Dragonoak

by Sam Farren

  A few minutes later, I woke up properly and found it within myself to head over and help Katja. She greeted me with a smile and said nothing more. I relaxed as we stood side-by-side, slicing fruit and tearing up bread fresh from the bakery.

  Once we were sat at the table, Katja and Kouris set about talking as easily as they always did, and I distracted myself with food, until I realised Katja was looking right at me.

  “Hm?”

  “The temple, dear. How was it? Akela tells me it was quite the find! Gold phoenixes and all.”

  “Oh,” I said, tuning back in. “Right. There was definitely a lot left behind.”

  Strange. I hadn't felt compelled to mention the woman in the temple to anyone else, but I felt as though Katja knew all that I had yet to say.

  “... they're not solid gold, of course. Gold-plated, and still incredibly valuable,” Katja explained. “The one Akela showed me was wonderfully detailed. Exactly like the illustrations I've seen of the birds themselves.”

  Nodding, I pushed a slice of orange around on my plate.

  “Won't, uh... won't Isjin be angry? We did kind of defile her temple and steal all her statues,” I said, quietly bitter that no matter how much I saw, no matter how much I experienced, Katja always managed to know more about Isjin and the temples than I did, simply with the aid of some dusty tome.

  “Goodness, no. Those golden birds have nothing to do with Isjin!” Katja said, chuckling, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “They were left at her temples as offerings to the necromancers, who never worked for a fee. If anything, Isjin will be angry that we hunted her real birds into extinction.”

  “Now, how'd you go about killing off something that's immortal?” Kouris asked, as curious as I was.

  “Technically immortal,” Katja said, delighted that she had knowledge to share. “You see, when a phoenix reaches the end of its lifespan, it erupts into flames, only to be reborn from the ashes. One of the reasons I believe they were paired with necromancers, actually; they are able to bring themselves back in the only way necromancers cannot. At some point, people came to the wonderful conclusion that eating the meat of a phoenix would grant them immortality in turn. I once read a series of letters that, if they were properly translated, seemed to suggest that people believed grinding down the bones of phoenixes and using them in certain medicines would draw out necromantic abilities. And so phoenixes were killed prematurely, denied the chance to burst into flame, and as they do not reproduce, their numbers fell dramatically.”

  Kouris' ears perked up and she tapped her claws on the tabletop, quietly impressed. I'd spent so long believing that they'd died out killing off necromancers over fifteen-hundred years ago that it seemed absurd to me. It almost didn't matter how they'd died; in the end, the phoenixes all were dead and gone, no matter how senseless it was.

  “They did try to save the phoenixes, in the Kingdom of Myros,” Katja went on to say. “The phoenixes that remained lit a great fire in the heart of the country, that any bones salvaged from a butchered phoenix might be thrown in and reborn.”

  “Wait, you mean the Phoenix Fire? I though they made that to kill the necromancer who started the war,” I said.

  Covering her mouth with a piece of bread, Katja laughed softly to herself.

  “Goodness, dear. Who tells you these things?”

  I stared at her and she smiled at me, returning to her breakfast without a second thought. A long time ago, when we'd first met, I thought she'd only found me entertaining because I was a novelty to her. I was poor, illiterate. I worked with my hands. I grew up in a farmhouse, not a castle, and the most important person I'd ever met was the village elder from Birchbridge. But after a year in Port Mahon and months spent in Ridgeth, after living amongst the dirt on the bottom of Canth's boot, Katja still laughed frequently and fondly at all my little deficiencies, ever under the impression that I wouldn't notice.

  Sometimes, she tried to translate between Canthian and Mesomium for me. She'd pat me on the shoulder whenever I bartered successfully with a merchant. I could engage in conversations she only understood the gist of, yet she'd do me the favour summarising them afterwards. To her, I was still that person who'd trundled out of Felheim, unaware of what I was doing in Isin; unaware of what I was doing anywhere. The sun had darkened my skin, new languages had stretched my tongue and mind alike, and my stomach had conquered the sea, but she saw through all of that.

  For my part, I hadn't failed to notice her change. Or rather, I hadn't failed to notice her become more of what she was. She was a good friend. She took pride in being a good friend; had my powers crept through someone else's veins, she would've been a good friend to them, too.

  Yet she was part of my past. Part of the family I'd built up. I clung to her because Kastelir was her home, and if I was with her, then I too might end up back there, one day.

  “Rowan,” Katja said, pushing the skin of the fruit she wasn't going to eat into a neat pile on the side of her plate. “Might I have a word with you? In private?”

  Kouris got to her feet, lifted our plates and washed them louder than she needed to. I nodded, gesturing for Katja to continued, but she only leant closer and said, “Outside, perhaps... ?”

  I exhaled heavily, and thinking I might refuse her, she added, “It's about Uncle Jonas,” in a whisper.

  If I could've reached out and grabbed her by the scruff of her shirt without Kouris asking why, I would've. Anger rose up in me with more force than the Canthian sun, and I tried to speak, tried to do anything that didn't resort in letting Katja get her own way, but I was on my feet before I knew it, marching out of the hut.

  “What do you think you're doing?” I hissed once we were outside. “You can't bring that up, Katja. Not ever.”

  Wincing, Katja reached out to straighten the collar of my shirt, but I took a swift step back.

  “I didn't... Rowan, you know I'd never tell anyone what you did. I simply thought you wouldn't be willing to hear me out, otherwise,” Katja said, glancing skittishly off to the side. “It's simply that...”

  I wasn't about to let her drag things out.

  “It's what?” I demanded.

  “What I was saying about the phoenixes. Crushing their bones. It gave me an idea, and...”

  “No!” I said, gripping her by the shoulders. “No, Katja. We're not going through this again. It won't work. Whatever it is, it won't work.”

  Katja stared at me blankly, brow furrowed, as if she didn't know why I wouldn't hear her out. Worse than that, she was looking at me as though I was stupid, unable to comprehend anything. Telling her no wouldn't work. It never did. I'd have to show her how wrong she was.

  “Come on,” I snarled, grabbing her wrist.

  She hurried on behind me as best she could, and I was deaf to her pleas for me to slow down, to wait just a moment. I charged across the beach, up onto the street, not stopping until we were at the docks. A few of the fishing boats had already brought their first catch of the day in, and I let go of Katja's wrist, pulling a handful of fish out by their tails.

  “Oi!” a woman called, drawing her sword as she hurried over. “What do you think you're doing?”

  In no mood to be meek, I stepped closer, teeth grit as I looked up at her.

  “They're for Reis. If you've got a problem with that, you take it up with them,” I said, holding her gaze.

  The woman gave one of her companions a questioning glance, and the other fisher was wise enough to nod her head. I didn't wait for the woman to sheath her sword. I stormed off, fish in hand, leading Katja through the busy streets and up the single flight of stairs clinging to the side of the building she lived in.

  Katja had moved beyond asking what I was doing, what I needed the fish for. She fumbled for her key, as confused as she was excited as the door clicked unlocked, and I shouldered it open, stomping into the living area. The apartment was a far cry from what she was used to – the walls were bare and I strongly suspected that
nobody within Mahon knew what a carpet was – but I found everything I needed.

  I grabbed a pitcher of water, placed it on the table at the centre of the room, and dropped a fish into it, letting the other two slide across the table.

  “Bring them back to life,” I said bluntly.

  “I can't—” she began, but I cut her off before she could add not yet.

  “Of course you can't!” You're not a necromancer,” I said, slamming a hand down against the table. The water trembled in the pitcher and Katja had finally done it; she'd finally forced me to use my powers, after all this time. The fish twitched, calmed down once it realised it was alive, and panicked all over again thanks to its confined quarters. “If there was any chance of it happening, you'd be able to do it by now. You can't learn this. I can't teach you it. I wanted the fish to come back to life and it did. That's all there is to this!”

  Katja was paler than I'd ever seen her. She shook her head over and over, and with trembling hands, picked up another of the fish. Twice she tried to ease it into the pitcher and twice she failed, until finally, the fish slid in, causing the other to flail all the more.

  Her eyes shone with the promise of tears, and with a deep, unsteady breath, she held her hands over the pitcher and did exactly nothing. Nothing but frustration built up within her, and I relished in it. Maybe this was all it took; maybe this outburst would finally get through to her. The fish refused to move, and Katja gripped the sides of the pitcher as though it would make any difference.

  “I've almost got it,” she said, voice painfully high. “I can feel... something. Something that's different to anything else I've ever felt. Please, Rowan. Please. If only I could cling to whatever it is. If only you would tell me how it feels for you.”

  Her eyes were all but black, and as she trembled with the impossible task she'd assigned herself to, her skin too changed. It became sickly, reflecting the grey of Felheim's sky on a dreary day. She was desperately trying to twist her power into something it wasn't, burning herself from the inside out as a consequence.

  Seeing her like that caused all of my anger to rush out. I wrapped my fingers around her wrists, easing her hands away from the pitcher, but the part of her nature that had always tried to repel mine got the better of her. I couldn't hold on without feeling as though my palms were burning, and as my stomach twisted in on itself, I looked around, needing something to break her out of the trance she'd forced herself into.

  The glint of a kitchen knife caught my attention. I darted over and grabbed it, took hold of the last fish and sliced it open.

  “Katja. Katja, look at me. You're forcing yourself to bring that fish back to life, and you're only hurting yourself,” I said, picking up the bloody fish and dropping it into the water. “It shouldn't be difficult. It should exhaust you, but not like this. You shouldn't have to think about it. It should be so much harder for me to bring this fish back, and yet...”

  I held my hand over the pitcher, lest Katja convince herself that the two dead fish had come back to life through her own brutal efforts. I blinked and they were back, fighting for space within the pitcher, and all at once, the spell was broken. Katja stopped staring, arms falling slack at her sides, and I put the knife down, pulling her into my arms.

  “My mother's dead,” she said in a small, broken voice. “Everyone. My entire country. They are lost to me. I did nothing for them, and even now, I continue to be useless...”

  “It's alright, Katja,” I said, placing a hand on the back of her head. “You've done everything you can. I know that. Kouris and Akela and Atthis, they know that too. I know it's hard, but there isn't a magical solution to this. Being a necromancer won't change the past. I can't bring back everyone we've lost, and I can't kill all of the dragons on my own. You're a healer, Katja. You're never going to be useless.”

  Swaying in my arms, Katja finally nodded shallowly against my shoulder. In spite of everything she'd put me through, I couldn't blame her. Not with her crumpled in my arms, not after all she'd been through. All she'd wanted to do was help, and she'd put more effort into the impossible than any of us. I held her close, wanting her to know how deeply sorry I was for all that she'd lost, hoping that time would be kind and bring her back to her true self as soon as it could.

  Leaning back, eyes half-lidded, Katja placed a hand against my cheek and rested her forehead against mine. Her shoulders tensed and I wanted to tell her that it was alright, that she could relax, but I wasn't given the chance to let my own eyes close.

  The metal bit into me, cold and sharp.

  Blood oozed between my ribs and pain cut through my understanding of what had happened. There was nothing else in the world: only the red sting cutting through my chest and Katja's eyes meeting mine. I did all I could to force a sound from my throat, but none came. I could only reach blindly, fingers finding Katja's elbow, tracing down to her wrist, to her fingers wrapped tight around the hilt of the kitchen knife.

  The wound was trying to force itself shut around the blade, and Katja pushed the knife in deeper.

  Her fingers curled against my cheek and I slumped forward, knees buckling, everything in my body letting go.

  Katja pulled the knife back and the wound gasped before closing. I clung to her with all the strength I had left as she drove it in again and again, into my stomach, between my ribs.

  Stop, I would've pleaded, had my throat not been thick with blood. Stop it, stop it, please. I don't want to die, I don't—please.

  CHAPTER IV

  The darkness was absolute.

  I was not sleeping, I was not dreaming, and I was not unconscious.

  I wasn't aware of the depths I had drifted into until I came to, blinking my eyes open, surroundings warping and blurring around me. I wasn't granted any sort of blissful delusion; I knew exactly where I was, exactly what had happened to me. There were no words to describe the pain. It had become me: I was intimately aware of every inch of my body, every fibre. Every layer of skin and sinew burnt bright in the back of my mind, every muscle and tendon that had been cut through.

  Moving caused metal to jangle behind me. Chains were wrapped tightly around my wrists and I found myself sitting, head slumped forward. Slowly, I stretched my fingers out, finding that my hands were bound behind a thick, iron bar, curved at the base. The leg of the stove, I realised, feeling the hefty door dig against my back. I jerked my arms, shoulders straining, but even if I'd had any strength left in me, I wouldn't have been able to pull the stove from the wall.

  The front of my shirt was torn to ribbons, lap soaked in blood, floorboards not much better off. I could replenish blood as quickly as I lost it, and I couldn't account for how many times I'd had to refill myself, over and over.

  Katja was standing over me. I saw her feet but couldn't bring myself to look up. She cleared her throat, dragging a chair from the table and sat in front of me.

  “Rowan,” she said plainly, and trembling, I lifted my head, for fear of what would happen if I didn't.

  She'd changed. There wasn't a fleck of blood on the dress she was wearing, and her hair was dark where it had recently been washed. Watery trails of blood were still smeared across her jawline and throat, but it didn't make any difference. She could wander out into Mahon like that and nobody would look at her twice.

  “Katja,” I tried, eyes fixed on the knife laid across her lap.

  Katja drew in a deep breath and I didn't dare speak another word.

  “I never wanted to be a healer, Rowan. My mother was always very supportive of this, but there were those who believed I ought to set all my ambitions aside in favour of aiding those foolish enough to get themselves hurt in the first place,” Katja said, and I didn't care why she was telling me this. As long as she was talking, the knife was going to remain in her lap. “My mother was always quick to silence them: no one argued with Queen Kidira. All my life, these so-called powers have been one great insult to me. I am but a glorified weed. I could do so much more, I could do what
you refuse to, and instead, I am forced to endure you wasting your gift.”

  “Please...” I mumbled, chains rattling behind me. “Please, Katja. Let me go. I won't tell anyone, I won't...”

  Katja let out a shrill laugh, and instantly, I was the calmer out of the two of us. She trembled in her seat, holding the knife by the handle lest it fall out of her lap, and shook her head over and over, fingers running through her hair.

  “No. No, I don't think I shall do that,” she said, “I didn't mean for any of this to happen. You must believe that, Rowan. I honestly did not wish for it to come to this, but goodness, you gave me no choice. We can't turn back now.”

  “What...” I started, eye-lids heavy. My head kept rocking forward, and every time I focused my vision, Katja seemed to have drawn closer. “What did I do?”

  “What did you do?” Katja repeated, kneeling in front of me. Fingers digging in beneath my jaw, she tilted my head up so that I could see the disappointment written across her face. “I gave you every chance to tell me what you were, Rowan. I went so far as to flagrantly mention Kondo-Kana around you. I took you to one of Isjin's temples. I let you know that you were safe around me. That I thought highly of necromancers. And you insisted on remaining ignorant.

  “I have given you every opportunity to help, to become better than a person of your standing could ever dare to hope to, and you have squandered it all. You are selfish, Rowan. You are too utterly wrapped up in your own grief to comprehend how you might be of help to others.”

  Though she was holding my head up, I could feel myself slipping away. Everything in my body wanted to tumble down, down, and slip through the floorboards like the blood that had been stolen from me. She was right. She was right. All I cared about was getting back to Asar, leaving behind everything the people here had given me.

  “You knew...” I murmured.

  Of course she had. Sickness hadn't welled up within me by chance, hadn't gripped me whenever she was demanding something of me.