Of Dreams and Dragons

by Karpov Kinrade

  “I will,” yells the big man, stepping forward from a crowd of people.

  I nod, then look at the boy. “You’ll be safe. I promise,” and with that, I throw him out the window.

  The man catches him, and returns him to a crying woman I haven’t seen before.

  “You next,” says Skip from down below.

  “I need to check the room,” I call back. “Make sure everyone is out.” I turn before he can respond, rushing through the hallway, pushing open each door.

  I make it about hallway when I collapse.

  The smoke is thick in my lugs, burning them. I cough, try to breath, but there is no fresh air left. The floor feels hot beneath me. Flames flicker at the top of the stairs.

  I need to finish. To check every room. But the longer I lay there, the less important it seems. The less important everything seems.

  Kara.

  Kyle.

  Caleb.

  They slip from my mind. A distant memory. And my eyes feel heavy and my head feels strange.

  I just need to rest is all. Rest, and then I will be better.

  I start to close my eyes.

  And then the roof explodes.

  Beams of wood tear away, revealing an open night sky. And there, in the darkness, is a dragon.

  Its scales are black and glint like steel. Red lines cover its body. Two sharp horns sprout from its terrible head. The beast lunges down, grabbing me in a huge claw. It lifts me up into the sky, and I leave the fire behind, cool air whipping at my skin, filling my lungs. The beating of wings pounds against my ears. Yells and screams rise from below. I do not fully process what is happening. I cannot. My brain is still reawakening.

  The beating stops, and the claw opens, and I tumble down, landing in cold mud. The dragon steps back, eyes glowing red, nostrils exhaling steam. The beast sits down, and though I think I’m imagining it, the dragon grows smaller, and then I realize I’m not imagining it, and the serpent has turned my size. The black scales fade. The wings pop and cracks and disappear into its back. The claws retract. Until only a man remains, his skin a pale blue in the moonlight. His hair black and messy. He grabs me, lifts me up against his hard body, and I realize he is naked. “Are you injured?” asks Kaden, his voice gentle.

  I nod, leaning my weary head against his chest. For a moment, I just want to rest here and forget the problems of the world. But there is still work to do.

  I pull out of his arms and face the people gathered around the inn. “We have to stop the fire!” I yell through a hoarse and dry throat. “If we don’t, it will spread to the nearby buildings. Everyone, grabs buckets, bowls, pans, anything that can hold water, and bring it here. Anyone know of The Dousers?”

  A young man nods.

  “Good. Take my horse. Find them. Bring them here. Everyone, let’s move.” I run to the nearby house, looking for a bucket.

  In no time at all, we have more than a dozen, and I show the villagers how to make lines to the nearest wells. We pass buckets down from the wells to the inn, and throw them over the fire. Nearby buildings are evacuated, the denizens joining in to help. The Dousers arrive, bringing more tools. I stand at the front, closest to the inferno, throwing bucket after bucket of water on the flame.

  I do not think.

  I do not feel.

  I do not let the memory of Kara slow or distract me.

  I just act. I just be.

  And then the tears come, though I think of nothing. Not the life I left behind, the daughter I failed, my two brothers who I abandoned. Nothing.

  Nothing.

  Nothing.

  Nothing.

  I do not think. I just do. Big wet sobs are ripped from me, as I toss bucket after bucket, quenching the fire, both without and within. I fight the flame. I fight the pain. The sorrow and heartache that has been building within me these past few days. I put it out. I beat it.

  I toss buckets of water, and I think of nothing.

  Eventually, the fire is out, and I am on my knees in the mud, covered in filth and tears. Nothing but a black skeleton remains of The Lucky Coin. The surrounding buildings never caught fire. The people have gone.

  Kaden steps beside me, now dressed, red scarf billowing in the wind, and puts a thick cloak over my shoulders.

  “She’s gone,” I murmur.

  He says nothing. Just sits by my side, shares the warmth of his body with mine.

  “She’s gone,” I say again, a little louder.

  Kaden holds me, my head on his shoulder.

  “She’s gone,” I yell, a sob racking my body.

  Still, Kaden says nothing. I do not know how much time passes. Minutes. Hours. But there, in the darkness, in the cold night, Kaden Varis holds me, until the grief has left my body, and my tears have dried. He holds me.

  And yet, he does so much more than I can explain. So much more than I can ever repay.

  When the sun comes up, I leave Kaden’s firm grip, and walk around the burned corpse of the inn. I find a purple flower behind the remnants of the building, a piece of beauty that survived the carnage. Kaden tells me the flower is called a Moon Tear, and I think the name fitting. I pick the flower and pull a medium sized stone from the earth. I stick the rock into a patch of grass by the city’s wall and lay the flower against the makeshift grave. With a stick, I scratch the word Kara into the stone. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you,” I whisper. “I’m sorry I can’t go back to your brothers, for fear of hurting them. I’m sorry I failed my promise to keep you safe.” My jaw hardens. My tone hardens. “But today I make a new promise. I will find Pike. And I will avenge you.”

  Nineteen

  Dragoncliff

  Kaden finds us a new inn in the city. We could, theoretically continue our journey to the Cliff, but we are both exhausted from a night of putting out fires. The inn is called The Weeping Willow, a poetic name, I suppose, and while The Lucky Coin was full of life and laughter, this place is but a hollow shell in comparison. Kaden gets us each our own rooms this time, and pays for a weeks’ worth of lodgings for Skip. “Ye don’t have to, friend,” he argues, but Kaden just shakes his head.

  “I want to,” says the Ashlord.

  As we head up the stairs to our rooms, I walk at the back with Skip, who has bandaged his burned wrist. “I’m sorry,” I say. “For hurting you.”

  “Don’t fret, lass,” he says. “I’ve suffered much worse, on account of being Darkflame’s friend and all.” He pats my shoulder. “Not many people would stand up to a Shadow like that. Ye might be as crazy as your traveling companion. But I'm grateful to you and know you didn't mean to cause injury.”

  I walk him to his room, then go to find my own. My hand brushes against the handle, and I pull back, wincing in pain.

  “What’s wrong?” asks Kaden, running to my side. He studies my palms and arms. They are burned in multiple places. I must have touched something hot in the blazing building. “I’ll get bandages,” says Kaden. Before I can protest or say I’ll be fine, he leaps down the stairs in one jump, disappearing.

  I enter the room and sit on the plain bed, the exhaustion of the last twenty-four hours catching up to me. A moment later, Kaden returns carrying bandages and a jar full of some kind of ointment. He sits down next to me and carefully applies the sticky substance to my burns.

  “Thank you," I say as he works.

  He nods, reaching for a burn on my upper arm that spreads to my shoulder. “You’ll need to pull up your robe,” he says. “If you’d like, I can step out and—”

  I take off my robe and pull off my tunic, leaving only my breast binding.

  Kaden clears his throat. “Very well then.”

  I eye him coyly. “I thought modesty wasn’t important in Nirandel.”

  “It’s not,” he says, his fingers gently massaging my shoulder. He is close to me, our legs touching, his breath warm on my skin.

  And perhaps because of all the sorrow and loss I have felt, perhaps because of the pain and emptiness that has consume
d me, I just want to feel close to another human being again. Perhaps because of this, or perhaps because of whatever's been lingering between us since we met, I lean forward, into Kaden, and catch his blue eyes with my own. I draw my lips closer to his, my breath heavy, my eyes closed, and then I wait.

  For a moment, we are both still, a raw, primal energy hanging in the air between us. And then Kaden leans forward, his lips meeting mine. He tastes of earth and salt and wilderness. His scent is of pines and fresh grass and the wind. He takes my face in his hands, gently caressing my cheek with his rough and callused fingers, pulling me closer, deeper into the kiss, and I lose myself in his arms.

  The door slams open, pulling me out of my thoughts, as Kaden and I draw apart. “I thought the two of ye would like some lunch—” Skip stands in the doorway, holding a tray with two large bowls of stew and tankards full of mead, his mouth frozen in an O. “I… um… I’m sorry if be interrupting something.”

  “You’re not,” says Kaden quickly. “Come on in.”

  I study the Ashlord, frustration creeping in at how easily he dismisses our kiss. His face is focused, the passion that was there a moment ago swept away.

  Skip hands Kaden the tray. “I’ll leave ye two to it, then.”

  “Stay,” says Kaden.

  “I'd rather not, friend,” he says uneasily, disappearing into the hall as the door closes quietly behind him.

  Kaden places the food and drink between us and begins to eat his.

  I do the same.

  A moment later, Kaden speaks, his voice clinical. “The kiss was a mistake.”

  My lip tightens in a line. “I’m beginning to agree.”

  “I don’t mean to offend, it’s just…” Kaden sighs, rubbing his temples. “It is forbidden for those of Ash to have intimate relationships. Pleasures of the flesh are allowed, but nothing more.”

  “Who said I wanted something more?” I ask, taking a big spoonful of stew.

  Kaden looks away, his eyes sad. “Yes. I suppose you don’t.” Before I can reply, he stands up and walks to the door. “We should get some rest. There’s a long journey ahead of us.”

  I sleep through most of the day and night. At sunrise, Kaden wakes me and asks me to join him downstairs. He has hired a carriage to take us the rest of the way. Skip greets me at the door, and gives me a hug as we are about to depart.

  “I have given up on little Anny,” he says somberly. “But I see there be some fire in you yet, lass. So I will tell ye what I know. Look for Pike in The Dream that Cannot be Dreamt.”

  Something tugs at my mind. The memory of a dream I cannot recall. “What does it mean?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “All I know is the name. Heard whispers of it from folks who came and went at the inn.” His face turns even sadder at mention of The Lucky Coin, and I wonder how his life will go, now that he has lost his livelihood and home. I feel a kinship with him over this tragedy. All of life is transient, no matter how permanent and unyielding we like to imagine it. Everything we think matters can be swept away in a moment. From fire. Death. Floods. War. Life. Which begs the question: What really matters in the end? If all that we cling to is just illusion, what is the truth? What is real? What will last?

  “Thank you for the information,” I say. “I swear to you, I will find Pike one day, for Anny and Kara.”

  He nods, though I see there is no hope in his eyes, as he bids farewell to Kaden and retreats inside The Weeping Willow.

  The carriage driver tells us to hurry, as she spits something that reminds me of tobacco, and Kaden guides me into the carriage. Our two horses are tied to the back, to come with us, but Kaden thought a carriage would be easier than riding after our ordeal. We begin the bumpy track up north. It will take at least three weeks to reach the Cliff. We stop each night to eat and sleep at inns or camp out on the roads when we aren't near enough to a town. Kaden and I don't speak about the kiss, or anything remotely personal, but at night, around camp fires, he shows me a few new glyphs to practice drawing. After a week, he begins giving me basic instruction in hand-to-hand combat, and it's the most intimacy this long trip affords us. Eventually, I grow bored of the long silences that punctuate even longer days, and I ask him about the day of the fire. “I saw you change from a dragon,” I say. “How?”

  He looks out the window of the carriage as he speaks. “As you know, Transmuting allows a Twin Spirit to change parts of their body to those of their Spirit. I am capable of changing my entire body.”

  I glance at Umi, who sleeps on my shoulder. Sometimes he is there, at other times gone, keeping to a schedule I do not understand. “Is that something I will be able to do?” I ask.

  “Perhaps,” says Kaden. “It is technically possible, but I know of none alive who have developed the skill except me. Most never push their Transmuting skills that far. They focus on Beckoning instead. Why turn into your Spirit when you can summon your Spirit more easily, they wonder?”

  I wonder this too.

  Kaden continues. “But there are reasons. You have more control over your own body. And… you are more powerful. There is something, when you and your Spirit are one, that surpasses the both of you individually.”

  We speak little after that, the carriage bumping along, jostling my bones and my nerves in equal measure. Days pass, and our talk turns to local gossip, weather patterns and he regales me with more deep thoughts of philosophers from both our worlds. The awkwardness of our kiss that still lingers between us, like the scent of perfume after a woman leaves the room. But it's becoming easier to ignore.

  We're on the road nearly three weeks when we travel through the center of a small town. Children play outside, running around our carriage, while their parents carry large baskets and shop at a small outdoor market set up with stands for produce, meats, grains, fabrics and tools. Some pause to glance at our carriage as we pass, but then return to their day unfazed.

  The sun is setting, casting purple and pinks over the land, when Kaden gestures me over to his window. “We are nearly there,” he says. “Look.”

  I scoot closer to him, my leg brushing his, and follow his gaze outside.

  Against a darkening sky, a stream of white light shimmers across the horizon. It curves with the land, reaching up into the stars, spreading as far as the eye can see.

  I draw a deep breath. “Is that…”

  “The Wall of Light,” says Kaden reverently.

  I am dazzled by its glow. Overwhelmed by its sheer size. I do not think, in all my life, that I have ever seen something so beautiful.

  Kaden chuckles at my response. “I remember the first time I saw it. It was a night, much like this. I was but a little boy. My guardian, a man who was not my friend nor my family, led me to the gates of the Cliff. It was the first time I had ever stepped foot outside my tiny village. The first time I had gazed upon a mountain, or the snow, or a castle. An old man waited outside to greet me. His name was Master Orcael, I learned, and he was there to test me. To see if I was truly a Twin Spirit. I do not know the exact test he performed, but I passed, and he beckoned me closer. My guardian was well happy to be rid of me, and left without another word, as Orcael asked me to leave my possessions behind. I clutched the scarf around my neck. It was my mother's, I explained, the last piece I had of her, and I would not give it up. The Master said I had no choice, but I did not budge, and after half a night out in the cold, finally he sighed and said I may keep the bloody scarf. He took my hand then, and guided me inside the Cliff. He became my closest mentor after that. I learned more from him than I did from anyone else.”

  It feels good, hearing one of Kaden’s stories again, feeling this artificial wall between us fade away.

  “I never knew my father,” I say softly. He may already know this, but I say it anyway. “He died before I was born. My mother was my only guide, my only rock in this world, but sometimes I wonder how different my life would have been if my father was still alive. If my mother never married Pat. But then I realize that if t
hat were the case, Kyle and Caleb and Kara would never have been born, and I feel foolish and selfish for even thinking it. For how can I wish them away just to make my own life easier?”

  Kaden scoots closer, slowly taking my hand in his. “Sometimes, one needs to be foolish and selfish.” He pauses, eyes gazing into my mine. “I was wrong earlier. The kiss was not a mistake. I see now that I said what I said out of fear. I have had many friends at the Cliff, held many people close, and I have seen all but one fade away. It is… hard… for me to let someone in, but… I want to let you in, Sky. I want to share with you the things I have kept locked away. And I want you to do the same. I want to see you smile, and I want to be the reason for that smile. I hope we can have that someday.”

  I think of all the things I have left to do. My training. My search for Pike. But in all this, I feel the need for more, the need for connection and joy and calm. This journey has made me realize that I cannot live for vengeance alone. That is no life. I squeeze his hand, holding his eyes with mine. “I hope so too,” I say. “One day.”

  I lean in, my lips searching for his.

  The carriage rattles beneath us, pulling our bodies apart.

  I slump down, thinking the moment passed.

  But then Kaden reaches for me and pulls my face to his. Our lips meet, and we hold our kiss longer than before, deepening it, letting the passion build between us and flow through us. When he leans away, I feel the absence, the cold left on my mouth after his warmth retreats. He smiles, and gestures to the window. “We’re here,” he says. “We’re at the Cliff.”