Lokant

by Charlotte E. English

  She grabbed his hand and applied it to her torso. ‘It even feels convincing. See how easy it is to deceive oneself?’

  Tren tried to pull back his hand but she was scarily strong. ‘Let go, ’ he said angrily. ‘I don’t care how much you can make yourself look like her, you are not Eva.’

  Andraly stepped back at last, wearing an expression of disgust that he’d never seen on Eva’s face before. ‘A tendency towards monogamy is one of the less interesting traits of your world’s inhabitants.’ Her face and body returned to their usual patterns and she stood aside. ‘Go and be miserable then, if you’d prefer.’

  He went.

  Chapter Twenty Two

  At two years old, Lyerd Desandry was still a little unsteady on his feet. Avane picked him up as he tumbled, yet again. She had stopped expecting to hear screams and cries from him when he fell and struck his knees on the hard ground. Other people’s children might be given to histrionics, but not her son. He was giggling as she set him on his feet again.

  ‘You’re getting better,’ she smiled. ‘Once more around and then we’d better go home. All right?’

  They were standing on the edge of the Virun Park, the largest piece of public ground in the town of Glaynasser. This area was designed to appeal to children: it had swings and a box full of sand, and plenty of space to run about in. Lyerd embarked on his final run around the little grassy square, his short legs pumping hard as he tried to outdo himself. He completed his circuit without mishap and collapsed into his mother’s arms, giggling.

  ‘Tired,’ he said, holding up his arms.

  Avane picked him up, groaning at the weight. He was getting too big to be carried, but she could never resist him when he smiled like that.

  Turning to leave, she froze. Standing only a few feet away was a stranger, a man, watching her and her son. He looked quite old with his white hair and lined skin. His eyes were weirdly colourless. He nodded to her as she caught his eye.

  ‘A fine young man,’ he said.

  ‘Thank you,’ she replied, eyeing him doubtfully.

  ‘May I walk with you?’

  She shifted Lyerd onto her hip, gathering her bag with her free hand. ‘I suppose so.’ She wanted to say no but she couldn’t think of a polite way to refuse his request.

  ‘Does he take after his mother?’

  ‘Er, sorry? In what way?’

  ‘You are a sorcerer, I think.’

  She shot him a surprised glance. ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘One can tell these things, sometimes. It is the truth, however?’

  ‘Well, yes.’

  ‘Good, good. But are you the sorcerer that I need?’

  This man was making her nervous with his strange talk. ‘I’d better hurry home,’ she said in an apologetic tone. ‘Lyerd is about ready for his nap.’

  ‘His name is Lyerd, hm? An old-fashioned name.’

  ‘It was my grandfather’s,’ she said involuntarily, then wondered what had made her say it.

  ‘Ah! Then you would be Avane.’

  ‘How - how do you know my name?’

  ‘I knew your grandfather,’ the man replied smoothly. ‘I’d like you to help me with something, Avane.’

  ‘I’m afraid I’ve no time. My work at the school keeps me very busy and Lyerd needs so much attention.’

  The man stepped in front of her, cutting her off. He looked at her gravely; despite the lack of smile or welcoming expression she felt drawn to trust him.

  ‘For a friend of your grandfather’s you would find the time, I’m sure.’

  ‘Um, all right,’ she said reluctantly. ‘What do you need of me?’

  ‘I just need you to come with me for a while. I’ll tell you more soon.’

  Her doubts returned full force. ‘Where are we going? Is it far?’

  ‘Quite far, yes. Worry not: I will see that you are returned at the proper time.’ He gripped her wrist and she began to feel afraid again.

  Now he smiled, but it wasn’t a reassuring expression. ‘You see? It’s always so much easier when people don’t make a fuss. ’

  Avane’s fear grew and she began to struggle, trying to pull back the hand that he still held in a fierce grip. He was fearsomely strong for a man of his apparent age, his fingers digging hard into her skin.

  ‘Let go,’ she cried.

  ‘I wasn’t really asking for your compliance. It would be nicer if you’d come along quietly, but if I have to drag you, I will.’

  ‘Who are you? ’

  ‘My name is Krays.’ He tugged and Avane felt a falling sensation. With a cry of fear she hugged her son closer, closing her eyes as the world dissolved around her.

  ***

  Ynara shut off the voice box with a soft sigh. These strange, distant conversations with her husband were inadequate compared to having him in the house, but it was so much better than nothing that she always ended them with reluctance. How long would he remain away from her this time? Increasingly she resented the duties as Elder that kept her from following her family.

  He had nothing but good things to report. Orillin was thriving in the Uppers; he’d taken instantly to the world, and now behaved as if he’d always lived there. She smiled a little sadly at the thought. It had been the same with Llandry: ever a little off-kilter in this world, she’d found her place Above.

  Every day she hoped Aysun would have something of Llandry to convey to her. Every day she was disappointed. He hadn’t seen her; he didn’t know where she was. He could speak only of Orillin, Eyas and Rufin, all bored and amusing themselves in increasingly questionable ways. Of his father, Aysun refused to speak at all. Apparently it hadn’t helped for him to spend time in his father’s house. The feud raged on.

  This had been an early morning conversation. The sun had only just taken over from the Light Cloak that kept the darkness away. Gathering her coat and bag, Ynara left her home and set off for the Council Halls. She had a long day of meetings ahead of her.

  Laylan Westry was already there when Ynara arrived. She greeted the older lady with affection. Laylan was the Sorcerer-in-Charge in the realm of Glinnery, responsible for maintaining the Light Cloak and for overseeing the sorcery schools. She had served in that role for longer even than Ynara had served on the elected panel of governors; the two were close friends.

  ‘Morning, Layla.’ She left a brief kiss on the other woman’s cheek. ‘All’s well with the Cloak?’

  ‘No problems. Any news of that fine daughter of yours?’

  ‘Not yet,’ Ynara replied, managing a smile. ‘Aysun’s taking care of it.’

  ‘She’s a good girl. Stronger than she looks, I’d say,’ Layla smiled. ‘Like her mother.’

  ‘I don’t know. She’s changed so much recently, I hardly know who or what she is anymore.’

  Laylan regarded her with a frown. ‘She is still your Llandry, whatever else has happened to her.’

  Ynara mustered another smile, but this one felt weak. ‘I hope so. I’ve a feeling that I won’t be seeing much of her at all from now on, though. It’s a harsh change. Not long ago I saw her every day.’

  Laylan patted her arm. ‘That’s being a parent for you. Wait ‘till you have grandchildren. I’m afraid it only gets worse.’

  That was an alarming thought. Ynara’s mind jumped immediately to Pensould and his stubbornly unorthodox appearance. Would he be Llandry’s spouse? He was certainly determined to claim her. What would their children be like?

  Would they be human? On any level at all?

  Not liking this image of herself as grandmother to a litter of draykonets, Ynara changed the subject.

  ‘What do you think of Ullarn’s new trade proposal? It’s likely to be the biggest topic on this week’s agenda.’

  Laylan opened her mouth to reply, but she was cut off by a violent shriek from outside.

  ‘What the -’ Ynara knew that sound. She had heard it once before: when Llandry-as-draykon had deposited Devary, wounded and dying, outside her do
or. Was this Llandry coming back?

  But if so, why would she come to the Council Halls? And why scream that way?

  Ynara ran to the window. Seeing nothing, she crossed to the door, threw it open and stepped into the air, her wings catching the breeze to hold her aloft.

  Nothing: the skies were empty.

  Then, streaking into her line of sight, a draykon. Not Llandry, and not Pensould either. This beast’s scales were wine-red, her wings tipped with black. Judging from the creature’s screaming, whirling descent, this was not a friendly visit.

  Behind the red draykon came two others in swift succession. One was big, bigger even than Pensould, its vast body deep purple in colour. The second was the smallest of the three, its hide stark white. Together they circled above the centre of Waeverleyne, screaming in concert. Those raucous voices were full of rage, so much anger. Ynara felt a shiver of horror run over her skin and fear set her heart hammering.

  Panic was erupting around her as Waeverleyne’s citizens left their homes and offices to find the source of the noise. The draykons played to the attention, roaring and diving at the gathering crowds, snapping their heavy jaws. They hadn’t actually attacked yet, but their intent was clear.

  Laylan Westry was beside her, her lined face pale and wan as she watched the invaders.

  ‘Layla,’ said Ynara, ‘Get away from here. Fetch the army. Now, please.’

  ‘They’re already here,’ Laylan replied.

  Not exactly true. A company of armed patrol guards, not army recruits, was taking to the air, gripping drawn weapons. They wore the uniform of the Council Guard, a fact which turned Ynara’s heart over anew. They really weren’t soldiers; their role was as much ceremonial as martial.

  Seeing the unit’s approach, the draykons paused in their antics and instead formed a whirling circle around the cluster of guards, taunting them with claws and teeth. The winged human figures, perhaps eight in total, were dwarfed against those three gigantic beasts.

  ‘That is disaster in the making,’ Ynara said. ‘They must be called back!’

  Too late. As one the draykons ceased their game and struck in earnest. Eight tiny winged figures fell under the onslaught of snapping jaws and lashing claws and tails, falling swiftly to earth.

  Ynara’s hands flew to her mouth.

  ‘Layla,’ she murmured, pulling herself together. ‘Get the army. First though, give me your cloak.’

  Laylan raised her brows but she asked no questions. She removed her cream-coloured cloak, bundled it up and tossed it to Ynara.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  Ynara didn’t answer. The garment wasn’t exactly white, but it would do.

  Supposing, of course, that draykons understood a symbol of parley. She would just have to chance it.

  ‘Yna...’ Laylan spoke the word in a tone of gravest foreboding.

  ‘Please, Layla, just get word to the army. Don’t worry about me.’

  With a final, fearful glance at Ynara, Laylan obeyed.

  Ynara stepped to the door and jumped into the air. She held the cloak in both arms, letting it stream out in the wind. Her approach caught the eye of the red draykon and it flew to meet her. It was impossible to judge its intent; was she to be parleyed with or eaten?

  Ynara flew on anyway.

  When she reached the red draykon she stopped, keeping her flag of parley clearly visible. She hesitated. She had assumed that the creatures could communicate with her, because Llandry and Pensould could. Now she recalled that they had not actually done so when they wore their draykon shapes. How was she to hold a conversation with this beast?

  The draykon solved the problem for her.

  A parley?

  The word reverberated in her mind, crashingly loud and layered with rage and indignation.

  There can be no cause to parley, for there is nothing to be discussed.

  ‘Not so.’ The other two draykons flew up to flank the red one and renewed fear gripped Ynara’s heart, but she forced herself to speak with steady firmness anyway. ‘Why do you attack our city? We have not harmed your kind.’

  Not recently perhaps.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re speaking of.’

  It’s easy to forget the wrongs done to others, isn’t it? Your race destroyed mine, human.

  ‘If so, that must have been a long time ago. The current generation cannot be held responsible for the offences of our ancestors.’

  It can and it will! The draykon’s anger flared in Ynara’s brain and pain gripped her head. She felt a trickle of warm blood on her upper lip; her nose had begun to bleed.

  ‘What do you aim to achieve by this attack? Perhaps an agreement could be reached -’

  I want revenge! Nothing less!

  Ynara’s heart sank. Revenge was a goal with which she couldn’t argue. A thirst for revenge was unappeasable, a thirst that could only be slaked through carnage.

  ‘Please, there must be some way to make amends without -’

  You intrigue me, human. The draykon’s mind-speech changed suddenly from anger to curiosity. I sense something of the draykon about you. Why do you wear that shape?

  Disconcerted, Ynara couldn’t immediately find her tongue. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she replied. ‘I am human.’

  Then yours is a double betrayal and you shall be among the first to fall. The anger was back, and it was aimed at her with deadly force.

  Ynara released the cloak, folded her wings and dropped, just as the draykon struck. She was too late, or too slow; the beast barrelled into her, its enormous body hitting hers with staggering force. Pain blossomed throughout her bruised body and with a shriek of agony she fell, hitting the ground hard.

  This second impact jolted her broken body further, but she could only voice the barest whimper of protest. She lay in the deep moss staring at the sky, barely aware of her fading consciousness.

  As she slipped into blackness she thought she saw a flicker in the skies, streaks of blue-green and ghostly grey darting across the heavens. A scream of intense fury split the air, rending her ears with shock and rage. Then consciousness faded altogether and she knew no more.

  ***

  Llandry was in draykon-shape and on the wing, Pensould flying at her side. The towering caps of Waeverleyne’s glissenwol dwellings had just appeared on the horizon when the first screams reached her ears.

  Draykon cries, unmistakeably.

  We’re too late!

  She beat her tired wings harder, forcing herself to triple her speed.

  Peace, Minchu, it may not be as you fear.

  She ignored Pensould’s counsel, all her thoughts bent on her mother and father. She cursed herself, cursed Limbane and Pensould, cursed everything. Limbane had sworn that time as she knew it was not passing while she had been cooped up in the Library, but how could that be true? If so then Isand had reached Waeverleyne with impossible speed.

  Remembering the other draykon’s boundless anger, though, perhaps it was not impossible. She was driven by the sort of fury Llandry had never known. She should have anticipated that, spared no effort herself to reach her mother before Isand had time to enact her plan of revenge.

  As she arrived in the skies over Waeverleyne with Pensould hard behind her, all other thoughts faded. She saw Isand, flanked by two draykons Llandry had never seen before. She took in the crowds of panicking Glinnish citizens filling the ground and the air, some fighting to escape the city and others, stupidly, watching the conflict.

  Then she saw the lone human figure that hovered in the air before Isand’s massive jaws. Slender and frail she looked in contrast, her black hair blown loose by the wind, her dark blue wings beating fast to hold her aloft.

  Llandry would know her mother anywhere.

  Ynara was holding a length of rippling white fabric. The sight sent her heart plummeting; she could have told her mother that parley would not work on Isand.

  Then yours is a double betrayal and you shall be among the first to fall.r />
  The words were Isand’s, spoken at a volume to cause Llandry a small whimper of pain. She screamed a warning, screamed again as Isand struck her mother to earth. Watching Ynara plummet to the ground, Llandry shrieked with uncontrollable fury.

  Ah, now she understood how Isand felt.

  Pensould’s voice joined hers in a shattering roar. He flew to the attack, but Llandry angled down, down to the ground. She was human again in seconds, changing so fast that she couldn’t walk properly on her human legs. She staggered to her mother’s side and dropped down beside her.

  ‘Mamma! Ma, speak to me.’

  No use; Ynara lay unconscious, blood covering the lower part of her face and bruises everywhere on her honey-coloured skin. She didn’t wake.

  Sigwide lay in the moss where he’d fallen from Llandry’s back. She felt a twinge of pain from him as he staggered onto his feet.

  Ouch, he grumbled.

  She scooped him up, hugging him close as several human figures ran towards her. One woman dropped to her knees on Ynara’s other side, ripping open some kind of bag.

  ‘I’m from the infirmary,’ she gasped, breathless from the run. ‘I’ll take care of her. I need you to move away, miss.’

  Llandry felt like clinging to her mother, all her adult rationality wiped away in the wake of pure fear and anxiety. She forced it down, nodding.

  She couldn’t help to heal her mother, but she could avenge her injury. Finding the ball of anger still coiled inside her, she cultivated it into a blaze of fury.

  Stay with Ma, she said to Sigwide, placing him near Ynara’s feet. She didn’t wait for his agreement. Backing away, she flashed back into her draykon shape, ignoring the gasps of shock and fear from the assembled crowds. In seconds she was back in the air, arrowing towards Isand.