by ML Spencer
Chapter Thirty
Consciousness crept back to Aram only slowly. He floated toward it like a feather lofted by a gentle breeze. He was coming back from somewhere deep, somewhere safe and secure, a feeling all but lost to him until now. His body rocked gently, listing to and fro, as though he floated on the gentle surface of a lake. Cool mist collected on his face, and he could feel gusts of air rushing past him.
His eyes opened slowly to a dazzling brilliance unlike anything he had ever known. It moved beneath him like millions of shimmering diamonds, all gleaming and sparkling, all racing by faster than the wind. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he realized that he was looking down upon the sparkling radiance of sunlight reflected off the surface of an ocean, and he was suspended in the air above it.
Fear gripped him, for he realized that the void dragon still had hold of him, grasping him in its talons like an eagle carrying its prey.
An enormous, milk-colored wing dipped in the air next to him, and he felt his body roll. The talons tightened their grip on him, tucking him close against an enormous torso. The great wings beat again, propelling them higher. Far below, the ocean darkened as its waters receded into the distance.
The dragon pierced a thick bank of clouds, misting Aram’s face with millions of tiny droplets that chilled his body and refreshed his spirit. With a great downstroke of wings, the clouds fell away, becoming a flat, soft surface that expanded beneath them to the horizons.
A golden brightness broke over his face, so intense that Aram was forced to squint against it: the light of the first sunrise his eyes had looked upon in four long years of darkness. The sight was so arresting, so heartbreaking, that he let out a great, strangled sob of gratitude and grief.
Before sorrow could take hold of him, images of sunrises filled his mind, one after another, each more breathtaking than the last. Every sunrise his eyes had missed while he was locked in the cellars flashed across his mind. He closed his eyes and sighed, savoring the visions, reveling in the comfort of knowing that every sunrise he had ever lost had just been given back to him.
The dragon clutched him tighter against its body. Then it tucked its wings and dove toward the cloudbank. The frigid wind chafed Aram’s cheeks, and his stomach plunged. He squeezed his eyes tight in fear, only daring to open them when he felt the dragon level off.
Below, the ocean transitioned to land, and a great swath of lush forest appeared, stretching into the distance. The dragon dipped a wing and banked, changing direction toward a marching line of snow-capped mountains. It gave a cry that reminded Aram of the shriek of a hawk, though far deeper and more resonant. The sound made him smile, though weakly, for his body and mind had reached the limit of what he was capable of after so many years of isolation and torment.
As he felt his consciousness ebbing, Aram allowed himself to feel something he’d thought he would never experience again:
Hope.
The startled cries of dragons drew Esmir Revin to the edge of his terrace. He arrived just as a whole flock of them took to the air, pushing off from their perches on the cliffs with a turmoil of wings. All along the eyries that lined the canyon walls, startled people surged to their feet and raised their hands to shield their faces from the sun, eyes searching the cliffs above the chasm for the source of the disturbance.
Esmir rushed to the edge of the terrace, leaning over it to peer out over the abyssal gorge below, but saw nothing to merit such a commotion. He was just about to turn away when he heard a tremendous whoosh whoosh whoosh accompanied by a great gust of air.
Esmir threw himself backward just in time as an enormous void dragon spilled half-onto the terrace in a tangle of tattered wings, its talons gripping the lip of the cliff to keep from falling. It balanced there for just a moment, its milky-white chest heaving for breath. Then its ravaged wings went limp, and the golden fire dimmed in its eyes. With a soft moan, the dragon let go and slipped backward into the chasm.
Aghast, Esmir rushed to the edge and watched the dragon vanish into the abyss in mute horror and disbelief, for he had once known that particular dragon well. It must have given what was left of its ravaged life to leave the void and fly all the way to his eyrie.
Then Esmir’s eyes fell on the reason why.
A limp, emaciated figure lay on the stone of the terrace, a mere handspan away from the edge. Esmir rushed forward, pulling the boy away from the cliff. Taking the limp form in his arms, he rose and carried him off the terrace into his quarters, laying him down on his own bed. Only then did he pause to see what the void dragon had spent the last of its strength to deliver him.
It was a youth in his mid-teens, and he looked on the verge of death. His features were drawn and pale, his limbs frail and thin. Esmir checked him for a pulse and was unsettled to find it weak and racing—the boy was clinging to life by a thin fingernail. Like the dragon who had delivered him, the boy had been drained of essence almost to the point of death.
There was little Esmir could do, for essence was something he had been born without. Hurrying to a table, he picked up a crystalline decanter of Wellspring water and unstoppered it. Sloshing some of the bottle’s potent contents into a cup, he returned to the boy’s bedside and lifted him into his arms, holding the cup to his lips.
Praying the youth retained enough of his faculties to swallow, he tilted the cup. The boy sputtered and coughed weakly, but then his throat worked, and he swallowed the liquid down. Encouraged, Esmir poured a little more of the sacred water past his lips. This time, the boy didn’t choke. Taking his time, Esmir held him until he’d finished the entire cup and his pulse slowed its feverish pace. Then he laid him back down in the soft bed and rose with a shuddering sigh of relief.
Esmir rubbed his face wearily and sat on the edge of the bed to consider the young man whose life he had just saved.
The boy was Auld, by the look of him, though Esmir suspected he might be a mix. It was hard to tell—his skin was pale and discolored, but it retained the golden flush of the brown blood that flowed only through Aulden veins. His features were sharper than most, but that could be due to emaciation. It was obvious this boy had been subjected to tremendous hardships over a long period of time that had taken an awful toll on him.
Curious if he was fully Auld or something in between, Esmir used his thumb to peel open an eyelid, checking to see if the boy’s eyes were as turquoise blue as his own.
What he saw made him gasp.
Esmir’s mouth opened, and his heart skipped a beat. Disbelieving his own vision, he checked both of the boy’s eyes, gaping at the inordinately rare color.
Opal.
Esmir drew in a long, quivering breath, his mind reeling dizzily. No wonder the void dragon had brought him here.
Scrubbing at his hair, he turned and went to the wooden pole where he kept what few garments he owned hanging beside various herbs and dried meats. Tugging off his filthy robe, he donned in its place baggy pants and a thigh-length vest. He stood for a long moment, running his hands over his clothes, softening the wrinkles creased into the fabric by years of disuse.
Head spinning, Esmir left the unconscious boy to his rest and exited his eyrie. He walked down a long tunnel bored into the sandstone cliff and illuminated by narrow shafts placed at intervals that admitted a surprising amount of sunlight. There were hundreds of such corridors that formed an enormous labyrinth within the cliffs, linking the homes, shops, and eyries of Skyhome like the warren of an ant nest.
It took him a long time to reach the level where the Dedicant Mother of his people made her home, for his legs were over a thousand years old and were far less agile than they used to be. He hesitated outside her door, trying to remember how many centuries it had been since he had last stood on Luvana’s threshold. It took a while to bring himself to knock. It took even longer for the door to open.
Luvana Elegar greeted Esmir with a sour look, which was an improvement over the normal scowl of derision he usually received from her. Her long gray
hair was captured in a thick braid that trailed out from beneath the beaded blue headscarf that marked her as a sage. The wrinkles on her face ran deep—deeper even than his own—one for each year of life she had been forced to suffer his existence, or so she claimed.
“Esmir!” she exclaimed with a scornful smile. “What catastrophe has occurred to bring you down from your lofty perch?”
He scowled but bit his tongue against the taunt he wanted to let fly. “Let me in, Luvana. It’s urgent.”
“Urgent?” She lifted her eyebrows but stepped back from the doorway, her gaze trailing over him. “Whatever’s wrong, it must be quite serious, indeed. Nothing less would make you put on real clothes. Isn’t that your best outfit?”
Esmir moved past her with an angry grunt. She motioned him deeper into the room, a spacious chamber with a curved ceiling carved out of rock, the starkness of its walls softened by colored rugs and tapestries. A hearth was built into the center of the room, its smoke drawn upward through a hole in the ceiling that was only partially effective, as the chamber smelled strongly of woodsmoke mingled with spice.
“I suppose you didn’t come to socialize.” Luvana picked up a cup of honeywine she had left on a table.
“I have news,” Esmir growled.
“Obviously.” Luvana chortled. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be here. Very well. Spit it out.”
Esmir blew out an exasperated puff of air. “A void dragon smashed into my terrace a few minutes ago, disgorging a dying boy before plummeting into the gorge.”
Luvana’s expression froze. “That’s … unusual.”
“Unusual?” Esmir barked a rancorous laugh. “The boy was drained to his last drop of essence—sucked dry! I brought him back from the brink, at least for now. Luvana … he has opal eyes.”
The woman lurched, choking on her wine. Sputtering, she set her cup down on the table and wiped her mouth. “You’re not drunk, are you?”
“The hell with you!” Esmir bellowed. “Luvana! I’m telling you that for the first time in four hundred years, a boy with opal eyes has returned to the eyries. And you ask me if I’m drunk?”
“Bah!” Luvana raised her hand. “After all you’ve failed at, do you really need to ask me why I’m skeptical?”
Esmir hung his head, shaking it slowly. There were so many things in his life he regretted, but now wasn’t the time to start dissecting them. The boy needed help and needed it quickly.
“Listen to me, Luvana. I think he’s been tortured, probably over a long period of time. I need a skilled healer. I need a dragon. And, more than anything else, I need your trust.”
“My trust!” The old woman issued a contemptuous laugh. “I’d have better luck trusting a vulture around carrion. But all right, I’ll summon a healer. Why do you need a dragon?”
Esmir sighed. “Because if this boy’s been through half of what I think he has, it’s going to take more than a healer to save him.”
Luvana’s smile faded. “And what kind of torture do you think he’s been subjected to?”
“The void dragon came through a rupture, so I think the boy did too. He had to come from the World Above. And to be drained as much as he is … it stinks like the Exilari.”
“Rubbish!” Luvana batted her hand dismissively.
“Then come look at him!” Esmir spat. He’d had enough. “Set aside your contempt for me for one moment and come see him for yourself!”
Luvana’s eyes narrowed, and she stared at him hard for a long moment. At last, she nodded. “Very well. I’ll summon a healer.”
Fuming, he waited in her quarters as she went out. When she returned several minutes later, he stormed out of her room and made his way down the corridor without turning to make sure she was following. He could hear her footsteps dogging him as he made his way back up the stairs to the Heights. By the time he reached the level of his own quarters, he was huffing for breath like a new windrider after a first flight.
He held his door open for Luvana, who appeared untroubled by the climb. Once inside, he motioned her toward the bed, where his young charge still lay unconscious. Her face suddenly serious, the Dedicant Mother approached the boy cautiously and hovered over him a moment before sitting on the edge of the bed. Just as Esmir had done, she lifted one of the boy’s eyelids and peered inside. Bowing her head, she murmured a soft prayer only the gods could hear.
Then she turned back to Esmir. “What else do you need from me?”
He moved forward to stand at her side. “If he’s spent any time in the cellars, then he’s endured enough pain to drive a grown man insane. The Mother only knows what that kind of pain would do to a boy. We’re going to have to bring him back slowly, not all at once. More than anything else, he’ll need reassurance and a profound sense of security.”
“You need an empath.” Luvana lifted an eyebrow. “Why can’t we just carry him down to the dragons?”
Esmir knew what she meant: away from you. He wanted to strangle her. But more than anything, he wanted to strangle himself, for he knew he deserved all the rancor she could heap upon him. He took a moment to collect himself, letting his anger cool and gathering his thoughts enough to speak.
“You need me, Luvana. He needs me. I’m the only Warden left alive who has ever trained a Champion.”
Luvana wrenched her eyes from him and gazed down into the boy’s ashen face. Lifting a hand, she smoothed his matted hair back with the tenderness of a mother.
“There’s one more thing,” Esmir said slowly. “The void dragon that brought him here…” He drew in a deep breath. “It was Agaroth.”
Luvana blinked, her gaze darting from the boy to Esmir. Face suddenly grave, Luvana gave a slight nod. “I’m sorry, Esmir. I am. All right. You’ll have your healer, your dragon, and your boy. Just don’t fail him the way you failed Daymar Torian.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Calise Andar knocked on the Dedicant Mother’s door and then stood fidgeting, shifting her weight and fiddling with her brown hair, pushing it back behind her ears before pulling it forward again. She tugged at her linen skirt, only then realizing it didn’t match her leather shirt. She cursed under her breath, for she never thought about the clothes she wore until it mattered. And, right now, it mattered.
Luvana answered the door with a welcoming smile that put to rest Calise’s fidgeting. As Calise entered, she couldn’t help staring at the walls as she crossed the room. She had never been inside the Dedicant Mother’s quarters before and had never seen the rich tapestries Luvana owned, which told the story of the world—not the history of it but, rather, the wonder.
Each tapestry depicted one of the sacred Wellsprings, locations of extraordinary natural beauty imbued with the power of the Mother’s blood. Once, there had been seven Wellsprings, but now there were only five, for two had been corrupted. The tapestry behind Luvana depicted the most potent Wellspring of all: the Heart of the Mother, a heart-shaped pool of blood-red water that lapped at the feet of an enormous statue of the goddess.
Luvana motioned Calise to have a seat on the floor by the hearth upon furs and pillows arranged around it. She took a seat next to her, scooting closer and smiling warmly. “Calise. Thank you so much for coming. I’ve heard so much about the work you’ve been doing with the injured. You really have quite a Talent.”
Calise blushed under the praise, averting her eyes to the tapestry behind Luvana.
Luvana offered her a cup of mulled honeywine, which she accepted gratefully. Taking a sip of the hot liquid, she said, “I’ve had a hard time fitting in, Mother. But I love it.”
It’s not that people didn’t treat her well—they did—but Auld ways weren’t always comfortable for humans, like an elegant shoe cobbled for another’s foot. But she loved healing, and the Dedicant Mother was right; she had a Talent for it. It was the same Talent that had rescued her from a life of servitude in Eldinor, at the hands of the Kal-Kalath.
“And how is Zandril?” Luvana asked.
The mention
of Zandril brought a smile to Calise’s lips, for she couldn’t help smiling every time she thought of her beautiful dragon. Zandril had bound her only six months before, and she still hadn’t stopped thanking the Mother every day for that blessing. Though she could already carry Calise on her back, among dragonkind, Zandril was still considered an adolescent, and had years to go before reaching full maturity.
“She’s growing,” Calise smiled. “A lot.”
“Wingmaster Vandra says Zandril is very good-natured, as are you.” Luvana used a metal hook to remove the pot of honeywine from an iron rack above the hearth. Grasping the handle with a towel, she refilled her own mug then topped off Calise’s mug before replacing the pot.
“Thank you, Mother.”
Luvana sat forward, her eyes capturing and holding Calise’s gaze. “I called you here to ask a favor. It would entail spending time away from the infirmary, but I believe it’s important.”
Calise didn’t like the sound of that, for she had patients that needed her attention. Whenever she wasn’t flying with Zandril to offer her services to the nearby towns, she was in the infirmary, for healing was her duty and her passion.
“What is the favor, Mother?” she asked.
Luvana sighed, setting her cup down at her side. “Esmir found a boy … or perhaps the boy found Esmir—who can say? Alas, he’s starved and near death and has been very traumatized. We believe that some emotional support might go a long way toward helping him mend.”
Calise frowned, uncertain what Luvana was asking of her. A wounded boy, she would gladly tend. It was the ‘emotional support’ part that gave her pause. She wasn’t very good at emotion. Emotions hurt, and she didn’t like hurting. She’d done enough of it.
“That’s terrible to hear,” Calise said, “but I’m not sure what I could—”
“You and Zandril,” Luvana corrected. “We need you both. What the boy needs most right now is a healer’s touch and a dragon’s empathy. You can find him in Esmir’s eyrie.”
