Vaspara flashed her fangs at him. “I’m more afraid of me destroying them than the other way around.”
“You’re doing fine.”
That only made Vaspara flush a darker red. She filled the next bag in silence as they worked swiftly. Soon all fourteen eggs were in the seven bags. Sorac carried four but allowed her to take the other three. It was important Vaspara knew he trusted her with his brood.
“Let’s hope we don’t have to fight our way out.”
“No,” he agreed, the thought an ominous one.
They were lucky and made it out of the tunnel system and back into the wild lands beyond the fortress without incident.
Vaspara stopped to survey the area and then muttered something under her breath.
“Sorry. I didn’t catch that.”
Glancing sidelong at him, she laughed. “I was just thanking the Divine Ones for taking pity on fourteen innocent lives.”
As soon as she said it, she glanced down at one of the travel bags, the one with its cargo of two eggs and one djinn hiding in his bottle. “Or perhaps the Divine Ones had a secondary motive. It wouldn’t surprise me if they wanted the djinn far away from the Lady of Battles and they used us to accomplish that feat. Whatever the case, we made it out of the fortress.”
Sorac grunted in agreement. “Now we have to avoid all patrols, and then we can begin our new life with our drakelings.”
Vaspara didn’t correct him. He hoped that meant she was warming to the idea of their new family.
THEY KEPT UP A BRISK walk for the rest of the night. By midmorning, Sorac deemed they were far enough away he could shift back to his firedrake form without the flare of magic giving their position away. Once in his true form, he paused long enough for Vaspara to harness him, tie on his precious cargo, and settle herself on his back.
He wasn’t at all concerned with being spotted. Firedrakes were masters of camouflage, able to take on the colors of their surroundings.
When they reached the valley, the two human families had everything packed and ready to strap onto his harness. Once the supplies were in place, Mattis oversaw the others as they settled between Sorac’s tall spine ridges and locked themselves in place with straps across their thighs.
The added weight of all the supplies plus his human and succubus cargo would slow him, but only a little.
Soon, loaded like a pack animal, he set off on foot again.
Once they made it to the ocean with no sign of pursuit, he stopped long enough for everyone to stretch their legs and relieve themselves before climbing back aboard. Soon enough, he was winging his way out over the ocean.
As a precaution, he flew northwest for most of the first day before turning and heading south at last. The blood witch and the Battle Goddess would know the djinn was missing by now. If they sent scouts, he wanted none of the fishermen from the surrounding villages to tell them they’d seen a firedrake winging his way south.
Heading north and west would delay and confuse any followers long enough they’d never track him down even if the Battle Goddess sent a company of harpies after them.
Sorac stopped a few times each day to give his passengers and himself a chance to rest and check on the eggs and the djinn. Soon everyone fell into a routine. Though there was nothing he could do to protect his riders from the elements, and they found their skin burned and chapped from the sun and the wind.
At least, he avoided storms by skirting around them.
The djinn didn’t appear from his bottle until the third day of travel to the south. He didn’t need rest, food, or drink, but he seemed to enjoy walking the beaches of each island they stopped at, searching out many kinds of plant and animal life to admire.
“They are all so different when they are just souls in the Spirit Realm,” he said once in passing.
Vaspara and Sorac exchanged a look but merely nodded as if they understood. But Sorac doubted anyone living in the magic or mortal realms could truly understand the mind of a djinn. At least, no one besides the Avatars. Perhaps the Sorceress and the Gargoyle Protector could understand how this creature’s mind worked just fine.
For their part, the servants steered well clear of the djinn, and he seemed to ignore them, which Sorac decided was good for the mortals.
On another one of their stops, Sorac, Vaspara, and the djinn sat around a bonfire and watched the ocean. After several days’ travel, Sorac had begun to relax around the djinn. As far as big scary things went, he’d travel with the spirit creature any day over the blood witch.
Sipping at his tea—which was just water with some herbs sprinkled over the top—Sorac eyed the djinn. “I’m not naïve enough to ask for your name and expect an answer, but surely you must be getting tired of being called Djinn. How would you like to be addressed?”
“Djinn is fine.”
Well, so much for that, Sorac mused.
Soon the conversation turned to talk about how they would return the djinn to the Avatars.
“Our best bet might be attempting to speak with Gryton, since they rescued him,” Sorac offered.
“If he’s still alive,” Vaspara countered. “We don’t even know why they rescued him. Perhaps they saw it as an opportunity to grab one of the inner circle and learn what the Battle Goddess has been up to these last few years.”
The djinn tilted his head one way and then another. “You mean you don’t know what Gryton is?”
“No,” Sorac injected and then glanced at Vaspara. Neither of the ex-captains said anything more, fearing to interrupt the djinn.
The djinn glanced up from studying the bonfire. “He is their son. The first being created between them without divine will driving them.”
Their son. The Avatars had broken their most sacred law and begotten a child. Sorac swore his mind stalled for a moment. Gods, Gryton was their son.
Clearing his throat, he met the djinn’s eyes. “I do not doubt your words, but this will take some getting used to.”
Sorac had always known there was something more to Gryton. He just hadn’t realized it was... this.
“I can’t believe we never knew,” Vaspara just shook her head in disbelief, “And that he didn’t tell us.”
“He trusted no one. Not even us. Not really. Otherwise, he would have enlisted us to help with Anna and Shadowlight’s escape.” Together the three of them would have been strong enough to kill Blood Witch Taryin and blame her death on Anna and the cub during the escape.
“Gryton’s parentage changes nothing. We still must hide until the Avatars come to this realm,” the djinn said, sounding unhappy but resigned about that fate.
“Well,” Vaspara said from where she was stretched out next to the fire, looking up at the sky. “That complicates things more than a little? Still, I’d take Gryton and the Avatars’ side over that of the blood witch.”
“Let’s hope someone gives us that choice.” The djinn gazed up at the sky, studying the same stars Vaspara had been a moment ago.
Having to guard this being from the Spirit Realm would be interesting, and perhaps harrowing. Sorac just hoped the Avatars didn’t kill either of the Battle Goddess’s ex-captains when they held up their end of the bargain and gave the djinn and his bottle into their keeping.
He wanted to live to raise his little ones with a certain succubus now that he’d finally started to soften her to the idea.
Long after Vaspara had fallen asleep, and the djinn had returned to his bottle, Sorac turned his gaze up to the heavens.
“I know we didn’t start out on the best of terms, but I will serve you now if you’ll have me.”
If the Divine Ones responded, it was lost in the sound of the surf and the ocean breeze.
Chapter 11
AS IT TURNED OUT, THEIR island home took shape faster than Vaspara thought possible. Oh, there was a great deal they didn’t have, but with Sorac’s help, they could make saws, axes, and other basic farming implements.
A firedrake’s ability to breathe fire was a
great weapon on the battlefield, but here in their new village, Vaspara got to see another side. Sorac had an uncanny ability to sniff out veins of metal buried in the earth.
He took the better part of a day to map the best places to dig for various metals, but once he’d picked out the choicest spots, he utilized his considerable strength, stamina, and sharp claws to dig out the ore.
His fiery breath allowed him to melt and refine the ore until it was ready to be poured into molds for various tools they could use for building and farming. He even took the time to forge a massive plow and harrow he could drag behind him in firedrake form to work the land.
Seed they would collect from nature for now, but eventually they’d need to approach other kingdoms and trade.
“You’ve been thinking about this for a long time, haven’t you?” Vaspara challenged as she looked at one of his drawings of the harrow. “How else do you even know how to build one of these?”
Sorac grimaced. “It was more of a fantasy than a realistic dream, but I knew one day I wanted a place to nest and raise my clutch. From that dream, I spun a few other, more elaborate, dreams. In my spare time, I studied what the villagers and farmers did to work the land and grow crops. I also studied textiles and how to cure a hide.”
Vaspara frowned.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know how to do any of that,” she admitted. “I hate being useless and ignorant.”
“You, my lovely succubus, are neither of those things.”
She planted her fist on her hips. “I’m good at building defenses, killing things, and planning how to kill things.”
Sorac laughed. “You are very good at sex, too.”
She rolled her eyes. “That doesn’t make me feel any better, you great lizard.”
“Forgive me. My humor sometimes misses the mark.”
“Of course it does. You’re male.”
“Lucky for you,” he countered with a wiggle of one brow before turning serious once more. “You are far more valuable than just what you can do. But if it makes you feel better, I could teach you. Besides, I could use help with this task.”
Vaspara jumped at the chance to learn and feel like she was contributing something more valuable than just hunting and gathering.
OVER THE NEXT TWO MOON cycles, she found she was good at making the tools, especially axes or anything with a sharp edge.
After all, they were a little like weapons, just ones used to slay trees and other plants. Soon she was creating better-designs than Sorac’s originals, her tactician’s mind able to see patterns and apply them to parchment and then turn them into usable tools with the firedrake’s help.
When Sorac wasn’t busy with that, he was spending all his free time at his temporary nest with his clutch. The nest was in the center of the area that would eventually be a village. They’d laid it out a little inland from the spot in the harbor where they’d planned to later build docks for fishing boats.
She’d soon learned boats were another of the firedrake’s hobbies. Who would have thought something that floated upon the water would fascinate a winged creature?
But it was another benefit they’d use one day. The first priorities were the village and Sorac’s permanent nest. For his nest, he’d picked a high point east of where they were building the village. Digging away the soft dirt until he’d reached the volcanic rock below, he created a shallow depression and carried sand from the beach to line the entire area.
Once that was done, he’d taken his eggs and moved them to this new location, where he’d arranged them in the sand, fussing until he had everything perfect. He kept the djinn’s bottle close to the eggs, using the magic that bled off the bottle naturally as extra food for the developing clutch.
That first day, as Vaspara had watched, he’d circled the eggs several times before lying down and mantling his wings over them. When he’d blasted them with his fiery breath, heating the layer of sand until it formed glass, Vaspara had bolted upright in surprise.
But the eggs were those of a firedrake, and they grew stronger each time he blew fire across their shells, he explained. He was a diligent parent, carefully turning each egg so it wouldn’t become locked into the sand-turned-to-glass footing of the nest.
In between the hot firings, he would croon to them, a beautiful song that filled the surrounding area.
Today, she assumed Sorac was with his clutch again since she hadn’t seen him down at the village area. She’d been so busy with the village construction, where she’d been helping to build houses, Vaspara hadn’t had time to seek out Sorac for more than a quick word or two in more than four days.
She missed their chats where they used to talk of inane things after a long day of training soldiers and new recruits.
That was how she found herself approaching his nest again with its waist-high, thick glass sides. Sorac wasn’t here, she noted. Hmm, he must be down at the beach gathering more sand to line the nest.
Ah, well, she thought with a surprising twinge of relief, I can always come back later.
It took her a moment to realize the reason for the relief. When she looked back over the last few days, she came to understand she’d been using the excuse of being busy to avoid Sorac when he was at his nest. She was aware how desperately he wanted her to be his brood’s mother figure, and that frightened her.
“When did I become such a coward? That stops now,” she muttered aloud. With a frown, she circled the nest, walked to a fallen log, and sat to await Sorac’s return.
Is what Sorac wants so terrible?
No, she decided. Not for her, but perhaps it would be for the drakelings.
It wasn’t like a half-demon succubus would make a good mother. She lacked the barest instinct to guide her.
But hadn’t she known nothing about creating tools, building houses, and farming even just two moon cycles ago? She’d learned all those things, taking to them with remarkable speed.
Perhaps she could adapt to become a passable parent.
Sorac deserved that much from her. If it didn’t turn out, she’d worry about that later.
Hoisting herself up the rim of the nest, she swung a leg over and landed in the sand. Once she straightened and dusted the sand from her pants, she moved toward the nearest egg and gently rested a hand against it to feel the life within.
Now, what would the firedrake do? He’d likely already turned them before he’d left to get sand. He sometimes sang to them, she remembered.
Singing wouldn’t do any harm.
A gentle smile touched her lips, and after a moment she sang. Her tune was a lament, a song about mourning the loss of friends and allies after some ancient battle. It was haunting, and she hoped the chicks sleeping inside their eggs thought the same.
It was probably more suitable than a jaunty drinking song. The only other kind she knew.
She was singing the refrain a fourth time when Sorac returned, his great wing membranes cupped to hold sand like two giant shovels. Once he reached her side, he halted, just listening, his task forgotten.
She could see it in his wide unfocused eyes.
When she finished, he gave himself a little shake.
“Are you sure you’re not half siren?” he asked as he deposited the first load of sand.
“There was one a few generations back on my mother’s side.”
He snorted. “I was just joking, but that explains why I’ve always loved to hear you sing. You don’t do it enough.”
“I suppose I shall have to sing more if it pleases you and the unhatched drakelings. Otherwise, I’ll be forced to witness that hideous sulking face of yours.”
“Thank you... I think.” He returned to working on his nest only to pause and glance up at her, his expression full of eagerness. “It occurs to me that I haven’t made myself as available as I should. Do you need to feed?”
She pushed aside her first response, which was to laugh at his eagerness. But it was a valid question, and the truth was
she would need to feed sometime in the next day or two. She’d been making do by draining the sexual energy the humans gave off. It sustained her but wasn’t filling.
“I wouldn’t mind borrowing you for an hour or two later tonight.”
“Only an hour,” he laughed. “That’s hardly worth the effort. Why don’t I make myself available from sunset until dawn?”
Vaspara grinned. “That appeals to me.”
“Good. I will—” Sorac was cut short by a ghostly sound.
She took three steps back and had her sword out before she realized where the sound originated.
One of the eggs vibrated gently as the tiny firedrake inside sang the last few notes of Vaspara’s song back to her. The eerily beautiful sound did something strange to her heart, and for no reason she could discern, tears sprung to her eyes.
Tears. Of all the foolish, knobheaded....
“Mattis says his son needs help with framing. I should go.” She turned and had fled ten paces when she forced herself to stop and call over her shoulder. “I’ll see you later tonight.”
“I’ll be ready.” Sorac’s simple words were full of thoughtful overtones.
He knew her too well and must sense something had her off balance. She knew it, too. She just didn’t know how to regain her equilibrium.
Chapter 12
SORAC WASHED UP AFTER a long afternoon of splitting planks to use as rafters in the village. He glanced at the horizon through the trees and noted the lateness of the hour. The sun was almost touching the ocean.
Time had slipped away from him, but he certainly hadn’t forgotten Vaspara had said she’d be coming to him tonight. That had filled his thoughts as he’d labored throughout the day. He’d had to work in his human form, realizing too late he hadn’t thought to make firedrake-sized tools for the task, and Mattis, Kierdan, and Callum needed the rafters for tomorrow.
The Complete Gargoyle and Sorceress Boxset (Books 1-9) Page 155
