Kindred and Wings

by Philippa Ballantine

  Kourae pulled back, though her face was still twisted in a mask of pain as the Harrowing began to take its effect. Byre didn’t know why he moved forward, himself. He only knew that the herald of the Kindred had to be protected.

  Instinct, built up over his many years of running and hiding, welled up inside him, and took over. His blade intersected with hers, sliding into a riposte that skilfully turned her strike, and made one of its own.

  When Byre looked down at his sword buried in his mother’s belly, he wondered why he had not heeded Ellyria’s commandment. Those final moments when as a child he had seen her blood leaking onto the Salt came back to haunt him.

  He had killed her. Not the Caisah. Not even the mad Vaerli dancer Mylise. It had been his blade that had been her end. Again instinct, but a of quite different kind, made him yank back on his weapon.

  A wound to the gut in this chaos.

  “I’m sorry,” he screamed, rushing forward to envelop his mother, as if his very presence could heal her. The world was shaking itself loose from its moorings around him, while the Harrowing began to squeeze its teeth down on the Vaerli, and he didn’t care. He was not going to let go of her. He was not going to forget this feeling of his mother’s blood on his hands.

  Until he was holding nothing, and there was no world. He was once more in the realm of the Kindred, his arms no more filled by Kourae. Her blood was still on his hands, both literally and figuratively. He stared down at them, unable to breathe, clenching and unclenching them.

  “Not possible . . . not possible,” he whispered to himself, hating even the sound of his own voice. With a guttural scream he pulled out his knife, and would have plunged it into his own belly if Pelanor had not stopped him.

  She was a tiny scrap of a person, but she had his blood in her, and he could not overcome their combined strength. She did not say a word, simply cast aside the knife and wrapped her whole body around him.

  He howled and screamed, and all the time he thought about her—his sister. The world thought the Hunter the worst of the Vaerli . . . they didn’t know her brother was far, far worse.

  A storm of tears overcame Byre. He wished they would wash him away.

  Finn led Talyn off the bridge through a few more swaying rooms as the wind blew in off the cliffs.

  “So this is where you grew up?” Talyn found herself wanting to make some kind of small talk. The silence and the oppressive gaze of a dragon were a little much even for her.

  “Yes,” he said, shooting a look over his shoulder. “Is that so hard to imagine?”

  The Vaerli looked around, taking in the roar of the ocean below, the beautiful vistas that could be glimpsed through the woven ropes, and the constant risk of the islands eroding into the sea. “No, I think this is exactly where I imagined you would have grown up.”

  “You told me that last time,” he said, his voice a little stiff, even as he picked his way across yet another rope bridge.

  She thought hard on the matter, and discovered that he was right—but last time she had been laughing and they had been naked. The intent had been entirely different.

  “Here,” he said, holding the ropes taut so she could walk past him onto the relative safety of an island. The Vaerli squeezed around him, smelling the musk of his skin and the salt of the sea on him. She recalled that smell too, and it hit her in her most primal parts. Despite being an immortal creature and nemohira, he could still affect her that way. She hoped he couldn’t sense it.

  They passed over some slightly sturdier bridges to a room that was actually built on solid ground. This was truly part of Elraban Island, she thought as she stepped out onto the permanence of one of the tall islands that made up the talespinner’s isolated home. This particular island was barely large enough to accommodate twenty people, but it had a patch of green grass, and was open to the sky. It would have been a wonderful spot to see the stars at night, were it not for the small depression in the middle filled with water. She would not have called it a puddle, but it was definitely less than a lake.

  With her recent experience with the Phage, she was leery of water. It seemed a deceptive element. She turned to Finn, confused.

  His eyes, which now seemed almost the deep blue of that bowl of water, had the look of distance in them. If she had not known better, she might have thought he was looking into the before-time. “I was trained here, on this island.” He gestured to the pool. “We all sat around this little piece of water, and talked of the myths and legends gone before.” A smile darted across his face. “Ellyria Dragonsoul was my favorite, but I never guessed a Vaerli was so close.”

  Before Talyn could demand what exactly he meant, the waters shimmered and the last Seer of the Vaerli rose from it. Putorae, in all her shimmering immortal glory, carved with the pae atuae, stood in the middle of the water, smiling like some benevolent scion.

  Talyn only just prevented herself from leaping back in shock. She had seen the spectre of the seer on the Steps of Sacrifice, a trick made from placing a bit of herself into the before and future times. An impressive ability, but she would never have imagined that Putorae would do such a thing in the middle of the village of talespinners.

  The Steps Talyn could understand, since they were an important site for the Vaerli, but this place made no sense. Unless . . .

  She spun around and regarded Finnbarr the Fox with a new eye. Golden hair and blue eyes were unusual, but her own father had them. He was taller than she would have expected, but something about him now looked familiar.

  “Not possible,” she whispered. “You cannot be Vaerli! The curse is not on you, and . . .” she flapped her arm in the general direction of Wahirangi.

  “He is not all Vaerli,” Putorae replied. “His father was and is the scion you call the Caisah.”

  Suddenly Talyn needed somewhere to sit down, but she found herself pacing, hand pressed to her head. “Not possible. The Vaerli and others cannot breed . . . and the Caisah . . . he cannot . . . I . . .”

  Her voice and her brain finally ran out of coherent words, so she simply stopped and looked at them. Really looked. Standing side by side for the first time, their resemblance was clear.

  She swallowed hard. “I need to hear the whole story.”

  The spectre’s eyes narrowed on Talyn. “I see I judged you harshly, Talyn once-Hunter; there is still something of your old self in there.”

  At that assessment, Talyn only just managed to hold back a harsh laugh. This creature was not nearly as wise as she was making herself out to be.

  Finn’s lips jerked a little at the corners, but he led her over to one of the rocks that he had probably sat on to study in his youth, and began to tell her a tale. The seer had not died in the Harrowing. Instead she had found the Caisah and recognized him for what he was.

  At many points while Finn told her the story, it sounded just like that—a story. Yet the shimmering form of the Last Seer stood at his side, corroborating every word. How the Caisah had been sent by the Kindred to bring the Vaerli back into line, but how everything had gone horribly wrong. Putorae had sought to bring her people two more seers to hold Conhaero while another two went into the White Void as the Pact had promised.

  “Seers?” Talyn said, feeling like her own world was tilting. “You and your brother are seers?”

  “As are you,” Putorae added, her dark eyes full of stars fixed on the former-Hunter’s face. “The born seer to Nyree’s made.”

  “Nyree?” She felt as though she was being pummeled from side to side. “I know Nyree, she was your acolyte . . . but me . . . the born seer?”

  “Why do you think the Caisah saved you?” Finn pressed his hands over hers. “He may be broken and mad, but he could sense a little of what you were.”

  “Even my own father didn’t, though,” Talyn retorted bitterly. “He rejected me when I saw him last. Even my brother . . .” She stopped to a halt, and looked up accusingly at Putorae. “Why did you not tell me when I saw you at the Steps?”


  The Last Seer reached out to touch Talyn’s cheek. “I am only fragments now. This one is the greatest portion of me, sent to watch over my son, so that piece you met was merely a thin shard. Besides . . . would you have believed me back then?”

  Talyn took a deep breath, and thought of herself then. Angry, tied to the Caisah. She had not seen a dragon Named then, and had not witnessed the horror of the Phage.

  “The Phage!” She gasped, fumbling for the scroll they had given her. When she ripped it open, it was blank. Nothing more than an aged piece of vellum. Again she had been tricked. “When will I stop being such a idiot,” she howled, throwing the scroll as far away as she could. “That damn puzzle was a picture of you . . . the Caisah had his joke, and now the Phage have too.”

  “It was a Phage we saw on the Salt,” Finn said, his voice filled with concern. “They are part of the Vaerli too, aren’t they?”

  “They took me in,” Talyn muttered, feeling shame creeping over her. “Like the Caisah, they fooled me.”

  “Think about it,” Finn said, wrapping his arm around her while she shook with rage. “The Caisah didn’t lie to you. In a way, he was right. Mother knows how to get the curse lifted. He did not put you wrong. We are seers, and we will find a way.”

  “Now you need only find Nyree,” Putorae added. “My sons, you, and she, shall set things right. The curse can be lifted, and all can still be well.”

  “All seers . . .” Talyn whispered, and leaned into Finn’s embrace. They sat there for a moment, while the sun continued to slide beneath the line of the horizon. The gleaming sunlight bathed the tiny island in red light.

  “And like all seers, you will need training.” Putorae turned and pointed out to sea. “The Belly of the World waits, but not for long. You will have to learn as much as you can in the next few days.”

  “Days?” Talyn blinked. She thought of Nyree and the way she had followed Putorae around like a dog for years upon years. “Surely that isn’t enough time to—”

  “That is all we have,” Finn’s mother replied, sounding peevish for a dead person. “The White Void is close.”

  “How much can you teach us in that short amount of time?” Talyn asked. “Surely not enough to save the world . . .” She stopped herself. There was no time for doubt. They had the amount of time they had.

  Instead, she shot a sharp smile at Finn. “It seems strange that a people so unconcerned with time should have to worry about it so much at this juncture.”

  His hand came down over hers and gave it a slight squeeze. “We shall manage.” He folded his legs under himself as he sat at the edge of the pool. “Just like old times.”

  Talyn followed suit, though her memories were of times at her mother’s knee; her mother who had never known her daughter was the born seer. She looked across at her new instructor, one she could see through.

  “I hope not,” was all she said, more to herself than Putorae and Finn. She was ready for something different. A new path would be a very fine thing.

  The dragonets flew hard and fast back the way they had come. Even with the improved sight of this new form, Equo could hardly see in front of him. He had witnessed too many atrocities in his long life; it was far too easy to imagine them perpetuated on Nyree. He could hardly think straight.

  His worst fears were confirmed when they saw light on the horizon long before they reached the campsite. Equo felt as though the heart in his chest was going to burst, as he flapped his wings as hard and fast as he could.

  The Swoop was not there to protect the camp. He had remembered that fact as soon as the Kindred had spoken. Baraca had sent them on some kind of mission—he’d not said why or to where.

  While the rest of the Ahouri went to be the heralds for the Kindred, Equo and his brothers were racing late to save what they had left behind. The question burned in him whether they would be too late.

  Creatures were in the sky above the camp, creatures that resolved into nightmares the closer the trio got. Griffins and other fell beings with wings were pouring destruction down on the camp of the scion. The lights, they could now see, were from the burning tents, but also from another. Baraca was a scion, and he was not without his own powers.

  He stood outlined on a hilltop, his feet braced against the earth, while from his mouth poured light. The Named screamed and fell back, seemingly unwilling to dare approach the light.

  Equo in the red dragonet form darted forward, away from his more cautious brothers. Hope was swelling in him. No power in Conhaero could match a scion that had passed through the White Void. All would be well.

  The remains of Baraca’s army had gathered around him, fighting a rear-guard action as creatures of hoof and fang beset them on all sides.

  Equo screamed as he dived from the sky, raking his claws over the back of a creature with a lion’s body but the heads of a lion, a goat and a snake. A chimera, he thought as he banked up once more, ready for another pass. The Named had grown greatly in number, though who had freed them was more the question. Surely, not the Caisah—even he would not be that mad.

  Si and Varlesh, the green and black dragonets, swooped low over the gathering, pouring flame down on the Named, reminding him of the power of this form. They were no dragons, but they came close.

  Twisting to the right, Si narrowly missed the snapping jaws of a feathered serpent that was following close on his tail. Equo spun around and went to his brother’s aid, sending the serpent fleeing as fire licked over those magnificent feathers.

  The song of the dragonets cut high and sweet over the gathering, causing many of the seething mass of Named to stare up at them. The strings of the Naming were tightly woven—far more so than those of normal creatures—but given time Equo knew that they would be able to pick them apart.

  The trio spun and turned about each other, singing vengeance and the rebellion of flesh. Below them, the Named began to writhe. Baraca was no fool; he took advantage of the confusion that the arrival of the Ahouri had caused. The white light cut swathes through the Named, and where it touched they burned as if the magnified beam of the sun was upon them.

  The tide of the battle was turning. One-eyed Baraca’s troops were lifting their heads, hopeful that they might not die this day. Some even called for a rally to take the fight to the enemy.

  The trio of dragonets climbed high, preparing for another blistering attack on the crowds below. Equo could make out Nyree, standing in the middle of a knot of soldiers close to Baraca. She had a sword in one hand and a pistol in the other. She was easy to spot because of the gleam of her pae atuae and the light of the scion. Too easy.

  A scream sounded above the dragonets, among the rolling clouds that had boiled in from the mountains, and Equo knew which shape made that sound.

  The dragon struck from above, but the wave of fear preceded it. The soldiers fell back, some literally, as the dragon, darker than the storms it had emerged from, fell on them. Even Baraca the scion felt it.

  Equo and his brothers were insulated by their very nature from it, but they were too far away to get between the dragon and its prey. The great reptilian shape crashed into the mass of soldiers right where Nyree had been standing.

  A desperate cry ripped from Equo’s throat. It was no song, just a sound of anguish. The soldiers in the impact area were knocked flying, or crushed beneath the weight of the beast. She roared and snarled, snatching up half a dozen nearby fighters and crushing them between gargantuan jaws. As the trio of dragonets struggled to reach the spot, One-eyed Baraca stood before the granite gray maw of the beast.

  A small figure was now distinguishable atop the dragon. She had a blade upraised, and for some unknown reason Equo was more terrified of her than the dragon she rode. Baraca’s eyes blazed, and the light which had terrified the other Named seemed to deflect from the dragon. She threw back her craggy head, and when her mouth opened flame poured from it, enveloping the scion in a circle of red light that overwhelmed him.

  The light of th
e Void died with him. The trio of dragonets finally reached the devastation, but it was too late for the scion. Varlesh began the song, as a thrum; a song of transformation that would shatter bone and bring it into line, but the dragon sprung up from the earth, buffeting the smaller shapes the three of them wore.

  The song was disrupted as Varlesh and Equo were brought crashing to the ground.

  As the Named dragon leapt into the air, Equo saw the tiny, limp form of Nyree hanging from one of its claws. It was impossible to tell if she was dead or alive. The dragon fear claimed those below, like a tide of misery. Clouds swirled around the creature and lightning danced behind her.

  Then she laughed, the kind of sound that made ears bleed. Many of Baraca’s troops that had managed to stay on their feet until then, howled and fell to their knees when she began to speak. “You wonder, insects, why there are no more scions in Conhaero. Now you see the power of the Phage, and how we take what we want. We are the true power in this world.”

  With that, the dragon disappeared back into the clouds with a few flaps of her wide wings, faster and more powerful than any form the Ahouri could manage in this moment.

  Equo let go of the shape as he watched Nyree disappear with the dragon. Such an ugly creature for such a magnificent name. Despair washed over him.

  “She’s dead . . .” he whispered to himself, scarcely able to feel his own body anymore. His mind kept repeating again and again, the moments they had shared, his dreams . . .

  “Not dead,” Si said, putting his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “She is the seer. Remember what the Kindred told us. They have taken her because they need her.”

  “And what, by the Crone, will they do with her?” Varlesh wiped a line of blood from his mouth. “Did you see the dire little child riding his back?” He shook his head. “I did not like the look of her!”