Nora’s heart broke as she anticipated the hours of agony the dragon was facing. But if Taima could show such courage with a spear in her chest, Nora must follow her lead. Through sheer force of will, she stopped crying. Instantly, an idea struck her mind. When she shared it with Taima, the dragon approved.
Hurry, Nora said. Zeisha will restore the oxygen soon. She was surprised it hadn’t happened already.
Hold tightly to me, the great dragon said.
Nora suppressed a scream as Taima performed a steep, terrifying dive. When she was within weapons distance from the king, she began flying evasively, performing unpredictable turns at remarkable speeds, sending Nora’s stomach spinning. Yellow blood flowed from around the spear in Taima’s chest, flinging through the air each time she turned. The king shot more stone missiles, but none hit the dragon.
Are you ready? Taima asked Nora.
Nora catalyzed the last bit of her ice. She tightened the grip of her boots and her hands on Taima’s scales. I am.
Taima turned, nearly flinging Nora off her back. The great dragon dived straight at Ulmin.
Ice flew from Nora’s hand, sphere after sphere of it. She was lysting at greater speed than ever before. But her father—by the stone, when had he gotten so good?—also shot one missile after another, his made of stone.
They’d both sacrificed accuracy for speed, but one of Nora’s ice balls hit an incoming spear. Another hit her father’s shoulder. Nora twisted to avoid a shining stone missile.
The dragon drew close to her target. Sunlight reflected off her golden, compound eyes. She opened her massive mouth. Her razor-edged teeth gleamed, and fire shot past them, aimed at the king.
Nora heard her father roar in pain. Taima pulled up sharply, lest they crash into the ground. She ascended, and when Nora’s eyes found her father, she drew in a breath. Smoke rose from his hands as he beat them against the dirt.
Maybe she should’ve thrilled at the sight. It was what she’d told Taima to do. With his hands injured, Ulmin couldn’t make any more stone weapons.
But Nora’s heart ached for her father. His hands—the same hands that had caressed her, fed her, held the books he read to her—might never be the same. Could even a skilled blood lyster fully heal such an injury?
Trying to get her mind off what she’d done, Nora asked Taima, Are you okay? It was a silly question. A spear was still embedded in the dragon’s chest.
One of his spears found my leg, the dragon said. Her voice was weaker than before.
Nora squeezed her eyes shut briefly. Do you have the strength to take me down there?
Do not insult me, Taima said, beginning her descent. I have more strength than you can comprehend, little girl.
Nora held back tears and laughter.
Taima landed in front of the king. Nora’s eyes fell on Ovrun, who was still rigid with fear, the soldier’s knife at his throat. Nora hoped he saw the promise in her expression: I’ll get you out of here if it’s the last thing I do.
The street was strangely quiet now. Most of the laughter had died down, though an occasional, hoarse chortle broke through. Everyone wore stupid, exhausted smiles. Nora guessed they were too tired to laugh. Please, Zeisha. Give me a couple more minutes.
Ulmin somehow found the strength to stand. His hands were swollen claws, pressed against his chest. Face dark red, he breathed hard, glaring at the dragon and his daughter.
Nora tried to ignore her rising sympathy. “If you do not agree to our terms, the dragon will burn you again. Then tomorrow, we will begin destroying this land with magic like you’ve never seen.”
His eyes moved behind her again, taking in the jets of steaming water and magma. He sucked air through his clenched teeth and returned his gaze to Nora. His voice was as pain filled as Taima’s. “You’d never harm the land. It’s your inheritance.”
His words tore into her heart. The value of our kingdom isn’t in the land, her father used to say. It is in the people. Now he saw his people as nothing more than fuel for his power.
Nora almost reminded him of that. But she had to speak the language of madness, not logic.
Nausea in her gut, she said, “You’re underestimating me, Father.” She allowed a grin to take over her face. “Can you imagine how much power is in our planet? Once I start issuing those commands, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop.”
Nora had no trouble spouting the lies, because there was an element of truth in them. This was a bluff, but if it hadn’t been . . . Nora could imagine herself embracing such limitless power. And that’s why I’m not the Anya.
Breathing heavily, King Ulmin locked eyes with his daughter. She didn’t look away. He lifted his chin and squared his shoulders, regal stubbornness on every line of his form. “I will not give independence to New Therro. They have always been part of Cellerin. They belong to me!”
“Then the dragon will burn your legs,” Nora spat. “And tomorrow, the disasters will begin!” From the wagon, one of the guards pointed at her and giggled.
“I won’t give them independence!” her father roared. His face screwed up in pain, and he brought his volume down. “But I’ll let their soldiers go. They’re incompetent anyway. They can stay here when the rest of us leave. They’ll have to find their own way home.”
Nora stared at him, almost not believing what she’d heard: when the rest of us leave. As well as she could from her perch on Taima, she mirrored his determined stance. “You’ll leave today.”
“The trogs can have their worthless city. I don’t care.”
He did care; she knew that. But his eyes kept flicking between the magic behind Nora and the dragon she rode. She’d scared him, just like she’d wanted to do. Manipulating her father made her feel ill, but she couldn’t stop now. “No deal unless New Therro gets its independence.”
Her father’s eyes flashed. He turned to the soldier holding Ovrun. “Is the knife sharp?”
“Very.” The man’s voice was almost a growl.
Ulmin returned his gaze to Nora. “Take my deal, or you can watch your friend die. And you can tell your dragon to kill me too. I’d rather lose everything, even my life, than give up New Therro. It’s mine.”
There it was again: proof that she’d lost her father. He was risking his entire nation and his own life, just to keep control of a small, troublesome province. Nothing Nora said would change his mind. This is a negotiation, she told herself. And Ovrun’s life is on the line. Take what you can.
“Deroga belongs to the trogs. Forever.” Her voice was firm. “You’ll release the New Therroans from the army today. And you’ll let Ovrun go. In return, we won’t use the magic of the planet against you. We’ll let the army leave peacefully.”
Her father stared at her for a long time. She didn’t pull her gaze away. At last, he turned to the knife-wielding soldier. “Let him go.” The soldier obeyed.
“Up here, Ovrun!” Nora shouted.
Taima bared her teeth at Ulmin as Ovrun climbed up.
Nora and the king worked out a few final details. It was a business negotiation between strangers, not a conversation between a daughter and her father.
When they’d come to a final agreement, she leaned toward him and spoke in a low voice. “I never wanted your crown, Father. But I know now I’ll have to take it. Not today, but soon. Our people deserve better than what you can give them.”
He didn’t say a thing, but his eyes blazed with some emotion she’d never seen in him before. A sense of foreboding, thick and acidic, filled her stomach. I don’t think I should’ve said that, she told Taima. Let’s go.
The dragon lifted into the air. Once she was well beyond the reach of bullets and magic, she flew in a large, diamond pattern, completing the shape three times. That was Zeisha’s sign to release the magic of the Well, returning full oxygen to everyone below.
As they flew, the magma jets and geyser disappeared. The new Anya had completed her mission perfectly. Nora had gotten most of what she wanted.
Taima dropped her passengers in a deserted street near the building where Krey and Sarza waited. Then the bleeding reptid departed alone to spend the last hours of her life with the dragon she’d loved for two hundred years.
Nora clutched Ovrun’s hand and watched Taima fly away.
40
An editor won’t examine these words. They won’t go to print.
I don’t know why I’m writing them.
Today, the world ended.
I was reading in the park, and every person around me turned stark white. Blood gushed from their eyes, noses, and mouths.
They died. All of them.
I went home and found my dead family. I walked through streets full of smashed vehicles and pale corpses.
I encountered another living person. A middle-aged man. He began walking with me. That was hours ago, and he still hasn’t said a word. I suppose he’s in shock. I suppose I am too.
We’re sitting in a stadium now, with a few hundred other survivors. We all found each other through social media.
I’m surrounded by people, and I’ve never felt so alone.
-Journal entry by Dari Beck (known pseudonymously as Genta Ril), dated Cygni 6, 6293
Zeisha sat before a jet of magma. The magical, molten stone lit up the dusk and cast a flickering, red glow on her skin.
She’d traveled to all the residential areas where the Anya had put up shields. At each one, she’d asked the Well to go dormant. Every time, it had sent her a burst of what felt like love and gratitude before doing as she’d requested. Now all the trogs were returning home.
This magma fountain was the only magic of the Well that Zeisha still needed to release. It was the first one the Anya—the other Anya, she supposed she should call him—had created. She got the feeling the Well was happy to stay awake a little longer.
Digging her fingers in the dirt, Zeisha sensed power and intelligence.
She sensed God.
She’d tried to remotely “switch off” the shields, but it was impossible. In order to access the magic of the Well on and below the planet’s surface, she had to touch the ground nearby. Air magic, the type she’d used to make dozens of people laugh, was different. She could sense and control it for blocks in every direction, connecting to it through her breath.
Zeisha basked in the warmth of the nearby magma. She watched it for a few seconds, but it was bright enough to hurt her eyes. She closed them and pondered the events of the last several hours.
She hadn’t expected to be able to limit the guards’ and soldiers’ oxygen for as long as she did. However, Zeisha found that the Well was remarkably intelligent, adjusting itself continuously. It kept the guards and soldiers in an altered state while ensuring that each of their bodies had enough oxygen to recover fully. Still, she was relieved to liberate them from their giddy imprisonment.
Zeisha accepted the hugs and praise of her friends when they reunited. She cried with Nora over Taima’s fate. Before long, they emerged from hiding, having confirmed that the army had released the captive trogs.
First, they sought out a healer for Nora and Krey. After that, they found Eira. She told them of the treaty she and representatives of the other clans had signed with the king. By late afternoon, the Cellerinian Army was departing trog territory.
Through all this, Zeisha had shared in the urgency, excitement, and pain of her friends. But that indescribable peace had remained too, covering her soul with a liquid assurance that all was as it should be.
That she was as she should be.
She’d been changing ever since she was freed from the militia. The Anya’s gift had further transformed her. Zeisha sensed that at a deep level, she’d been made new.
She opened her eyes, shocked to find that the dim light of dusk was gone. The jet of magma dulled the starlight overhead. Zeisha ran her fingers over the ground on either side of her. It’s time for you to go to sleep, she thought. I’d like to see the stars.
A burst of love filled her. With a whoosh that might have been a sigh, the magma flowed back into the ground. The dirt closed over it.
Nora was clearly trying to get ready quietly. “I’m already awake,” Zeisha whispered.
“You can sleep longer,” Nora said.
Zeisha pushed off her covers. “I’m ready to get up.”
A whisper came from beside them. “Me too.” Sarza, their newest sleeping companion, got out of bed.
The three of them exited into the gray, pre-dawn light, then strolled along the street. Ovrun was walking toward them. He and Nora had a long day of hunting ahead. Once again, the Cellerinian Army had destroyed much of the trogs’ food.
Surprisingly, Krey was next to Ovrun. He was limping a bit, but he still greeted Zeisha with a big smile. They all walked to the dining room they’d been using for months now. Until food stores were replenished, they’d have to skip breakfast. But a leader of one of the other clans had given Nora a bottle of juice to thank her for negotiating the truce.
Nora poured the juice into clay cups. “Zeisha, I wanted to tell the woman who gave me this that she should be thanking you. But I know you don’t want people to know about your new magic.”
“I appreciate that.” Zeisha tried the juice. Like the drink they’d had on her birthday, it tasted mildly fermented.
Sarza sipped hers, then drank it down in several large gulps.
Zeisha liked the seer, which was odd, since they seemed to be opposites in every way. Lifting her cup, Zeisha said, “We should all thank Sarza. We wouldn’t have met the Anya without her.”
“To Sarza,” Ovrun said with a smile.
“And to the Anyas,” Nora added. “Old and new.”
They all drank.
It was a short, subdued celebration. Ovrun and Nora needed to start hunting, and Sarza had an early meeting with Eira.
“Want to walk in the park?” Krey asked Zeisha.
“Sure.”
They meandered among the spring-green trees, the gentle light of the morning sun warming them. Tranquility still filled Zeisha, but it was tinged with exhaustion and a bit of sadness she couldn’t explain. She squeezed Krey’s hand, as if the warm pressure would push away her unwelcome emotion.
Krey squeezed back and smiled. “You were amazing yesterday. You might be the only person in the world who’d use laughter to win a battle.”
She smiled. “I hear you were pretty great too. How’s your ankle?”
“It only aches a little. That River Clan healer is talented.”
“Good. But let’s sit.” She gestured to a bench. “You should probably rest it when you can.”
He sat and put his arm around her, pulling her close. “I haven’t had a chance to tell you yet—I talked to an injured New Therroan soldier yesterday when I was waiting for a healer.”
“I bet he was ready to go home,” Zeisha said. The New Therroans had stayed overnight in trog territory and would return home that morning. Eira had even convinced the king to loan them a couple of wagons for their wounded.
“He was. We also talked about what comes next.” Krey pulled his arm off Zeisha’s shoulders and twisted so he could look at her. His eyes were bright and wide, and his words spilled from a smiling mouth. “He said the New Therroan soldiers hate the king even more now than they did before. And Nora earned their loyalty, negotiating for their release from the army. He thinks New Therro will help us bring down the king.”
That was all good news. But rather than encouraging Zeisha, Krey’s words turned a page in her mind. Everything was suddenly clear. She wished it weren’t.
“What’s wrong?” Krey asked.
“Nothing—I mean everything—I mean, I don’t know.” The peace that she’d hoped would stick with her forever had fled. Her stomach was heavy, her heart compressed. “Krey,” she
said softly.
He took one of her hands. His eyes drifted to her lips.
She drew her hand back and twisted her fingers together. “You know what?”
“What?”
“I love myself again.”
Krey’s lips curved into a sweet, gentle, strong smile, the one she’d never seen him give anyone else. “That makes me happy, Zei.”
She swallowed and gave him a wobbly smile. “I’m starting to know myself too.”
“Should I call you the Anya from now on?”
She laughed softly. “Please don’t.”
“I’ll only call you that in private.”
Her smile disappeared. She could feel her pulse throbbing in her neck. “I’ve changed. And not just because I’m the Anya. I’ve been changing for months.”
His grin faded too, like he’d finally sensed how serious this conversation was. Oh, God, I don’t want to hurt him.
But she didn’t see a way around it.
“My entire life has changed,” she said. “There’s still a lot I need to figure out—about myself and my magic. And I need to do it—” All at once, she was crying. “I need to do it—”
Krey’s throat convulsed as he swallowed. She resisted an ill-timed urge to touch it. In a strained voice, he said, “You need to do it alone.” A statement, not a question.
Zeisha nodded.
Krey squeezed his eyes shut, but not before she saw the angry pain in them. “But I love you,” he said.
“I know,” she managed to say. “So do I.”
His eyes popped open. “So do you what? Love me, or love yourself?”
“Both.”
Krey ran both his hands through his hair, standing as he did so. He stepped away, then spun around, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. His eyes glistened with tears, but his voice was harsh. “If you really love me, why this? This isn’t love!”
The Vine Eater (The Magic Eaters Trilogy Book 2) Page 35
