumed would not approve of their human-Orian relationship. She’d misjudged her father then. Just like she’d misjudged Roan and Gareth and Raven and Siri. Even Whisper Sandes had managed to surprise her over the years. Though the Calypsian empress had passed into the Void several years back, she had ruled well in her final days, opening trade routes with each of her neighbors that had been closed off for decades.
Why have I always been so stubborn? Gwen wondered, as she began to climb her tree. ‘As stubborn as an Orian,’ the saying went, and she was no exception. Roan had tried to teach her, but she’d resisted. For a while, but not forever. That fact made her smile. Roan was, perhaps, the most patient man she’d ever met. With Alastair she’d been a willing participant in their love affair, while with Roan she’d had to be dragged kicking and screaming. But he’d never given up on her, not for a second. It’s just the way he was.
He was too good for this world, she thought. Far too good.
In some ways, Siri was too. Perhaps that was why the dragon had never returned. Maybe she didn’t want to be found. Though such a truth pained Gwen deeply, she couldn’t fault the magnificent beast for escaping this world. She only wished Siri had thought to take her on the journey.
She was trying to protect you from herself, Gwen thought, settling into her old iron hammock, finding it to still be a perfect fit, like an extension of her own body. Her inner argument was one she’d had half a thousand times over the years, but it never got easier. If she could only talk to her soul…
My soul…
Gwen jerked to a sitting position. That voice… “Siri?” she said aloud, not used to communicating with only her mind. There was silence for a few moments, and Gwen was about to curse angrily at herself for being so foolish, thinking Siri could possibly be speaking to—
I—we—us…this is hard. Confusing. We hurt you. For a long time, we hurt you. Us hurt you? I hurt you? Confusing.
Gwen’s breath was gone, her heart stopped entirely, such was her focus on that beautiful, ancient, troubled voice in her head. I don’t care about any of that, she replied, falling naturally back into speaking with only her mind. I don’t fault you for any of it. Where are you? Please, tell me. Please. I need to see you. You’re still my soul. Siri? Siri?
We are scared. They come for us.
Siri? Who comes for you? Who? SIRI!
She felt the moment the dragon departed her mind and she desperately tried to rebridge the connection. After several minutes of trying, she slammed the heel of her hand down on the edge of her hammock. Tears burned at her vision. “No,” she breathed, dashing them away with her fingers. She would not be weak when Siri needed her to be strong.
“I’m sorry,” Gwen said to Gareth. “I have to go.” She’d already explained what had happened. He’d listened with his eyes closed the entire time, and now she wondered if he’d fallen asleep.
She flinched when his eyes snapped open. “I’ll come with you,” he said.
Though she tried to hide her horror at the suggestion, she failed miserably. Gareth laughed. “A jape, nothing more,” he said. “I can barely make it to the chamber pot half the time, much less go gallivanting across the Four Kingdoms in search of a dragon.”
“You think she’s somewhere in the Four Kingdoms?”
Gareth pulled the bedcovers higher up on his bony chest. “I don’t know. Can she speak to you when she’s very far away?”
“I—I don’t know.” Gwen felt foolish for not knowing, but she’d only had a few weeks to understand the intricacies of the most complex creature she’d ever come across before they’d been separated. For all she knew, dragons could only communicate with their human counterparts from close distances. For all she knew, Siri could be less than a day’s march away. If only she knew which direction to go…
“Don’t run off again,” Gareth said.
“Gareth, you didn’t hear the fear in her. I must—”
“You must be patient,” Gareth interrupted. She was surprised by the vehemence in his tone. “I may be an old man, but I’ve had a lot of time to think. Many of the mistakes made by our past leaders have been because of swift and unnecessary action, myself included. Wait for her to speak to you again. Gather information. Then go with my blessing.”
Gwen blew out a breath. He was right, she knew. But it was still hard, especially knowing Siri needed her. She nodded.
“Good. Now let’s have some sweet wine and carved meat. I’ll trade you my portion of meat for your flagon of wine. Agreed?”
Gareth fell asleep before he’d finished even his own wine. Gwen took the bed tray from his lap and moved it to the table. She polished off what was left of the meat, chasing it with a swig of wine.
She departed his chambers one normal stride at a time, fighting off the urge to run. Because where would she run to? East into the sea? West toward the Spear? South to Calyp? North to the frozen mountains? Siri could be anywhere. Like Gareth said, she needed to be patient, which was something she was not.
Taking deep breaths, she made her way through the throne room, ignoring the guards as they nodded in her direction. She exited on the opposite side, where she could look over the great iron forest. The capital city of Ferria was the same as it always was, the iron structures one with the trees, built amongst them almost as if they’d grown like that. In a way, they had, the ore buildings channeled by the Orians many years ago.
Gwen remembered the first time she’d seen Siri. The thought took hold in her mind like a root burrowing into the dirt. She paused, trying to determine if she was being foolish again, but then thought, Who cares if I am? and hurried down the staircase and into the castle’s inner keep. From there she ran, following the ever-widening spiral of the castle until she reached a side door that exited into the forest.
The great iron hovel wasn’t far, and she reached it a moment later. The structure was generally used to store food, but had once served another purpose:
Dragon prison.
Although theft was rare in Ironwood, the large doors at the hovel’s base were locked and sealed. Gwen backed up a few steps, feeling for the familiar thrum of her heromark on her cheek, which heated in response. Even after all these years, it was as much a part of her as her arms or legs.
She sprinted forward, her cheek burning now. The wall approached but she didn’t stop, until it was evident she would smash right into it. But then she was airborne, running up the wall with such speed that even gravity’s grip was thwarted. The high window she’d spotted from the ground appeared and she grabbed
the ledge with one hand while punching through the glass with the other. In a single motion, she vaulted through, ragged knives of glass breaking off on her armor.
She landed on the metal landing, which had been channeled when Siri had been captured back in 532. So we could gape at the beast from a safe position, Gwen thought, remembering the day with fondness. They’d all been fools then, thinking they could contain the might of a dragon. Siri had scattered them like chaff in the wind, though Gwen had managed to save more than a few. That was also the moment Siri had seemed to see her as more than just another Two-Legger.
Gwen had to admit her view of dragons had changed on that day too.
Now, however, the structure was only filled with food and drink. Shelves lined the sides and middle, filled to stuffing with barrels and burlap sacks. Salted meat hung drying from hooks along one side. Peace has been good for the east, Gwen thought. None shall starve.
She sat down and closed her eyes, throwing her thoughts back to that day she’d first met Siri, in this place. Siri? she said.
Silence ruled the day. Be patient, Gwen reminded herself.
Siri? she said. And then again. And again and again and again, repeating the name of her soul like a prayer, until exhaustion took her and she drifted away into a long, peaceful sleep.
My soul?
Though the two familiar words were whispered softly into her head, they woke Gwen from her slumber with all the power of a thunderclap.
Yes! Yes, I’m here! Siri, I’m here!
I—we—are hiding from the hunters.
Who are they? Where are you?
A place across the great sea. Flew here many years ago. A lifetime? Maybe longer. Hid from the world. Hid from you. Too many voices. Two are quiet now. I—we—are left. How many? Not sure.
This time, Gwen was determined to get information, and fast. Which sea? There are many. Please, tell me. I will come.
