by Sam Farren
I was already beginning to notice patterns, curved, repeating shapes running around doorways, across awnings, and though the twisting towers and wide, roofless shrines of Myros were unlike any of the others I'd ever seen, no two buildings looked the same to me. Businesses had come and gone, homes along with them, and when it was alive, Myros had never looked the same one year to the next; the buildings weaved together as flowers and shrubs grew around trees, vibrant even in their colourless quiet.
I walked with my eyes closed, allowing myself to believe, for a moment, that Oak and I weren't the only ones to step into the city in over fifteen hundred years.
Oak nudged my side and I blinked my eyes back open, returning to him. Words were carved into a sign running the length of the street overhead, and he slowed to a stop, staring up at it and taking a seat, tail knocking against a pile of crates.
“I should've brought Kondo-Kana along,” I said, hands on my hips. “What do you think it is? The street's name? Something to mark a festival?”
Oak scraped his claws across the yielding ground, setting off again.
“You're right. It's probably pointing towards market,” I said, letting him take the lead.
The light in the heart of the city wasn't blinding, nor was it drawing us towards it. It was beautiful in the understated way that any colour against the endless white would be, and Oak and I moved at our own pace, stopping to take in signs we couldn't read and peer through windows on the way. We lost sight of the light throughout the tangle of streets once or twice, towers keeping it away without casting a shadow.
It never took us more than a minute to catch a glimpse of it again.
“Come on,” I said, hand on the side of his neck. “Let's see what's really been burning all this time.”
With a gruff, determined sound from the back of his throat, Oak strode on.
A set of steps rose up in the centre of the city, so wide and shallow that they almost passed for a ramp. With one hand on the railing, intricate patterns repeating over and over beneath my palms, I rushed up, almost running into Isjin as the top of the steps opened up into a courtyard.
“Gods!” I said to the statue. “That's the second time you've scared me like that.”
The only difference between her and the statue in Kondo-Kana's temple was the size. Nothing else had been forgotten, from the feathers lining her arms to the knotted wood of her legs, and six of these statues stood at each entrance to the courtyard we'd reached, each one claiming a different pose.
But it wasn't the depictions of Isjin that had caught my attention, or Oak's.
Behind Isjin, colour had returned to the ground.
The flagstones were earthy reds and greyish blues, as vibrant as the day they'd been laid, with a web of painted gold running between them like veins. The columns were painted purple, darker at the plinth and lightening at the top, supporting friezes that trapped records of humans, pane, dragons and phoenixes in the form of carvings.
The columns were too close together for Oak to get any nearer, and I went on alone, staring at the clear sky above, having never seen anything so open and inviting in my life.
In the centre of the courtyard, watched over by six Isjins, was a great, perfectly carved cube of stone, so dark that I was convinced the black of it ought to have been enough to obliterate the Bloodless Lands. Flames roared from deep within it, fire so thick it was like watching melted gold drip into the sky.
Above, a statue of a phoenix perched on the arched centre of a frieze, carved talons cracking the stone, wings spread out wide.
CHAPTER XXV
Kouris had come into the possession of a dented pan to hang over her fire, when meat alone had begun to bore her, but other than a few bowls of vegetable stew, she'd done little to make herself at home. She wasn't the only one. I'd torn down the pieces of parchments I'd nailed to noticeboards around the city, and sat running my thumbs over the creases, eyes scanning the words as though they meant anything to me.
One by one, I scrunched them up in my fist, throwing them into the fire.
“Easy, now,” Kouris said, yawning widely. “Reckon you would've got a bite, if you'd kept at it.”
“No point,” I said, watching the last ball of parchment lose itself to the flames. “We've got a week! I don't want to start teaching someone and then disappear.”
“A whole week,” Kouris mused, waterskin glugging as she tipped it back. She squeezed it tight, finishing off entire pints of ale in a few mouthfuls. “Reckon we might see an end to all of this.”
Through it all, I hadn't kept an end in sight. Back in Canth, I'd convinced myself there was no way to fight, and now that we'd returned in Asar, it was too easy to trick myself into thinking that we'd barely pushed forward, barely taken that first step at all. I closed my eyes, reminding myself of all we'd lost and gained, how far I'd come, distance counting least of all.
“It's strange, talking about all this being over. It's like it's not even something out of the ordinary that's going on. It's just my life! So much has happened that I can't imagine there being an end, just one. I probably won't even notice when it comes along,” I said, rocking towards her. “What're you going to do? Once everything's over and Felheim and the territories are safe?”
Kouris hummed, tapping a claw against her chin. She offered me her waterskin and I held up a hand, shaking my head.
“Now, that all depends,” she said. “What're you going to be getting up to, yrval?”
My thoughts darted to the first place I could run to. In truth, I couldn't imagine a world where I was safe, even if we did succeed in restoring four territories and rebuilding a corrupt Kingdom. There was nowhere for me but Canth, and no matter how I'd loved Mahon, that didn't sit well with me.
I shrugged.
“Honestly? I kind of miss fishing.”
Kouris chuckled, ruffling my hair.
“That's what I was hoping to hear,” she said. “There'll be plenty of room in Reis' hut, even with Claire there.”
“You're going to drag Claire to Canth?” I asked, brow raised.
“Like you're about to go anywhere without her.”
Kouris poked me in the side and I squirmed, knocking her ribs with my elbow. I didn't need to tell her she was right. Mahon had opened itself up as a home to me, but there'd always been something missing.
“I don't think we're ready to talk about running away to Canth and becoming pirates,” I said, rolling my eyes. “What about you, then? Are you really going to get the pane their land back and then disappear?”
“I'm not going anywhere until everything's sorted, and I mean everything,” Kouris said. “Reckon I can twist Sen's ear on the matter. She's not one to be underestimated.”
“Don't let Claire know what you're planning. She'll never let Sen within ten miles of you.”
Kouris laughed, but took my warning seriously enough. She raked her nails through my hair as we both stared towards Kyrindval, setting sun framed by the dragon-bone gate. Work would be coming to an end, for most of the pane. They'd be making their way to the fire pit, eager to appreciate whatever entertainment was offered up to them, food and drink generously shared all around. Kouris could reclaim the stretches of lands around the mountains that had once belonged to the pane, but she'd never get to be part of the tribe again.
“What about Kidira? Is she talking to you again?” I asked. “I've seen her out here a few times.”
She exhaled heavily, leaning back on her hands, not knowing how to answer.
“Aye, she comes out here. Sits over there, by that rock, and tells me not to say anything,” Kouris said. “She was lost to me decades ago, yrval. Reckon she just needs me to be sitting here while she works some of that anger out of her system.”
“At least she has Akela,” I offered.
“Can't be asking for much more than that,” Kouris agreed, sighing. Placing a hand on the small of my back, she eased me to my feet, saying, “Go on. You don't have much time left in the tribe
. Don't want to be wasting it listening to me feel sorry for myself. Go convince Ightham pirating's always been her true calling.”
I was willing to stay with Kouris until sleep came for me, but I knew when she wanted to be alone. I rapped a fist against one of her horns, promised that I'd be back in the morning, and left her to her thoughts. Some part of her was hoping that Kidira would find her way to the edge of Kyrindval once more, and I had no intention of being caught up in the middle of that.
On the way to the centre of Kyrindval, one or two pane spent a second longer looking at me than they usually did. I smiled and they looked away, ashamed to have been caught staring, and only one dared to step forward.
“Excuse me. I heard about the dead fhord—the not dead fhord,” he said, ears perking up. He wasn't the first to approach me. Word had got around, discussed with the same urgency that everything in Kyrindval was. “Is there anything we can do to help him?”
“He's fine. I think he likes being with the younger dragons,” I said, “But thank you anyway. Really.”
“I'm just glad one of the dragons is free of the Felheimish,” the pane said, bowing his head and scurrying back.
The rest of the pane weren't quite as quick to anger as Kouris, and she had fretted over what the humans would think of Oak, not the pane. The matter had been mulled over, and when Oak was seen to be doing what it was young dragons did – gnawing at rocks and scuffing in the dirt – of his own accord, no one so much as considered drawing any parallels between the present and the past.
I made it to the fire pit without being dragged aside by anyone else. There'd been whisperings the past few days of a performance the pane were particularly excited for, and there were at least two hundred of them already gathered, forming a circle around the fire pit, standing to the side and helping themselves to ale from barrels Draeis had brought. Michael raised a hand, waving to me from the other side of the fire pit, surrounded by a group of friends he'd made over the past two years.
I waved back, and made my way to the front of the crowd. The pane were happy to let me through; I was too short for them to ever worry about their view being blocked, and they assured me this wasn't a performance I wanted to miss.
Claire wasn't hard to find. She sat in front of the fire, flames dull and fleeting in comparison to what I was half-convinced I hadn't really seen, cane placed across her lap. Two steins of juice were placed at her side, and though I hadn't planned to meet her there, she held one up to me, smiling.
I took the drink and sat next to her, legs crossed.
“It's a good thing you made it,” she said, hand searching for mine. “You're going to spend the rest of your time here hearing about this performance. It'd get tiresome if you were the only one who missed it.”
“It's all anyone's been talking about for days. What is it?”
“A singer, and a famous one, at that. They haven't been to Kyrindval in some years, and many of the pane would travel dozens of miles to the fire pit of their home tribe, just for the chance to see them perform,” Claire explained, bringing her drink unsteadily to her lips, finger and thumb wrapped tightly around the handle.
I let go of her hand, let her drink her fill, and she idly brushed her fingers against my knuckles as she craned her neck to look around, trying to find a sign that things were about to begin.
We weren't left waiting for long. The audience had grown twice the size in a matter of minutes, and a pane with tattoos in lieu of hair stood, waving his hands over his head and demanding silence. The chatter died down to a curious murmur and he said, “Friends! Little friends! Now, I know we are all waiting for our guest of honour, but let us welcome them properly with a true warm-up.”
There were four separate performances from those native to Kyrindval. A group of singers, not yet old enough to have horns worth remarking on, went first, wisely not wanting to be immediately followed by the main act. I watched with a grin on my face, more entranced by the energy they put into their performance than their voices themselves, as sweet as they were. When the last note was sung and the group bowed, the crowd applauded and cheered as though the young pane were the sole reason they'd left their cabins that night.
We weren't given much of a break between acts. A play, half an hour from start to finish, was performed next, and aside from a few more archaic phrases, I understood every word of it. It told the tale of two tribes exchanging hatchlings, some manner of mistake being made, and in the final act, it was all resolved in a comical manner; the pane were laughing, but I didn't pay much attention.
I found myself with my knees pulled against my chest, head rested in my arms so that I could look at Claire. Firelight danced across her face, shadow taking its place whenever a performing pane darted in front of the flames, and when Claire glanced my way, I didn't have to pretend I wasn't staring.
Holding out an arm, Claire let me nestle up beside her.
“Do you remember the first time we came here?” she asked between the third and fourth acts. We'd just watched a poetry recital. It was something I found a lot more interesting, now that I could soak up the words, though I'd been distracted by Claire's fingertips idly running along the shell of my ear.
“Of course I remember,” I said, scrunching up my face when I smiled too widely. “I'd gone from never leaving my village to being in a pane tribe in a matter of months, and then you had to make everything even more overwhelming by kissing me. Out of the blue!”
“It wasn't out of the blue,” Claire said, laughing breathily. “You'd been looking at me for weeks. Trying to make me open up. I sincerely thought you were expecting it.”
I leant back, scowling playfully at her. The pane around us were so involved in their own conversations that the rumble of noise, along with the close comfort of the wide night sky, gave me an odd sense of privacy. Everyone was far too excited for the final act. They wouldn't care to eavesdrop on what we were saying.
“Well, I wasn't. No one had ever kissed me before, you know.”
“I recall,” Claire said, wincing a little. “... and since?”
It took me a moment to realise what she was asking. Blinking up at her, I said, “Oh. No. No, I haven't...”
“Really? Not even in Canth?”
“Really! Well, I mean. Other than Kouris, of course,” I said, “But that's different. Why do you sound so surprised?”
Shaking her head in fond exasperation, Claire wrapped both arms around me, pulling me close. With her forehead against mine, Claire said, “Rowan, you are kind, smart and gorgeous; I was simply curious, that's all. I've no doubt you garnered plenty of attention in Port Mahon.”
“Well,” I said, acting as though I wasn't well aware of how red my face was, “There was this one time, when a cat stowed its way to Mahon on a pirate ship and wouldn't leave me alone for weeks. But I think that might've been because I smelled of fish.”
The fact that she was wearing an eye-patch did nothing to temper the weight of her glare. Kissing her nose, I slumped back against her side, and kept my eyes fixed on the fire pit for entire seconds before relenting and jumping to my feet.
“Do you want to go for a walk?” I asked, holding out a hand.
Already taking hold of her cane and giving herself away, Claire said, “Aren't you interested in the rest of the performances?”
I shrugged.
“I came to see you,” I admitted.
“As did I,” she said, taking my hand.
The pane were happy enough to let us weave through the crowd, but the entire tribe seemed to have gathered and it was slow going as they shuffled around, creating a path for us. Beyond the fire pit, Kyrindval was quieter than I'd ever known it to be. The taverns were empty, as were the cabins, and only street lamps and starlight lit our way. The sounds of insects, usually drowned out by the footsteps of pane and chatter drifting out of the windows, chirped rhythmically from the grass that wasn't all that long, by the pane's standards.
I clung to Claire's hand, swingin
g our arms out of time with our slow strides.
“It's too bad that we have to leave,” I said, peering over a fence to get a look at the sleeping goats in someone's garden. “I almost wish we could go now, rather than drag it out. But when Kidira makes a plan, we all have to follow it. That's about how it goes, right?”
“We won't be gone forever,” Claire said, pretending the comment about Kidira didn't amuse her. “I'm certain we'll return and find that little has changed.”
I chose to believe she was right. When Claire said those things, the thought of there being an end to this all wasn't quite as impossible as it had once seemed.
I guided her around to her cabin, wanting to spend time alone with her, but not wanting to force her to walk further than she could without paying for it. All the lanterns and candles within had been blown out, and the closest street lamp was at the end of the road. I put my arms around her waist, letting my eyes adjust to the dark as I looked up at her, and she tucked my hair behind my ear, fingertips coming to rest on the line of my jaw.
Pushing myself onto tiptoes, I kissed her. I curled my fingers against the back of her shirt and felt my heart knock-knock-knock against my ribs. Claire kissed back, not having to grip her cane as tightly when she could lean into me, and it was perfect, until it wasn't.
I'd known Claire's moods to change fast, but never this fast. Her jaw tensed in the midst of the kiss, and I broke my mouth away, trying to catch her eye. She shook her head a little, glanced off to the side, and knowing it was very much a moment in which she needed space, I stepped back, sorry to have intruded quite so thoroughly.
“Claire...?” I asked, clasping my hands behind my back. Stupid, stupid. “Are you alright?”
“Rowan, I—” Claire said, bringing her fingers up to her own face. “I'm sorry. I cannot be what you want.”
She spoke as though the sun had abruptly risen and only she could see how clear things now were.
