by Meg Cowley
Soren
Soren was glad for the rope that tied his hands to one of Feldith’s spines. It kept him upright and stable when the wind plucked and tore at them, or Feldith shifted beneath him. As well as the wind, it was also cold despite the summer month. The single redeeming quality was that, flying above the low clouds, they remained in the sun and although the wind snatched away any warmth it could give them, Soren was grateful at the very least to be dry.
The day passed swiftly and engaging in such an unusual perspective was captivating. To be able to see blue waves crashing thousands of feet below him and clouds drifting past forming various shapes and apparitions was unlike anything Soren had witnessed before. It felt so abstract that his fear of heights receded. Exhilarated, he felt like he was a bird. Is this what it is to be free?
They passed over the shoreline in the early evening, far north of Harring and even Garth’s tiny shack and so none but animals witnessed their passage as they flew low over the land. The mountains ahead barred their way to Pandora, although they already flew higher than some of the clouds.
The dragons flew between peaks rather than over them. It was because, as Feldith explained, the air was so thin at the top of the mountains that there was not enough breath for them to fly on. Soren regarded the glacier-capped peaks; he would never have guessed the deadly secret of their deserted heights.
They crossed the entire chain of mountains before stopping for the night. It was dark when they landed in a valley sheltered by foothills. Mountains hid in the darkness above them, their silhouettes visible against the starry sky. Soren and Edmund lit a fire from discarded branches and huddled around it and ate their meagre fare longing for meat and a proper meal. The dragons flew off to hunt; the air was quiet after the sound of their wing beats had disappeared into the distance.
Soren and Edmund remained sat on the banks of a small river, although they could not see much in the small firelight. It snaked back and forth across the valley, leaving a flat valley floor free of the forests that clustered thickly upon the hills. Around them the landscape rustled as hidden animals moved around them.
By unspoken agreement, they set out drawn swords on the ground and sat alert and focused, almost back to back next to the fire, just in case a wolf or large animal should chance upon them. They were east of the protected central lands surrounding Pandora and here, on the other side of the plains, roamed greater predators than they; brown bears and grey wolves that were never to be trusted.
The dragons soon returned, bringing their protection along with the scent of fresh blood from their feed on their breath. On edge, Soren felt reassured by their presence despite this going against all instinct and intuition.
"Forgive me," Edmund said, "I did not think you were to accompany us so far," he addressed the two brown dragons.
Feldith snorted.
Feldloga snaked his neck out to stretch as he lay down. "We were not intended to." His reply was short, though it did not seem curt.
"Why did you come, then?" Soren asked.
"Because islands are tedious and the sea is cold and tedious!" complained Feldith. "We tire of it; we wish to see the world!"
"What if the world should see you?" said Edmund. "Your islands, as dull as you may think them to be, may no longer be the haven they are now."
"My sire did not say I could have any of my clan with me," Myrkdaga said, "yet neither did he say they could not come with me. I will not send them away if they wish to fly with me."
"I suspect Myrkith-visir will not be happy once he learns of your absence," murmured Edmund.
Feldith growled; a deep rumble full of warning.
"I am glad you came, though," Soren said earnestly, though he received no response. He pondered the dragon's words, wondering if they were to come all the way with him and crucially, whether they would defy Brithilca's words to help him take back the throne. He and Edmund tried to settle for the night, but in the wild, surrounded by dragons, sleep did not come and Soren had a restless night filled with twisted nightmares.
They were beyond tired when they glimpsed Pandora first on the horizon, but the sight of their home cheered Soren. As they drew closer, he marvelled at the view of the city they received from so high up; an unrivalled sight impossible to recreate from ground level. By this point, he had become accustomed to flying and swayed instinctively with the wind and motion of the dragon's bodies. Myrkdaga now bore Soren and Feldith, Edmund, whilst Feldloga transported their possessions tied to his belly.
The castle dominated the city, built on the great hill that fell away into the lake behind it and surrounded by the city within the walls. The city crowded onto the hill; larger buildings nearer the top were the official buildings of the city and the richer districts. These gave way to smaller buildings which formed the rest of the city and poorer districts.
They were arranged in an orderly fashion nearer the main roads of the city, but within their depths, the alleyways dove higgledy-piggledy: a labyrinth of passageways through the city. The great, fortified ramparts surrounded what was known as ‘the city within’, but these alone could not contain or sustain the population of Pandora, and so ‘the city without’ grew. Dwellings clustered close to the walls, spreading out and clinging to the lakeside.
Outside the walls were the docks of the city, a vital artery of trade that fed into the city mainly through the south-west gate. Here also, in the city without, was the farming might of Pandora. The plains around the city were ideal farming. As the dragons flew nearer, they began to cross over the sprawl of patchwork fields and open lands where the peoples farmed animals and crops for the residents of the city to consume and trade. Seeing the city in its entirety left Soren feeling proud of its beauty, order and peace. Yet, it seemed so small and fragile, he felt even more protective, knowing it was his duty to preserve it.
By prior agreement, they angled for the South gate, circling in great, descending loops over the city. It took surprisingly long before they were noticed; cries and screams rang out over the city, as the three dragons were low enough to leave yawning shadows under them. Guards on the wall began to raise a clamour, bells rang out, and everywhere they could hear the sounds of the city stirring. The portcullises clanged as they shut and the gates boomed as the city was sealed. The dragons at last announced their presence, roaring as one, deafeningly – joyously.
Myrkdaga landed some few hundred metres from the city gate, out in the open, followed by his clan members. Soren untied his hands and slid down from Myrkdaga's back, as Edmund dismounted from Feldith. Feldloga shed their possessions so they could retrieve their swords and armour from their bundles.
Shielded from view of the walls by Myrkdaga, they donned the light armour – Soren wished for something far more substantial. Belting on their swords, they stood and regarded each other for a moment in the calm before the unknown ahead of them. Soren tried to smooth and flatten his tangled hair.
They took a deep, simultaneous breath, turned to the gate and began to pace forward. Soren knew longbow men stood hidden upon the walls and prayed that they would not shoot. The city fell quiet as the people crowded on the walls alongside the soldiers watched them advance. As they paced, the ground shaking weight of the dragons shadowed them and their scaly tails slithered on the dry earth.
Watched by the hundreds, if not thousands, of people craning for a glimpse of him, Soren felt insignificant in comparison, despite having three of the most fearsome predators he knew any of his people would ever have laid eyes on flanking him. He tried to keep in his mind the words the strange fey woman had spoken to his mind to give him confidence and strength in the face of the adversity before him.
“Fear not, for although you face perils beyond your imagination, if you cannot unite the kingdom, no one can.” Her voice, so hard to forget, swam into his mind. Her words had etched themselves into his memory. “Ride into your city not with an army, but with honesty.”
Luke
“Eve!” cried Luke.
He threw the soldier in front of him aside to rush to her, as Nolwen stabbed the man Luke had engaged with through the back. Nelda dispatched the very last soldier. The gurgles of the dying faded. Silence fell. The scene was carnage. Bodies lay strewn over the corridor. Blood pooled around them and spattered over walls and rent armour.
Bruises, grazes and cuts covered Nolwen, Nelda and Luke. Nelda, pale-faced, had suffered a long and deep gash on one arm, which Nolwen bound for her with a rag torn from the bottom of his borrowed tunic. They rushed forward to join Luke who knelt with Eve cradled in his arms. He felt for a pulse and listened for any sign of breath. Her skin felt boiling to the touch as if she was raging with fever.
“She’s alive,” Luke said, weak with relief.
“We need to go,” said Nolwen. “Now.”
Luke picked up Eve as gently as he could whilst Nelda shouldered Irumae and together, swords still drawn, they raced as fast as they could out of the dungeons and locked the door on their way out to conceal the destruction. Back down the corridors they fled, fear making them run faster than their sore bodies ought to have allowed.
Shouts rang out in the distance and they sped up, not knowing the cause. Luke hoped they were not about to be set upon. His priority was to make sure Eve was safe. Back down the round staircase they jogged. They reached the bottom. All was silent. The portcullis remained locked. The guards remained on the floor, sprawled where they had fallen.
They chanced it, barred the gate behind them and darted across the open area into the boat. Nolwen climbed in. Luke passed Eve to Nolwen, clambered in himself, and then received Irumae as Nelda followed. There was not enough room for five of them in the boat. It sank dangerously low in the water, but desperation fuelled them.
Quickly they were away, back through the tunnel and its clinging darkness, out into the fragmented moonlight. They rowed past the marinas, not daring to stop so close to the city, until their limbs shook, their mouths were dry with dehydration and the pain began to take control of their bodies as the adrenaline faded.
Finally, they pulled the boat to shore on a small beach well out of the reach of the dock area. The three sat in silence for a few minutes to catch their breath, before continuing on foot carrying their still companions with them.
It was still dark when they stumbled into the woods and it was the last spark of their energy that enabled them to find the horses and the camp. The horses nickered and strained at their tethers in greeting as they lit lamps to illuminate the camp.
Nelda rolled out blankets and they set Eve and Irumae down, side by side. Irumae lay unresponsive, though faintly warm to the touch. Luke felt Eve’s forehead in concern. She was still consumed by fire; her skin seemed too hot to be possible. Nolwen and Nelda hovered over both of them, muttering to each other and checking both of them over for injuries in more detail.
Luke – who knew he could not help Eve – tried to distract himself by packing the horses. They nuzzled his hands for treats, but he had none to give them. As he finished, Nolwen and Nelda stood up.
“We do not think it will be safe to venture out on the roads at this time of the night; we could be seen. Do you agree?” Nelda said to Luke, who nodded.
“Good. Instead we shall move deeper into the forest; we are too discoverable here. We do not know what scale of search they will mount for the princess, but our reckoning is that it will already have begun. We need to be as far away as we can before we may chance some rest.”
It took hours of leading the horses on foot through the wood south and east away from habitation, whilst Irumae and Eve sat propped up on horseback. The sun had almost fully risen when they stopped in a depression that led to a small valley with steep sides.
It was the ideal place to spend a few hours, their position hidden from the forest above. Nolwen volunteered first watch, having had more sleep than the others the previous day, and without bothering to so much as undress or lay out bedding for themselves, his sister and Luke sprawled out and fell asleep.
Exhaustion trapped them there that day, unable to go on and unable to go back. Nolwen washed his cuts and nicks in the brook at the valley floor to clean them and said words of healing in the old tongue over them. Nelda healed her own wounds in the same fashion as her brother, though her arm took much longer for her to repair. Luke cleaned his cuts in the running water and bound a large gash on his shoulder with a strip of fabric, refusing the help of the Eldarkind.
The two men kept a distance as Nelda checked over and bathed the two unconscious young women by hand. Luke found himself tempted to turn around to watch whatever Nelda was doing and so stormed out of sight but not hearing, so he could not give in to the temptation. Eve had various grazes, cuts and bruises over her body that needed cleaning, including a patch of matted blood on the back of the head where she had struck the wall. Her raging fever had subsided and as Nelda beckoned the men back over, she said one word to her brother.
“Soon.”
Luke didn’t understand, though Nolwen seemed to. He knelt by Eve helplessly, thinking about the strange events of the night before, whilst Nelda and her brother sat by Irumae and discussed how to cure her. Luke did not comprehend most of it, though they were courteous enough to speak in his tongue.
“I have sourced the cause of her ill,” began Nelda. “Deep within her blood there is some strange substance. The rest of her body is healthy, however these tendrils seem to have slowed her body to a sleep like status. Her mind is closed and dormant. I think it will take both of our skills to remove this from her body; I have not encountered this before.”
“Nor I,” mused Nolwen. “Very well, how do you propose we perform?” They continued to throw ideas back and forth as Luke grew more frustrated.
“Stop!” he cried in exasperation. “Aren’t you going to explain anything to me?”
They paused, confused.
“What happened last night? The light that I saw – was that real? Why won’t she wake?” Luke gestured at Eve.
Nolwen returned Nelda’s cautious glance.
“The light you saw was real,” Nolwen said slowly, “yet it is not for us to explain it. Eve will have that choice when she wakes. Worry not though. She is fine, excepting the obvious knocks from last night. Does that ease your worry?”
“Partly,” said Luke, “I just wish I understood.” He felt foolish for his outburst. “I’m sorry for being rude. I know you are trying to help the princess, I just...”
“We know,” said Nelda with a faint smile. “Try not to worry. She’ll be fine.”
It was several minutes later when Luke, focused on Eve’s face, gasped. The Eldarkind paused once more. Eve’s eyes flicked open as she breathed in a great gulp of air, as if she had just surfaced from swimming underwater.
“Eve!” Luke bent over her.
“Luke,” she said, more strongly than he was expecting. “You look... different.” She gazed around, puzzled. “Everything looks different...”
“Different how?” said Luke, worrying that the knock to her head had caused more damage than Nelda had realised.
Eve
“Everything seems – I’m not sure. Brighter.” She continued to look around, drinking in the sights around her, which seemed brighter and richer, when she felt it flicker through her mind, like a light caress. All at once, she realised why, as the night before rushed back into the forefront of her mind.
“What happened last night?” she addressed Nolwen and Nelda. She propped herself up on an elbow. “The light; what was it? I thought I was about to die. I thought I did die. What happened?” she repeated, confused, not daring to accept the dawning realisation.
“Perhaps we might explain to you alone,” Nolwen said. He glanced pointedly at Luke.
Eve looked between them. “Alright,” she agreed.
Luke stood and withdrew from hearing, without a word.
“Last night, we think you awoke magically,” said Nelda. “You must have been so desperate to survive that it unlocked th
e way to your power. You threw up the barrier of white light; it was pure energy. It threw you back into the wall, and the knock to your head combined with the dramatic cost to your energy that the light cost you caused you to collapse. You’ll be pleased to know that your opponent was thrown about twenty feet away into a wall. He broke his neck.”
“I killed a man?” she said almost stupidly. She could not comprehend it.
“Well yes, but it meant you kept your own life and that of your cousin,” replied Nelda. “Do not dwell on it.”
Eve still did not understand, so for the moment she set the thought aside.
“Do you feel anything different inside you?”
“I feel it in my head,” whispered Eve.
Nelda and Nolwen broke out into broad smiles.
Why are they smiling?
“Then we are right, cousin,” Nolwen addressed her informally for the first time. “You have awoken. Congratulations!”
“What does it mean?” she asked, as they drew her up to each kiss her on both cheeks.
“It means you are who you were born to be,” replied Nelda, though that made little sense to Eve. “However it is a big responsibility. You now have access to the force which sustains the world and our power. You have the power to change life for better or worse and you simply have to reach out to that power and voice your intentions in the old tongue to access it. Do not fritter it.”
Eve realised that not only was the strange caressing touch there, but also a whole new language, hovering over her own in her mind as familiar as her mother tongue.
“I think I understand,” she said to her companions in the old tongue, as easily as if she were speaking her mother tongue and they laughed in pure delight. A sense of warmth and belonging settled over her. I’m one of them. She felt a tentative sense of reassurance.
“You need only ask us for guidance should you want it, cousin,” said Nolwen in the old tongue.
