Despite his birthday, he knew he probably shouldn’t drink, not after lying outside without any water for a day and a half. But he’d hydrated pretty well at the woman’s house. Maybe the beer would dull his pain, even a little.
“What happened?” Hatlin asked Krey.
“I was flying here, but I was too tired. I crashed.”
The big man’s thick eyebrows rose. “You coulda died!”
Krey squinted. “It feels like I did.”
“We’ll get a healer for you.”
“New Therro has healers?”
“Just one, and he’s not very good. But he might take the edge off.”
“I’ll take what I can get.”
The woman returned with their beers. Hatlin asked her to fetch the healer. She nodded and hurried off.
Krey sipped the beer. It was bitter and strong. I’d better pace myself. He took one more swallow, then said, “Hatlin, where’s the army?”
Hatlin put down his clay mug. Krey didn’t think the big man had swallowed more than three times, but half his beer was gone. “That’s why I figured you’d need a drink,” Hatlin said. “The king himself arrived yesterday. Marched off with the whole army today. Looked like they were headed to Deroga.”
Krey swallowed to keep from puking. He knew, instantly, why Ulmin had come yesterday. Lars had made it to the palace to update the king. Honest guy that he was, Lars had probably told the whole story—including how he’d given his former captives information on the coming invasion. Not willing to enter a city that was expecting him, the king had moved up his plans.
Krey couldn’t prove it was true, but the timing was too perfect to be coincidental. The army was on its way to Deroga, and it was only because of his and his friends’ botched escape. A string of curses tumbled from his mouth. He took a big gulp of beer. It wasn’t helping with the pain, but it did loosen his tongue. “I came to tell you the attack was coming soon. Wasn’t supposed to be this soon, though. I was hoping you could bump up the New Therroan uprising. Maybe stop the invasion from happening at all. I guess it’s too late for that.”
“Wouldn’t’ve worked anyway,” Hatlin said, frustration written all over his creased brow. “Two days ago, the army caught a couple of our soldiers talking about their plans. They’re watching all the New Therroan soldiers closely now. Our whole rebellion fell apart overnight. Oh, also—that guy Golsch that Nora told me might help us? Pretty sure he’s loyal to the king.”
“Yeah, we figured that out.” Krey groaned. He closed his eyes briefly against his pain, then returned his attention to Hatlin. “I have to fly to Deroga. Maybe I can give the trogs a few hours extra to prepare.”
“No offense, Krey, but you don’t look like you got the strength to fly next door, much less to Deroga.”
“I know. I’ll do it anyway.”
“Figured you would.” Hatlin drained the last of his beer. “Need feathers?”
“Yep.”
“I don’t think I have enough.”
Krey almost laughed. Of course Hatlin didn’t have enough. It would be asking too much for something to actually go right today. He picked up his beer, then immediately set it back down. If he was going to fly, he needed to be sober. “I’ll take whatever feathers you’ve got. And . . . can I get some juice?”
32
Deroga’s electrical outage last night, caused by a computer glitch, lasted three minutes. When it happened, I was in a glidecraft with my father. We’d been admiring the city lights, which are stunning at twilight.
Then the electricity went out—and the city became even more lovely. Buildings were reduced to sharp, angled shadows. Skytrain tracks looked like line art drawn on the darkening sky. Deroga was a grayscale wonderland, a place of unsettling, alien beauty.
I was disappointed when the lights came back on.
-“Lights Out” by Genta Ril
The Derogan Chronicle, dated Cyon 25, 6293
Through the darkness, Krey could barely make out the city of Deroga. He was at last flying over its suburbs.
All at once, the city lit up.
Once-dark skyscrapers came to life, bright lights shining through the perforation of uncountable windows. Solarcar and glidecraft headlamps streaked through the streets and the air. A Skytrain traveled in the distance, its many windows appearing as a flowing ribbon of white light.
He laughed in wonder, and the sound seemed to trigger something. The air filled with voices from the city’s millions of inhabitants. Derogan citizens called out to Krey, entreating him to make something great of his world, just as they had done with theirs.
Then, in a blink, it was dark and still again.
Krey cursed, his head suddenly clear. This wasn’t the first hallucination he’d had tonight. His weariness and concussion made it impossible to stay anchored in reality.
The New Therroan healer had, quite frankly, sucked. He’d managed to relieve Krey’s pain just enough to convince him he wouldn’t die, but not enough to make him happy he was still alive. Still, the man’s assistance, paltry though it was, had made it possible for Krey to get this far.
His body dipped a bit, and he reached into the pouch in his arm. After digging around for a full minute, his fingers emerged with one small piece of diced feather. The pack on his back, supplied by Hatlin, was empty too.
Great.
He ate the feather and flew lower. Squinting, he tried to find a major road that would take him all the way into trog territory. There—a wide street he was pretty sure he recognized. He flew over it. Within a couple of minutes, his magic started popping on and off. He took the hint and landed. The action jarred his head yet again.
The army was behind him. How far, he had no idea. He knew he’d flown over them at some point before it turned dark, but his addled mind couldn’t guess how long ago that was. He did know there were many clommets between him and his destination. If he wanted to give the trogs enough warning to make this trip worthwhile, he’d have to travel fast.
Despite his suspicion that his legs would collapse or disintegrate if he quickened his pace, Krey broke into a jog. His stomach rebelled with instant nausea. His head screamed in pain.
He kept running.
Zeisha walked toward the Star Clan park, having been woken by a trog runner minutes earlier. The runner was supposed to fetch Nora and Ovrun too, but neither of them were in their beds. Zeisha had offered to find them. She yawned and stretched as she walked. She’d hoped to truly catch up on sleep last night. At least there was a beautiful sunrise.
She wasn’t surprised to see the couple sitting on a park bench, eyes on the eastern sky. Ovrun’s arm was around Nora, and they were talking softly. “Good morning,” Zeisha called.
Nora and Ovrun turned and greeted her.
“Eira sent a runner to wake us all up. There’s someone in her office she wants us to meet.”
As the three of them walked toward Eira’s office building, Ovrun asked Zeisha, “How did your experiment go yesterday? With the thorn shields?”
Zeisha released a long sigh. “We made several fences that would barely keep a caynin from running down the street. We’re all struggling to grow them as tall as they need to be, even when we’re fully fueled.”
“I’m sorry,” Nora said. “At least you’ve got a week to master it.”
“I hope we can,” Zeisha said, her voice laced with weariness.
A few minutes later, they stepped into Eira’s office building. The lobby was empty, so they went straight into the office. Eira was sitting at her desk, looking remarkably alert for this time of the morning. Her long, white hair was pulled back into a neat braid.
A bulky trog, probably in his mid-twenties, had a tight grip on the arm of a tall, slender young woman whose hands appeared to be shackled behind her. She was wearing a cream-colored shirt and tan pants. It was typical trog clothing, but Zeisha didn’t recognize her. She had messy, short hair and deep-brown skin. Her big, dark eyes were bloodshot, her jaw clenched. Her smo
oth skin looked like it belonged to someone in her late teens, but there was a hardness to her expression that made Zeisha wonder if she was older.
Eira didn’t greet Zeisha, Ovrun, and Nora. Instead, she turned her sharp gaze on the prisoner. “All the people you ask me to fetch are here. I suggest you talk, and quickly. My patience is limited.”
The young woman lifted her chin, not a bit intimidated. “My name is Sarza Phip. I’m a Cellerinian spy. I’m also a seer. And I might know how to win the battle that’s coming.”
“This new-city man says he is part of the Star Clan.” The trog who was speaking, a Tree Clan sentry, squeezed Krey’s arm, deepening the bruises he’d already put there. “Does he tell the truth?”
Krey recognized the Star Clan sentry they’d approached, but the man looked him up and down like he’d never seen him before. After hours of running through the city, Krey was barely upright. He’d sweated out the last of his patience hours ago. “Come on, man. Let me in.”
The Star Clan sentry finished his perusal of Krey. He let out a loud guffaw, then slapped Krey’s shoulder. “I know him. I only want to scare him a bit.”
The Tree Clan sentry didn’t laugh. “That is not what I hope to hear. If he tells the truth about his identity, perhaps he also tells the truth about the army.”
In a split second, the Star Clan sentry sobered. “What about the army?”
“They’re on their way,” Krey said. “Today, tomorrow at the latest.” He had no idea how fast the army was traveling and how often they were stopping to rest.
“Spread the word!” the Star Clan sentry told his counterpart. He turned to Krey. “You must run to tell Eira.”
Krey set off at a shuffling jog, every step torturous to his whole body. I can sleep soon, he assured himself as his heavy boots stirred up the dust of Deroga’s streets.
“We should all sit,” Eira said.
Zeisha sighed in relief as she dropped into a chair in front of Eira’s desk. Two days of waiting, worrying, and attempting new magical feats had exhausted her.
Eira leaned forward, propping her elbows on her desk. She turned to Sarza, who was sitting in a wooden chair, her arm still gripped by the trog guard. Eira said, “It is many decades since I have heard of a living seer.”
“Decades?” Nora blurted. “I didn’t think we’d had any since Rona, the seer who tried to stop the apocalypse. That was two hundred years ago!”
Eira’s eyes, always watery and always incisive, found Nora. “We trogs have a seer when I am young. He dies forty years ago. His guidance helps us keep our independence as new nations rise around us.”
Nora’s mouth gaped. “And here I thought seers were relics of the past. Like computers and reliable birth control.”
A chuckle rumbled in Ovrun’s chest.
“Well, here I am,” Sarza said. “Not extinct.”
“Why haven’t we ever heard of you?” Nora demanded.
Sarza’s hard gaze found Nora. “Sorry, Your Highness, but I never felt the need to tell you or anyone else about my curse.”
Zeisha’s brow creased. What had happened to this seer that she’d consider such a gift to be a curse?
“Why do you tell us now?” Eira asked.
Sarza tried to stand, then growled as her guard pulled her back down. Her reddened eyes turned fiery. “You think I want to be here? I never tell anyone my prophecies! Never! But I’m tired of not sleeping at night! I’m tired of all these visions showing me I’m on the wrong side of this war. I’ve tried to ignore it all. I even tried to leave the city in the middle of the night last night—but I had another vision, of Nora and Ovrun on a park bench, watching the sun rise. It’s like the whole universe wanted to remind me that you’re good people! I couldn’t leave you here to lose this war!”
Eyes wide, Zeisha turned to Nora and Ovrun, whose mouths had dropped open.
“You saw a vision of us in the park?” Ovrun asked.
“Yeah, I don’t know when it’s going to happen. Obviously you’ll consider it a self-fulfilling prophecy. I don’t expect you to believe—”
“It was this morning,” Ovrun said. “This morning, while you were sitting in this office, waiting for us.”
Sarza’s eyebrows leapt up. “Oh.” Her gaze swept across Ovrun, Zeisha, and Nora. She swallowed, and her voice was a little softer when she spoke again. “I feel like I know the three of you. Krey too. I know I sound like a stalker. And, well, maybe I am, but—if you don’t do what I’m telling you, you might not live through the battle that’s coming. And honestly, you might die even if you do listen to me. But I think I can at least give you a chance. And”—she shrugged one shoulder—“I already hate myself enough. I’d hate myself even more if I didn’t tell you.”
Eira’s businesslike voice cut through the confusion and wonder that had overtaken the office. “Tell us the prophecy.”
Sarza pulled in a deep breath. “It’s simple,” she said. “We’re supposed to fly across the bay to Cruine. On dragons. We have to ask the prime minister for his help. I don’t know what he’ll say, but it’ll make a difference.”
Multiple questions filled the room. “Cruine?” “Who’s supposed to go?” “When?”
Eira lifted a wrinkled palm, bringing silence to the room. “I write letters to Cruine, asking for their help. Other clans do the same. Cruine says no, every time. They are at peace with Cellerin. They will not break such an alliance.”
“We still have to go,” Sarza said.
“Who is we?” Eira asked.
“Me,” Sarza answered, “and you, Nora, and Zeisha.” She nodded at each of them in turn.
“Me?” Zeisha asked. “Why?” Everyone else made sense. Sarza’s gift might help guide them. Eira should be there for diplomatic negotiations. Nora was the only one who could communicate with the dragons carrying them. Why would anyone want me there?
“I don’t know why,” Sarza said. “I just saw you there.”
Zeisha’s logical side told her that no matter what the seer said, she should stay in Deroga, working on the thorn shields. But something deeper—the same instinct that had driven her to work on those shields in the first place—whispered that her path had shifted, for reasons she couldn’t imagine. “I’ll go,” she said.
Eira declared, “None of us will go. We have no reason to trust you, Sarza Phip. Perhaps you do see a vision of Nora and Ovrun in the park. This does not mean you see a true vision of us going to Cruine. We will place you in a cell. I will talk to you over the coming days. Then we will decide.”
Zeisha’s eyes had remained fixed on Sarza the whole time Eira spoke. It was like the elderly woman’s words had heated a pan of water inside the young woman. With every passing second, Sarza had gotten closer to boiling. When Eira stopped talking, Sarza exploded. “You can’t wait!” she yelled, leaping out of her chair. When her guard tried to pull her back down, she yanked her arm away. “Just let me talk to these people!” she screamed.
Eira gestured to the guard to let Sarza speak.
The seer directed her shouted words at Eira. “Listen to me! I’ve been in your city since the army first attacked! I’ve had to steal water and food and clothes. I’ve had to sleep with my own stinky-ass body for months. I’ve been alone”—she choked up on those words—“completely alone, for so long! And somehow I know the reason I’m here at all is for this moment. If you wait to go to Cruine, it may be too late! I don’t know when the army is coming, but something tells me you need to hurry! Please, just—”
Sarza’s screaming diatribe halted, her attention captured by something across the room. Following her gaze, Zeisha saw that Eira’s office door was opening. She expected it to be Eira’s assistant, making sure everything was okay. Instead, she saw a dusty boot, followed by dirty pants, a sweat-stained shirt, and a head covered in shaggy, tangled hair.
Krey.
He was injured, a white cloth tied around his head . . . but he was alive.
Zeisha had never moved—or starte
d crying—so fast in her life. She jumped out of her seat and rushed to Krey, throwing her arms around him. He stumbled backward, his chest shaking with laughter even as hers shook with sobs. She kissed his cheek and aimed for his lips, but he turned his head away. “Hold on,” he said.
He spoke to the whole room. “The army is coming. They’re marching now.”
“How do you know—” Eira began.
She didn’t finish her question, because Krey’s legs buckled. He fell heavily to the ground.
In an instant, Zeisha was kneeling next to him. “What’s wrong?”
He grimaced, his hand rising to rub the back of his head. “I just . . . I need a good healer,” he said. “And . . . a nap. . . but can I have that kiss first?”
Zeisha touched his chapped lips, then kissed him as if no one were watching.
33
Yesterday, Mayor Shew invited me to his office. He wanted to meet the youngest reporter in town.
I was caught off guard by how ordinary he was. Sure, he leads a city of millions, but he sits behind a regular desk and wears normal clothes. He even had a few hairs out of place.
You know what wasn’t ordinary? The snack he served me. Mayor Shew, those cookies were the best I’ve ever tasted. Invite me back any time.
-“Ordinary” by Genta Ril
The Derogan Chronicle, dated Cyon 27, 6293
Krey’s face was placid. His chest rose and fell in a slow, even rhythm. Zeisha wanted to crawl in bed and nap alongside him. But she had a dragon ride coming up. Krey had made her promise to wake him before she left.
The Vine Eater (The Magic Eaters Trilogy Book 2) Page 28
