by Tammy Salyer
Finally catching her breath, she stared up the slope and realized she was close to the top of the knoll. There seemed to be a clearing, and she could see the darkened treetops on the other side brushing up against the sky. Stars ringed their crowns, reminding her of the last moments of the tessalope that had dissipated into nothing in the Ærden fortress. Despite the sky’s sparkle, the hollow at ground level was still utterly black. If Griggory was there, or the dragør she expected, she couldn’t see anything but inky shadow.
Steeling herself, she slunk forward a few more paces, stopped, waited, heard nothing, and repeated her process. Shortly, she was at the edge of the hollow, and any hope she’d had for better visibility once she reached it was quickly dashed. The trees were simply too tall to allow any moonlight to reach the ground. The moon had only risen a couple of hours ago and was still too low in the sky to crest them.
Crouched down, she reached for Star Spark’s hilt, wanting to be prepared. The chape at the base of the blade sometimes stuck, so she twisted it just slightly to ensure it would draw smoothly.
The metallic clink it made seemed to fill the hollow. Mylla froze. A rustle came from ahead, then the dim blue light of Griggory’s Mentalios flared, illuminating just enough of his face and chest to show her he was facing her, looking into the dark for what had made the noise. She stood up straight, breathing a sigh of relief at having found him, and in one piece.
Then, behind him, the Mentalios light glinted from two barrel-sized globes, golden and fiery red.
Not globes—eyes!
They swiftly rose from head height to far above Griggory. Mylla gave a cry as the titanic outline of the dragør became visible in the starlight. Her cry died weakly, her lungs simply giving out, the remainder of her air draining from them as if from a punctured waterskin. She breathed, “Behind you!” to warn Griggory, but it came out as a meek wheeze.
Griggory’s lips moved as he said something, but in her terror, she couldn’t hear much less understand his words. Fortunately, her arms hadn’t given up the way her lungs had, and without thinking, she gripped the Ærd Fenestros within the carryall. With her other hand, she ripped Star Spark free of the scabbard and pointed it in his direction, but up, toward the now-towering figure of the dragør. She charged, ready to protect her companion from the monster. Or, more likely, to die.
She saw it clearly as the beast’s jaws cracked open. Then, there was nothing but fire.
Chapter Thirty-One
“That was foolish of you, Mylla. Pointing a sword at Heart of Purple Might like that. What did you think would happen?”
Mylla’s eyes were still closed, but she’d been listening to the melodies of the forest for the last few moments, wondering if they were the sounds the Cosmos made when the dissipated remnants of your spiritual matter returned to it, leaving a lifeless body behind—if that. Apparently, the sounds included Griggory’s voice, and when she realized how unlikely that was, her eyes peeled open.
He was kneeling beside her, holding Star Spark’s hilt for balance. Its tip was planted in the dirt, and Mylla nearly cursed him in outrage at the sacrilege.
Now that her awareness was returning, she noted that her left hand felt unnaturally hot where it rested at her side. Woozily, she tilted her head and saw it lay gripping the Ærd Fenestros, which was glowing red and putting out intense warmth. Despite this, her hand was undamaged, and she realized she didn’t want to let go of the orb. “I saw fire, Griggory,” she mumbled. “I saw a dragør. How—”
“Yes, yes. Heart of Purple Might, as I said. He’s a bit bigger than last time I saw him, but I’d know my old friend even if I were blind. Do you happen to have any honey?”
Unable to make sense of anything, beginning with the fact that both she and Griggory were alive, she merely asked, “Honey? Where would I get honey?”
“Yes, of course. My mistake. He just loves honey, you see. I’ve always brought him some in my past visits.”
Sense was slowly coming back to her. They were still in the clearing atop the knoll, her back to a tree as she sat on her bum. The sky had changed, dawn light beginning to paint the treetops. “Griggory, what in Vaka Aster’s mighty breath is going on? There was a dragør, it came at me—no, at you—and I know I didn’t fend it off with Star Spark. You and I should have been cooked… did you say your friend?”
Griggory gave her a magnanimous, unreadable grin, stood up—leaving Star Spark planted in the ground like a metal sapling—and turned halfway. His hand rose and pointed toward the edge of the clearing. “Mylla Evernal, Knight Corporealis and newly ordained Warden Temporalis of Vinnr and Ærd respectively, please meet Heart of Purple Might, kit of Magnificence of Oceans Tempests.”
Her eyes followed his arm slowly, as if they were even more reluctant about what they were about to witness than she. And there it was. The size of a two-story building, a mighty, toothy beast with shimmering silvery-purple scales that made bucklers look like dinner plates, four legs as wide as oak trunks, eyes that glowed even in the dawn light, and teeth like daggers—no, make that teeth like swords. These serrated meat-mashers became all she could focus on.
Mylla’s head swam, and though she’d never passed out in her life, even when Eisa had once hit her in the temple so hard in a training scrap that she’d needed forty stitches to close the wound, she thought she would faint. Those teeth…
Through vision edged with ragged blackness, she saw Griggory face the creature. “Forgive her, Purple Might. She’s new to your excellence. It can be, ah, overwhelming for the young.”
Mylla wanted to snort at being called young. The unintended insult helped clear her head, though. “You kn-know this dragør?”
“We go back many, many, many turns, we do. Purple Might and his kindred have long been tolerant of my many, many, many questions and have for ages given their leave for me to wander the Weald at my leisure.”
To Mylla’s overtaxed mind came the memory of an overheard conversation between two Prelates of the Conservatum from dozens of turns past. They’d been perusing an old register of the Knights Corporealis members, one that had been maintained, as far as she knew, since the Order was founded.
“Dragør Tamer?” one had asked. “I’d love to know the story of how Knight Dondrin got that name.”
Mylla remembered thinking at the time that the name must have been metaphorical, but now she voiced it aloud without a hint of doubt. “Dragør Tamer.”
“Pah! No, no, no, no. That old nickname is as wrong as spoiled mead. Dragør Friend, if anything,” Griggory fussed.
You are fortunate not to be cooked, speck, said a deep, frightening voice in Mylla’s head. Mortals seem to have grown more foolish since last I had any to-dos with one, waving a sword at me as if you could possibly do more than wind up in one oddly mixed slag heap together. I am most curious how a Fenestros of Ærd came into your possession, though.
Mylla’s hand flew to her temple and rubbed as if to ward off a headache. But the beast’s eyes were staring straight at her, into her, red and yellow like the throat of a volcano. And she knew whose voice it was without question.
Y-you can speak through the Mentalios? She stopped, felt as if she was failing to adhere to some important formality, though she had no idea what kind of formality one used with a dragør, and added: Master Heart.
Could a dragør smile? She hoped that’s what he was doing, because the way the edges of his mouth stretched back farther, exposing yet more glistening teeth, was no less terrifying whether the expression was mirth or doom.
Master Heart, a fine name. Griggory, why’ve you never called me that? The dragør again lowered its head, the movement, like everything about the creature, so massive it felt as if the ground groaned at accommodating it.
Griggory and Purple Might were quiet for a moment, staring eye to eye, and Mylla got the impression they were speaking. Griggory seemed capable of communicating with all manner of the worlds’ oldest creatures without saying a word, and she found that d
espite how frustrating it was to be kept in the dark, she admired the old man’s many abilities and experiences. He may have been unaccountably odd, but when one had lived as long as he had, and had seen firsthand how transient and circumstantial all behaviors and rules people lived by were, what expectations or manners did one really need to follow anymore?
As the two elders—for there was no denying she was among elders—spoke, she felt a moment of chagrin. She had thought she might faint at the sight of Purple Might’s teeth, but now she realized she must have just awoken from a faint. She’d thought the dragør was going to cook her, and instead of fighting it, she simply fell over unconscious. What else could explain how she’d so badly misjudged the wall of flame she’d felt was about to scorch her? It’s a dragør, Mylla. I’m sure you’re not the first to be overwhelmed at the sight of one. At least give yourself some credit; you faced Balavad, and he’d nearly had to kill you to get you to stay down.
The self-pep-talk gave her time to grow… comfortable was not the word, rather accepting of the fact that she was in the presence of a creature whose very existence made the humans of Vinnr seem an afterthought.
Soon enough, the great urgency of their mission pushed her to put aside her awe and fear. With a clearing of the throat, she said, “Excuse me. My apologies for interrupting.” They both finally acknowledged her. “My apologies also for drawing a weapon against you, Master Heart. I never would have if I’d known, well…” She waved a hand across the glade to encompass the situation, giving Griggory a slightly exasperated scowl for not informing her of such an important matter before she nearly fumbled herself into becoming a dragør’s dinner. “Would I be correct in guessing Griggory has explained why we’re here and what we’re searching for?”
The dragør blinked at her slowly. I’ve never seen a speck gather its wits so quickly before. Except you, of course, Griggory. I thought you said you forgot to mention me to her, as it is obvious from her memories she’s forgotten me.
“It slipped my mind, it’s true,” Griggory averred. “But Mylla has seen and done much that has whittled her shock into a tamed thing. Would I be right in saying that, Mylla?”
She could only nod dumbly. What did the dragør mean by her having forgotten him? A churning pit began to form in her stomach.
Ah, the tessalopes, of course, Purple Might said.
Griggory nodded as well. “Among other things.” He turned a grin on her that she could have sworn nearly beamed with pride.
She cleared her throat. “I know, Master Heart, that the business of us, um, specks, must seem mundane and ordinary to you, but if Griggory hasn’t already, I think I should explain why we’ve come into the Weald.”
You seek the Ærden Scrylle, the dragør said in a tone that had Mylla almost wishing she’d kept her mouth shut. Almost. I’ve been waiting for an Ærden Warden to come and claim it.
“You have it?! But that would mean—” The pit widened, the churning increased. “How did you get it?”
Purple Might’s eyes narrowed. Impertinent little speck, aren’t you? Should I be offended that one whose life I saved can’t be bothered to remember me? I’m not convinced you’re as enfeebled as you pretend, young Warden Knight. But I shall warn you, only once, that dragørs are not one for games.
“Allow me, if you would, Purple Might,” Griggory cut in. “Mylla, I’m afraid I have some, ah, not entirely comforting news.” Sunlight dripped from the upper leaves of the glade’s treetops, finding the golden flecks in Griggory’s eyes, making what should have been a merry twinkle something less so. He stared at her without saying another word until Mylla had to prompt him.
“Yes?” she said, raising her eyebrows, knowing but unwilling to accept what Griggory was about to tell her, despite the dragør’s veiled threat.
“My friend Heart of Purple Might, you see, ah—well, he…” A confused expression washed over his face, as if he’d forgotten what he was about to say.
“What is it, Griggory?” she pressed.
“Well, there it is then. I can’t say. I really can’t.”
I killed your father, speck, Purple Might supplied.
All the heat that she’d been enjoying from the Ærd Fenestros suddenly vanished, leaving her numb despite still holding it in one fist. “Why?” she whispered.
The red-gold orbs of his eyes flared angrily, then calmed. You are not a shredded meat between my talons right now because I can see you’re truly addled, speck, he said. So I will explain. Those many turns ago, I was tracking uninvited rogues in the forest. But I came upon an unexpected scent—you as a youngling being carried by a man. It was clear that you were attempting to escape him, and the moment you did and had run off, I meted out the justice I thought was warranted. I have lunched on the odd speck here and there, but I draw the line at innocent children. As you fled, I followed you back to the byway, where, as you know, more ruffians had already committed another slaying. Your mother, Griggory tells me.
“So you thought my father was a bandit who’d kidnapped me?”
To all appearances, that’s what happened. The great beast stretched its neck, the tip of his snout extending so far it reached the tops of the trees. With what would have been a small shake on a creature that wasn’t the size of a castle’s barn, he settled back on his haunches once more. My judgment may have been hasty, but I have kept the Ærd artifacts since then nonetheless.
Her tongue felt as thick as a hunk of shark meat, and as rubbery. “Hasty? You burned Greven to ash just because he might have been a danger to me? It never occurred to you to simply ask?” She knew her impertinence had passed into the land of dangerous foolishness, but she simply couldn’t believe she’d lost one of her parents to a mere misunderstanding.
Griggory moved to her and tried to put a sympathetic hand on her arm. She was having none of it. Shoving the Fenestros back into her carryall, she yanked Star Spark from the ground—eliciting a wince from the old Knight—slammed it back into its scabbard, and turned away.
“Knight Evernal, you need to understand—”
“I know!” she interrupted. “I know that specks aren’t important enough to a mighty dragør to bother with a simple inquiry. I get it that we’re just weak, useless, mortal meatbags to them. Just give me a moment to put my thoughts in order before I do something I’m not sure I’ll regret.”
Griggory spun her and yanked her by her forearms toward him so quickly and so hard that her neck snapped in painful whiplash. Upon blinking back the shock, she found herself nose to nose with the man. His greater height meant that she stood on the tips of her toes, but his strength was holding her up, not her own. So astounded, she merely gawped at him, her arms bent between them, his hands like manacles on her wrists.
His head tilted sideways, as if curious, and he said in an utterly neutral tone, “Purple Might and his kindred have chosen to assist us in the fight for the Cosmos, but if you keep up your petty childishness, you may not be around to participate. Your grief will have its time, but it isn’t now. You swore an oath, like I did and like our friends did. So why don’t we see what the Scrylle has to say before the day gets away from us, yes?”
Mylla merely stared at him in indecision. And just a little embarrassment. Her petulance and outrage may have been justified, but he was right. The world required so much more of her right now. Her personal grievances would have to wait their turn.
She gave one curt nod. Just as abruptly as he’d taken hold of her, he released her, and she dropped back to the ground. In her surprise, she’d tensed her whole body, and hitting the ground stiff-legged made her reel just a bit as if she had no more grace than a beetle.
Straightening, she set her clothing into order. Carefully keeping her eyes averted from Purple Might, in a voice she controlled so tightly that it gave away no hint of emotion, she said, “Fine. Let’s see what it has to tell us then.”
Heart of Purple Might had indeed kept Fimm’s artifacts close. After Mylla agreed to look inside, the dragør
took one claw that was easily as thick at its root as Mylla’s thigh, and carefully dug beneath on of his hind scales. The artifacts were wedged there and dropped to the grassy ground with two soft thuds.
Mylla didn’t know how long she looked into the Scrylle—an hour, three?—before giving up. Now, she sat cross-legged in the daylit glade, numb and empty. In a distant way, she surprised herself at not raging inside, but even that feeling, like all feeling, seemed impossible now. No, not impossible. Pointless.
The Verity Fimm, like all Verities, didn’t care about their fate. And if she did as Fimm had asked her back in Ærd, the only reward she and her fellow humans could expect was annihilation.
Griggory cleared his throat suggestively. “So, by your expression, it’s clear you didn’t see what you hoped to.”
“No.” She looked up to see him raise his heavy gray-shot eyebrows, asking without speaking what she had seen. She found she lacked the desire to tell him. She noticed, as well, that sometime while she’d been gazing into the Scrylle, Purple Might had departed. Unexpectedly, she felt disappointed. Fearful as the creature was, it was still a dragør, an ancient creation of Vaka Aster that dwarfed everything else she’d ever encountered in its magnificence.
Griggory still eyed her.
“Look for yourself, be my guest,” she muttered.
“Oh, no thank you. I already know what it contains.”
This caught her attention like nothing else could have. Her head shot up, her neck stiffened. “You already—well, why didn’t you tell me!?”
“Mylla, I would if I could. Trust me. Knowing what I know is a burden I’d much sooner not carry if the choice were mine.”
She became aware that her mouth was open, stuck in mid question. The fact was, she didn’t know what to ask him. Finally, as if her tongue decided for her, she said, “Are you telling me you’re under the same constraints as the tessalopes? If you tell me what you know, you’ll… you’ll be cursed into becoming a Fenestros or something too?”
