by Sam Farren
No one said anything. No one looked at each other. Claire's hand moved from my arm to my wrist, fingers edging down to entangle with my own. With a burst of movement, Akela rushed to her feet, holding her chick out in cupped hands.
“Northwood! You are not yet meeting Milly, and I am thinking you will feel better if this is changing, yes?” she said, and I didn't have the heart to tell her we'd been introduced yesterday.
I let go of Claire's hand to take the chick in my palms, using a thumb to gently stroke the top of her head.
“We need to discuss our next move. All of us. That means going to Kouris and taking Michael with us,” Claire said. “We can't afford to waste time.”
We came across Michael on the way out of Kyrindval, and he managed to bite his tongue long enough for us to make it to Kouris and Kidira. They were still a distance from one another, and Kidira had been in the process of rising to her feet when she spotted us. She remained where she was, and Akela jogged over to Kouris, placing her free hand on her shoulder.
“You are okay, yes? I am hearing that something is happening, and Northwood, the orange, it is ruining her clothing,” Akela said, “I am not knowing your blood is that colour!”
“Never been better,” Kouris said, knocking a fist against the holes punched into her leathers.
“... why are you holding a bird, Akela?” Kidira asked as the rest of us settled down.
Beaming, Akela sat down next to Kidira, holding out her hand and introducing them to one another. Kidira raised her brow but couldn't quite bring herself to frown and said that if nothing else, at least Sen's gifts were unique. We watched them speak, grasping for seconds throughout which we didn't have to think to the future, and when Kidira noticed us staring, she said, “Well. I suppose we're leaving Kyrindval behind.”
“What?” Michael demanded. “What did I miss?”
“Prince Rylan plans to march on Kyrindval if Claire doesn't surrender and we don't hand them your sister,” Kidira said bluntly. “We've a month to draw their attention elsewhere.”
Michael turned sharply to look at me, and he didn't need to say anything. I already understood what was on his mind, what was on everyone's mind; sooner or later, I was always forced out of whatever home I'd made, ruining things for those closest to me. I was almost relieved that Rylan had set his sights on Claire, as well.
“Are we going to Thule?” I asked.
“I don't see that there are many other options,” Claire said. “Sen, you're more than welcome to stay here. So long as the humans leave, Kyrindval ought to stand a chance, and Thule will pose more danger than I can rightly ask you to face.”
Sen sat with her arms wrapped around her knees, trying to make herself small, and had been intent on keeping quiet with so many people surrounding her. For a moment, the words didn't come to her. She ran her forked tongue across dry lips, fangs chattering together, and with her eyes closed, managed to speak.
“I c-can't—won't leave you now, Mar... Claire,” she said, nodding decisively, “I'm with you, for as long as you need me.”
Claire smiled softly and Akela beamed brightly enough for all of us, hand subconsciously moving to the axe at her hip at the thought of harm coming to Sen.
“Alright. Looks like we'll all be heading off together,” Kouris said, and Michael scowled at the sky. “Best not to be rushing into anything, though. We're safe, for a few days. There'll be plenty of planning to do, and I'm not about to be leaving the pane like this. Everything we're trying to fix, the territories and Felheim and gods know what's happening in Agados, none of that means a damn thing if we aren't looking out for the pane, too. We've gotta get 'em their land back.”
There was a general ripple of agreement throughout the group. Fixing half a continent was already an impossible task; returning the pane's territory to them hardly made it any more daunting. Only Michael had anything to say on the matter.
“... is that really a priority?” he asked. “Not that I'm saying it isn't important, per se. But these past two years, humanity has been suffering, and it is the humans who need their homes rebuilt, order restored to their lands. All the while, life has gone on as normal in Kyrindval, save for any trouble we've brought with us. It just seems that our resources, limited as they are, would be better spent elsewhere.”
“Life's been going on as normal, has it? I suppose life's been going on as normal, these past fifteen hundred years, aye? The pane living up in the mountains, that's normal. They haven't been suffering, haven't been chased out of the towns they do visit, kept out of inns and shops alike. They haven't had rules imposed upon 'em by your sort, and they definitely haven't suffered along with Kastelir,” Kouris said, gaze skidding over to Sen. “Two years you've been here, Michael, and you still sound like most of the humans out there. What would you suggest? We wait another few centuries for your lot to stop bickering for five minutes?”
“Kouris, that's not what I'm saying. Nobody understands what's been taken from the pane better than I do, and—”
“Nobody understand better than you do?” Kouris asked. “That so?”
Michael snapped his jaw shut, unwilling to say anything more that could be rightly twisted against him. Nothing more was said, after Kouris and Michael's exchange. Kouris was right about not rushing into things, about using the next two days to plan carefully, and Kidira headed back to Kyrindval without aiming a goodnight at anyone. Michael left when the coast was clear, when there was no chance of running into her, and Akela walked Sen home a few minutes later.
I put my arms around Kouris, kissed her forehead and told her how glad I was that she was alright, and went with Claire back into the tribe, wanting nothing more than for Thule to be our last stop.
I would've slept all day, had Maedir not sought me out. She rapped a fist against the door and I was grumbling for her to come in before I'd waken up in earnest.
Maedir fiddled with the golden sash of cloth slung over her shoulder as I pushed myself into a sitting position, fangs worrying into her upper-lip.
“Something wrong?” I asked, scrubbing the sleep out of my eyes.
“Rowan, you're a... necromancer, aren't you?” Maedir asked, ears twitching.
“That's me,” I said, already wanting to sink back under the covers. “Why? Are the soldiers back?”
Maedir waved her hands in front of her, and hurried to explain that, “It's not anything like that. There's a... dragon, out in the fields. With the others. But he's... half dead? I think. He keeps whining. I thought you might know something about that.”
“Oak! That's Oak.”
I was on my feet in an instant, hopping into my trousers as I followed Maedir out of the cabin. Of all the pane I lived with, Maedir worked the most demanding hours, and I'd barely seen her at meals. My departure might've been imminent, but I still wanted to learn more about her, and few things made me as cheerfully talkative as knowing that Oak was waiting for me.
“You work with the dragons, don't you?” I began, spotting the broach pinned to her collar. “So why have a wolf for your sigil instead?”
Maedir tapped a claw against the wolf's metal snout and said, “The dragon isn't that popular, anymore. Not since Kouris.”
“Oh,” I said, having to push myself up and over a rock Maedir hardly noticed as she went.
“How is Kouris, by the way?” she asked, grinning slyly at me. I hesitated, not sure whether I ought to have been denying her presence a stone's throw from the tribe, and Maedir said, “I saw her come through Kyrindval the other day. We used to be friends, you know! Learnt to write and read together.”
“I bet she'd like it if you visited her, then,” I said, and Maedir seemed to consider it.
The pane and dragons had thrived together for so long by respecting each other's lands when the humans would not. The pane never fished or sailed in the enormous lake the dragons had claimed for their own, and only young, unruly dragons ever snapped up cattle from fenced-in areas. There were two areas set aside fo
r both dragons and pane around every tribe: a steep mountainside where the remains of dragons and pane alike were left to return to the ground, and an open, rocky plateau where dragons left knocked-out teeth for pane to salvage the seeds within, and pane worked to heal sickly dragons.
Maedir made short work of the miles between Kyrindval and the area she called the sca-sino, and I stood at the top of the slope, marvelling at it. It was big enough for two dozen cabins, and boulders had been dragged onto the hard ground, in order for dragons to cling to and gnaw at. An old kraau was curled up at one end, chest rising and falling as it napped in the sunlight, trusting the pane to take care of its young.
The newborn kraau weren't much bigger than horses. They fidgeted, but otherwise remained patient while the pane ensured that their scales were hardening at the right rate and helped one of the dragons who'd sprained its wing stretch it out. Goats were tied to posts, and a handful of pane were encouraging the young dragons to pounce and take a bite out of them, helping them learn how to hunt.
“Are there ever any accidents?” I asked, watching a kraau scramble up another's back and wrap their winged arms around its long neck. The other lashed beneath it, rolling onto its side as it kicked it off, diving at it in return.
“Of course. The tailors and carpenters and builders and cooks all have accidents, too,” Maedir said, leading me into the sca-sino. “We just make sure to have a little more bitterwillow stocked than anyone else.”
As Maedir led me between the boulders, I saw claw and tooth marks dug into them. Some of them had been melted into the ground by the dragons' first attempts at fire, and I was on the verge of picking up the pace when one of the young kraau spotted me and, having never seen a human before, flung itself backwards and rolled behind one of its siblings.
Oak was at the edge of the sca-sino, keeping his distance from the old kraau. He'd fallen on his front, chin propped up on his paws, and was whimpering listlessly. Two pane stood in front of him, holding out chunks of meat and scratching their heads when he only whined louder.
“Good morning, Oak,” I called, waving a hand to garner his attention. He shot to his feet with such force that the pane looking over him took a wide step back, dropping the meat in the grass. “Is something wrong?”
He shook his head, grunting. Maedir left me with Oak, no doubt expecting answers later, and the other pane headed off with her. He pressed the end of his snout to my chest, shirt ruffling as he huffed, and I ran my nails between the gaps in his scales.
“Did you just miss me?” I asked. “I wouldn't blame you. It must get pretty lonely out there. I don't think anyone would you mind staying here, you know. Look at all these other dragons!”
Oak's tail swished from side to side, and a low, agreeable rumble from the back of his throat rattled through me.
“That way, I'd always know where you were, and you'd get to meet Claire,” I told him. “I think she'd like that.”
Oak had been subdued, until I'd mentioned Claire's name. Shooting to his full height, back arched, Oak knocked me over without meaning to, and I found myself on the ground, pinned down with a dragon's maw inches from me chest. His eyes were wide and searching, and he pushed his nose against my collarbone over and over, demanding an explanation.
“... Claire's alive,” I said, placing my hands on his muzzle in an effort to keep him calm. “Did I forget to tell you?”
He grunted indignantly, and finally took a step back. I put a hand on the ground, about to push myself up, and made a point of pretending the tongue he wrapped around my wrist was solely responsible for getting me back to my feet.
Sitting down on his hind legs, Oak tilted his head to the side, wings folding neatly behind him. He growled in a way I hoped meant he was confused and nothing more, and I found a nearby boulder to scramble on top of and put us at the same level.
“Claire's alive. She's here, in Kyrindval. Kidira saved her,” I said, and Oak's nostrils flared. “Right? But I can bring her to see you, when she's not busy. Would you like that?”
Fangs flashing through the hole in his jaw, Oak beat his discoloured tail against the ground.
I hadn't put all the pieces together the last time we'd met, but whatever I knew when I brought him back, Oak knew, too. I gave him a moment to absorb the information, and when he didn't slump onto the ground or threaten to fly off, I moved carefully to his side, brushing a hand across the larger scales.
“Do you feel like going somewhere, Oak?” I asked.
I'd be in Thule before I knew it. If I didn't take the chance now, who was to say when I'd never have this much time to myself; when I'd be able to move as freely again.
Oak had no objections, but I took care when climbing onto his back. The wound at his side was poorly patched over, and though it'd never hurt him or do any harm, it'd never heal, either. He was still skittish, tensing involuntarily as I used his scales to pull myself up, low growls rattling inside his chest as he pressed his body close to the ground.
“Shh, shh,” I said, reaching forward to stroke between his horns. “Ready?”
Oak knew where to head without a word from me. Setting off at a sprint, he beat his paws against the ground, wings stretched out wide, and pushed the ground away. It wasn't any less startling the third time; I clung to the base of his wings, heart tumbling into the sole of my right foot, stomach up in my throat. I smiled through what didn't quite register as fear, and glanced down to see every pane and dragon in the sca-sino stare up at us, bemused.
One of the young kraau was curious enough to aim skyward, wings flapping far too hard and barely keeping him aloft. He caught up with us, tail snaking behind him, but before he could entice Oak into some game, his energy all but deserted him and the ground welcomed him back. The kraau cried out and the elder wilfully ignored him.
The colours of Kyrindval, the reds and yellows of overgrown wildflowers and shiny sides of chipped rocks, faded from my sight, replaced by the rich browns of wood and dirt alike, and the endless greens of grass and leaves. The pattern repeated itself as we rushed over and between the mountains, wings folded back so Oak could dart through canyons, but once we soared over the wall, I'd already forgotten more shades of brown and green than there were colours ahead of me.
The Bloodless Lands remained without shadow, pure white under the sun and moon alike, and hadn't felt the slightest urge to rearrange themselves after my intrusion. Without Kouris and Kidira, without anyone who wasn't made of the same things I was, I no longer had to confine myself to the outskirts of Myros. Cities greater than those close to the mountains rose to greet us, and within minutes, I looked back and saw nothing but everlasting disquiet around us.
“Look at this all,” I mumbled to Oak. “How many people do you think lived here? Millions? And all of them ran away, or...”
I couldn't bring myself to say that they'd died in Myros. There was a stillness to the air that wasn't stifling, and the ground was far from soaked in the memories of war; for all my abilities, for all my powers had grown, of late, I couldn't convince myself that so much of a drop of blood had been spilt there.
Oak followed roads marked clearly in the frozen grass, and when I saw shapes scattered across them, I had him fly closer to the ground. The roads were covered in carts, some on their sides and others turned over completely, but there was no sign that people had ever been there, or indeed animals. A bridge as wide as the ravine behind Orinhal crossed a river that had once been as deep as the ocean, and I pictured myself wandering into every tower and house we flew over.
Beds would still be made, covers immovable. There might be plates on the table, cups in the sink; chairs would've been pushed under tables or not, and frames of layers upon layers of white paint would hang from the walls; but there wouldn't be a single sign of the people who'd once lived there.
“Maybe it goes on forever,” I said, teeth worrying into my lower-lip.
The Bloodless Lands weren't timeless, but they were lost to time. The sun was still high
, and this was the only thing that let me know how long Oak and I had been out there. Not wanting to linger for days or weeks without realising it, I narrowed my gaze at the horizon, forcing my destination to the front of my mind.
Part of me had gone in search of the flicker of light I'd seen against the horizon, but with the sun making the tops of clouds glow, it was lost to me. Only knowing that it was in the distance, I had Oak push on, until I was convinced it must've been a trick of the light. The first time I'd seen it, I'd been close to the mountains, but they'd vanished hours ago, and I was no closer to my destination.
“We should turn back,” I told Oak.
Glancing back at me, he huffed, beating his wings harder.
“Or we could go faster. That works too.”
Within minutes, I had no words for how deeply I regretted so much as thinking of turning back.
A city that could've swallowed Isin and Chandaran whole opened up before us. It had to be the heart of Myros. The capital's name escaped me, but I knew beyond knowing that it was where I was supposed to be, where I belonged.
A golden light emanated from the very centre of the city, and without a word from me, Oak began his descent, landing on the outskirts. There was no wall around the city, but there were gates, dozens of them, a hundred feet high with statues framing each corner.
I tilted my head back, staring at the armoured woman with her legs and an arm wrapped around one post, holding out a broken spear to the pane who rested a hand easily atop the other side of the gate. They clung to the gatepost with one foot, claws acting as a vice around what had once been steel. Luckily for me and Oak, the gate had been left open.
I promised myself I'd circle the city, taking in the other statues at the other gates, but let curiosity and awe draw me inwards. The streets were more than wide enough for Oak to comfortably trundle through, and I saw, from the grooves between slabs, that the streets had once been paved in mosaics shaped like the sun and stars. I knelt down, tracing my fingers along the edges, barely able to stop and stare at any one thing for more than a second.
