‘I concur,’ came Nyra’s voice from somewhere above their heads. Having the advantage of wings to protect her from beasts on the ground, she frequently employed them to lift herself out of danger’s path.
‘Your opinion doesn’t count,’ said Rufin cheerfully. ‘You’re the only one of us not likely to be eaten by an ailigray or gored by a drauk anytime soon.’
Nyra didn’t answer. Aysun couldn’t even see her, so well hidden was she by the teal-hued leaves of the surrounding trees.
‘I cannot leave without Llandry,’ said Aysun firmly.
‘Right. How are you planning to find her? I love your family, Aysun, but if it’s a matter of spending months up here trying not to die while hoping to accidentally bump into your daughter, I can’t say I’m up for that.’
‘Got to agree,’ murmured Eyas. His eyes had fluttered shut again.
Aysun’s heart sank. He couldn’t ask them to stay under these circumstances; if any of them were injured or killed it would be solely his fault. But nor could he abandon the search.
‘All right. Home.’
‘Great,’ said Rufin. He leapt to his feet, shoving his knife back into its holster. ‘Nyra? How about that gate?’
Leaves rustled and Nyra appeared, sliding gracefully down from the branches above. She set to work, and within moments a gate hung in the air, shimmering with heat and warping the landscape around it. Looking at it, Aysun shuddered. It had taken all of his courage to step through such a gate before; he wasn’t ready to repeat the experience yet.
Eyas was squinting at him suspiciously. ‘You are planning to come with us, Ays?’
‘Of course,’ Aysun replied blandly. Eyas gave him a hard stare, then nodded.
‘When the device is fixed, call us. We’ll try again.’
‘Thanks.’ Aysun watched as Rufin stepped through the gate first, disappearing from sight. Eyas went next. Nyra waited, glancing at him enquiringly. He gave a minute shake of his head.
‘How will you get home?’
‘I’ll find a rogue.’ Rogue gates opened and closed by themselves, seemingly at random. Recently they had been opening with much greater frequency than normal; this posed a threat to Glinnery’s citizens who did not possess any magical aptitude, as they could not see or sense them. Glinnery’s sorcerers were working hard to close all of the rogue gates before they could send any unsuspecting civilians through into the adjacent world, but nonetheless Aysun was confident enough that he would be able to find one at need.
And if not, he would worry about that later.
Nyra hesitated. ‘Ynara will kill me if I leave you here alone.’
Aysun shrugged. ‘The choice is up to you, Nyra. I’m not leaving, but if you stay I can’t guarantee that I can protect both of us.’
Nyra heaved a long sigh, then turned back to her gate. Aysun thought she meant to step through, but instead the shimmering in the air faded away and the gate vanished.
‘I am our escape route,’ said Nyra, turning back to him. ‘If we get into trouble that we cannot handle, I will open a gate and we will go through it, immediately and without question. You must promise me.’
Aysun promised readily enough. He was secretly relieved that Nyra had elected to stay.
‘The others are going to be furious with you,’ Nyra observed.
‘Probably. Let’s move on.’ Aysun shouldered his pack, but Nyra didn’t move.
‘Rufin was right, Aysun. We need some kind of plan. We can’t just wander aimlessly.’
Aysun nodded. ‘I’m working off the device. It’s got a lot of things wrong, but maybe it has her direction right.’
Nyra looked sceptical, but she didn’t object. Aysun strode away into the trees, burying his uncertainty under an aura of confidence. He heard the sound of Nyra’s wings beating and then she was aloft, soaring over his head.
‘I’ll be lookout,’ she called as she passed.
Twice that day, Nyra’s timely warnings saved him just as he was about to blunder into danger. It was a stark demonstration of how long he would have lasted if Nyra had gone back to Glinnery after all.
When at last they could go no further, Aysun grimly hauled himself up into the branches of the tallest tree he could find. He had no wish to sleep on the ground again, not without Eyas and Rufin to take turns at keeping watch. His sleep was uncomfortable and fitful; after a few hours he gave up and merely sat, watching the colourful landscape of the Uppers changing sluggishly in the sun.
He’d noticed that the changes happened faster when the light was strongest. Not that the light conditions here could ever be termed low, but there were times of the day when the sun shone with particular brilliance. When clouds dimmed the sun and soft rain filled the air, as it now did, the landscape seemed to fall into a half-sleep itself.
A scrap of colour floated past Aysun’s vision and he blinked, jolted out of his reverie. With a quick motion, he caught the fluttering thing carefully in his cupped hands and brought it close to his face to examine.
It was a tiny winged creature only a few inches long from the tip of its long snout to the end of its curled tail. Its wings were dusted with jade and rose colours and it had soft, pearly fur covering most of its body. With a shock, Aysun realised he had seen it before. This creature - or one identical to it - had adopted Llandry after it had strayed into the Sanfaer house. It had been attacked by Sigwide, Llandry’s pet orting, but she had rescued it and after that it had stayed close to her.
Both Sigwide and the winged survivor had gone with her when she had left her parents’ home, choosing to follow Devary in secret. Of the three, only Sigwide had returned to the house. He had assumed that Llandry’s other pet had gone with her into the Uppers.
Perhaps it had. Could he really believe that this was Llandry’s own pet? Surely there must be more like it. But its markings looked identical to the other one he had seen. Could it be coincidence that this one had flown virtually into his face?
Yes, of course it could. He released the creature, disgusted with himself. He was grasping at straws, so desperate was he to discover some trace of Llandry. He turned his back on it and resolutely put it out of his thoughts. For another brief hour he dozed uncomfortably, covering his eyes with his arm to block out the light.
When he woke again, the winged creature was still with him. It sat a few inches from his nose, its snout testing the air. He felt a slight sting as it jabbed him with the tip of its proboscis, and he realised it was its antics that had woken him.
‘What do you want,’ he grumbled, pushing himself into a sitting position. The thing took flight immediately and flew a short distance away, then paused expectantly. When he didn’t move, it flew back, bumped his face again and then repeated its motion.
If he didn’t know better than to think so, he might have said it looked like an invitation.
Nyra dropped down from above, landing lightly on the branch upon which he sat. She used her wings to restore her balance, but he was nearly pitched off onto the floor a long way below.
‘Friend of yours?’
He grunted. ‘Think not.’
Nyra sat neatly cross-legged and passed him a handful of fruits. ‘Looks like it disagrees.’
‘It’s free to do that if it wishes.’ Aysun ate his meagre breakfast quickly and he and Nyra set off once more. He had gone barely three steps before a scrap of colour soared past his face on jade-dusted wings. After another three steps, the creature passed again, swooping around him in tight circles. After a few more repetitions of this cycle, Aysun stopped, and Nyra landed in front of him.
‘It’s flying in circles.’
‘I noticed.’ Aysun started walking again, and immediately a flurry of wings shot past his nose and circled. When he stopped, the creature darted away to his left and paused.
‘Huh.’ Aysun repeated this process a few more times as Nyra stood and watched. At length she grinned.
‘Something odd about that.’
‘Reckon so,’ Aysun
agreed. He hesitated, then told Nyra about the history of Llandry’s similar pet.
‘Well,’ Nyra said when he had finished, ‘seeing another one the same might be a coincidence. But the chances of a different one showing particular interest in you aren’t high.’
‘Right,’ said Aysun. But he still hesitated. He was obviously being encouraged to go left, but according to his device Llandry’s trail lay straight ahead of him.
Nyra solved it for him by taking off and veering to the left.
‘I’m supposed to be the leader here,’ he called up to her. She ignored him. With a sigh, Aysun trudged after her.
As he walked after his unlikely guide, Aysun had the odd sensation that he was covering more ground than he ought to have been. The landscape flowed past him, melting freely and rapidly into new formations. He passed through glissenwol forests that seemed vast, only to meld suddenly into rolling hills and then into boggy marshes and on into leafy woodland. There was a curious buoyancy to his stride, as though his legs stretched themselves and ate twice the regular distance with each step. Occasionally he saw buildings through the trees or away on the horizon, towers and tree houses and once a sprawling mansion. But he was drawn on relentlessly, never given pause to examine the structures that he glimpsed.
He was taken into a narrow pass through a series of mountains that had abruptly shimmered into view moments earlier. Beyond it lay a house built from stacked stone, with mullioned windows and a walled garden visible to the rear. The architecture was wholly Irbellian in style, of the traditional sort popular in his grandfather’s day; it looked so familiar that he instinctively stopped to examine it more closely.
A buzz sounded in his ear and he caught himself before he was tempted to waste too much time here. But then his winged friend flew over the gate and made its meandering way through an open window at the front of the house.
A few moments later, the door opened and a grey-haired woman appeared. On seeing him, she clapped her hands together, beaming.
‘He’s here!’ she called. ‘And oh my, is this Ynara?’ Nyra descended from the skies to stand next to him. Her lips quirked into a grin at that.
‘Not a bad thing to be mistaken for Ynara,’ she murmured.
‘Hm. Doesn’t look like her.’ The voice was a male one but Aysun couldn’t see who spoke.
‘Come out, and say hello.’ The grey-headed lady in the doorway stepped aside, ushering someone else through. The man who emerged was stooped, his hair closer to white than grey, but it took Aysun less than two seconds to realise who this was.
‘Hello, son,’ said his father.
Aysun stared, his mouth set in a grim line. Then, wordlessly, he turned and walked away.
Chapter Six
For a time, Llandry Sanfaer of Waeverleyne had ceased to exist.
For a time, only the draykon lived on, nameless and needing no name. She who was once Llandry had lost sight of herself altogether, forgotten who she truly was in this new shape of hers. The old Llandry had lain imprisoned somewhere in the centre of her heart, while a new Llandry, one proud and vicious and strong, had danced in the skies of the Uppers. She had flown hundreds of miles at impossible speeds, swooped and turned and dived, chased and hunted and fed and sped on once more; testing the power of her form she found it strong, stronger than anything.
Keeping with her, always close, was the larger draykon: the one whose awakening had kindled the draykon fire in her own soul and gifted her with this glorious new destiny. Together they had spanned the world: explored every forest and meadow, traversed every lake and sea, the landscapes below rippling like water and as changeful as the winds as the draykon energies touched them. Exhilarated, fascinated, drunk on power and strength, Llandry had flown on and on - until at last the small part of her heart that remembered her former life had stretched and grown and made itself heard.
Mamma, and Papa. Their faces came to her first, large and vivid in her clouded thoughts. Then she remembered more, her mind flooding with images: Devary Kant and Nimdre; the attack on the edge of the Glinnery forest; her grandfather and Mags his wife; the two pale-haired magical practitioners who had revived her draykon companion; the agony of her first Change. Once these half-faded memories were acknowledged and sought, they could not be stopped; not until Llandry was fully herself again, in mind if not in body.
Then to effect the transformation back to her human shape, so small and feeble and weak in comparison. Finding her way back to her home - or was it her former home? - was surpassingly easy, even once human again. It was the work of the briefest thought to wander between the worlds; a shift in focus was all it took and she could see the three worlds superimposed over one another, each separate and distinct yet irrevocably tangled. Narrowing her focus was all she needed to do, and her next step would carry her into a different series of realms. How simple, then, to go home; and yet how hard, for she herself was not the Llandry her parents had raised, and never would be again.
But go home she must.
She covered most of the distance in the Uppers, tracking her progress across all three worlds at once. When she judged herself near to Waeverleyne, she changed back to her human shape before stepping through into Glinnery itself. Her own, familiar grey wings carried her to her mother’s balcony.
No time at all did she have to prepare herself, for Ynara was already standing there, her hand on the door as if she had just that instant thrown it open. Her mother - beautiful and mussed, as always - said nothing for a long moment, merely stared at her daughter. Llandry could not read her expression.
‘Llan,’ she gasped at last, as if drawing in air after long deprivation. Then her arms went around Llandry and she clung to her.
A thud sounded from behind her, and a male voice cursed in a language long dead. Llandry winced as her mother’s gaze moved to take in the stranger. He had shifted out of his draykon form as she had, but his human appearance could be alarming.
‘Er, Ma... this is Pensould.’
‘Pensould,’ repeated Ynara faintly.
‘My friend,’ Llandry added.
Ynara nodded. Reluctantly, she let Llandry go and stood back to survey the newcomer. She surveyed them both, in fact, her gaze lingering longest on her daughter.
‘Is it true? I heard that you - you -’
Llandry interrupted, so that her mother wouldn’t have to find the words. ‘Draykon,’ she said with reverence. ‘It’s true, Ma.’
Ynara’s eyes widened and her honey-gold skin paled. Llandry bit her lip, holding her breath as nerves danced within her. How could her mother possibly understand?
‘Changed you may be, but you’re still our Llan,’ Ynara murmured. ‘We thought you were lost.’
‘I was,’ Llandry replied, swallowing a lump that had materialised in her throat. ‘I found my way back.’
‘This is your sire?’ came Pensould’s voice. ‘Dam?’
‘Mother,’ Llandry corrected.
Pensould’s gaze swept over Ynara critically. The contrast between his pale eyes and his ink-black hair still shocked Llandry a little whenever she looked at him. As did the strikingly blue colour of the veins that showed themselves through his stark white skin. Long hours she may have spent in teaching him to Change, but he hadn’t yet fully mastered his human form.
He grabbed Llandry’s arm and jerked her backwards, gripping her wrist possessively. ‘My mate,’ he said to Ynara.
Llandry suffered a surge of annoyance. ‘No,’ she said to him distinctly. ‘I am not. I told you not to say that.’
He shook his head. ‘My choice, not yours.’
Ynara’s eyes narrowed. She took Llandry’s free hand in hers and gently drew her away from Pensould. ‘Why don’t you both come in?’ she said.
Pensould was a true draykon. He had never before taken human shape, and had little understanding of what it meant. Human customs were beyond him, and he had slept through most of human history. It had taken Llandry some days to effect her transformation ba
ck into human form, and considerably longer to teach the technique to Pensould. He wasn’t particularly taking to it.
Sitting with her mother listening to Pensould speak, both his talents and his shortcomings were equally obvious. He spoke Glinnish haltingly, and he revealed his ignorance of her world with almost every sentence. But that he could speak her tongue at all was remarkable; he remembered every word that he heard and he seemed to have no difficulty understanding their meaning. His progress was slower outside of the Upper Realm, but still he was (she would have said) impossibly quick. It was as though he absorbed the sense of their utterances by some means other than a purely intellectual understanding of the words themselves.
‘Soon, you will do that too,’ Pensould informed her, interrupting himself.
She blinked. ‘What?’
He tapped her head, hard. ‘Your senses are dull. Flat. Too human. But I can feel you waking.’
‘Waking?’
‘Becoming more clever. More draykon.’
Llandry scowled. ‘I am human.’
Pensould smiled, a rather frightening expression displaying too many teeth. ‘No. Human-shaped outside, draykon inside.’
‘I can assure you, Llandry is entirely human. I gave birth to her myself. I detected no sharp teeth, no claws, no unusual proportions.’ Ynara kept her voice steady and her eyes on Pensould.
‘Wings, though.’ He grinned. ‘I have seen humans before, long ago. No wings then. Why do you have wings now?’
‘I...’ Ynara faltered. ‘Theories have been made, but no entirely satisfactory explanation has been found.’
Pensould leaned forward suddenly and grasped one of Ynara’s wings. He tugged it, ignoring her discomfort, pulling it partially open.
‘Not feathers like a bird. Not thin like a daefly. Webbed, strong. Draykon wings.’
Ynara opened her mouth, but nothing emerged.
‘You, Sire-of-Minchu, are maybe half draykon. No, more. But you stay human; you wish it. Minchu-’
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