by Den Patrick
‘Tread softly here, Steiner. She’s not going to be thrilled that you missed the boat after she gave up the amulet.’
‘I’m not thrilled either. I’m less thrilled about what I have to do next.’
‘Are you going to share this plan?’ said Taiga. She had one arm around her sister and a look of wariness on her slender face.
‘I’m going to ask to borrow a dragon,’ said Steiner.
‘A dragon?’ said Tief. ‘Couldn’t think of anything more damn foolish to do, I suppose?’
‘You know me,’ said Steiner, glancing over the Ashen Court as they crowded about him. He held the flickering amulet a little higher. ‘Come on.’
Kimi acknowledged their arrival with a grunt.
‘Hoy there,’ said Steiner, sounding a good deal more cheerful than he felt. Kimi continued her work. ‘I didn’t manage to get aboard the ship.’
‘I have eyes.’ Breathing hard, she hammered a piece of steel where it lay across the anvil.
‘Shirinov sent Khigir to stall me. We defeated him.’ Steiner spared a glance for Tief, Taiga and Sundra and felt a swell of gratitude. ‘But by the time we defeated Khigir—’
‘Shirinov had set sail,’ said Kimi. Another clang as the hammer continued its brutal work shaping the metal. ‘Leaving you in charge of the island, I suppose?’
‘I don’t want to be in charge—’
‘Do you know how many cinderwraiths have found their way down here in the last hour?’ Another deafening peal as Kimi’s hammer fell. ‘Newly created cinderwraiths?’
‘I …’ Steiner’s eyes widened as he thought of the bodies sprawled across Academy Square, each one bearing a soul that had since been captured by the Ashen Torment. ‘I didn’t think—’
‘No,’ said Kimi, ‘you didn’t. You’re like every other Northman I’ve met.’ Hammer and anvil rang out again. ‘Impulse first, consequence later.’
‘That’s hardly fair, Kimi,’ said Taiga.
‘Death is inevitable,’ said Sundra.
‘We had to fight,’ added Tief. ‘We couldn’t just smuggle the lad aboard.’
‘There won’t be any more cinderwraiths now,’ said Steiner. ‘The dragon statue in Academy Square was the key. I destroyed it.’
‘What?’ Kimi paused from beating the steel and frowned.
‘The Ashen Torment worked in tandem with the statue. One artefact to bind the souls to the island, one to command them.’
‘And you know that for a fact, do you?’ said Kimi.
It is as he says. Silverdust drifted up onto the dais and Kimi blinked in surprise.
‘No more cinderwraiths,’ added Steiner. ‘I promise.’
‘That may be, but I trusted you with that.’ Kimi pointed at the amulet hanging from the chain, the dragon carving flickered with arcane flame. ‘And you’ve made everything worse.’
Steiner didn’t care for the way Kimi pointed at the amulet. He’d had his fill of people pointing at him over the years. Usually they pointed because of his strange sister, wrapped up in her daydreams of folklore and old gods. Other times they pointed and sniggered behind their hands, ‘There goes the illiterate blacksmith’s son. Too stupid to take over his father’s business.’
‘I’ve made everything worse?’ replied Steiner with an incredulous curl to his lip. ‘Worse than being enslaved underground? Worse than being forced to make weapons that will kill people in Shanisrond?’ He looked around at the cold furnaces. ‘Worse than being starved if we don’t fulfil the quotas for arms and armour?’
‘Steiner, calm yourself. She’s a right to be worried,’ said Tief.
‘Worse than working for an Empire that doesn’t care if we live or die?’ continued Steiner, feeling the heat of his anger and frustration.
‘I gave you the amulet, didn’t I?’ said Kimi. ‘And we’re no better off than we were before we freed you.’
‘Yes,’ said Steiner quietly, ‘and I’m grateful, but now I need something else. Now I need your dragon.’
‘Själsstyrka?’ Kimi frowned, incomprehension rather than anger.
‘You named it?’ said Tief.
‘I thought we all agreed not to name them,’ added Taiga. ‘It’s less upsetting when they die that way.’
‘Death comes to us all, even dragons,’ muttered Sundra. Steiner wondered if she wasn’t a little delirious after the fight.
‘She’s called Själsstyrka?’ asked Steiner.
‘Who said it was a female?’ said Tief. ‘Suddenly the boy is an expert on dragons.’
‘I always thought of the silver one as a girl, I suppose.’ Steiner shrugged and felt a touch embarrassed.
‘I always thought Själsstyrka was a girl too,’ said Kimi, pressing her thumb to her lips, eyes lost to thought. ‘So,’ she said after a few moments, ‘we’ll need to feed her up first. She’s weak and there’s no telling how she’ll feel about you wanting to ride her like a horse.’
‘You’ll be fortunate if she doesn’t eat you alive,’ said Tief.
‘It is as the bones foretold,’ said Sundra.
‘We need to get moving.’ Steiner jutted his head towards the wide corridor that led to the dragons. ‘I don’t want Shirinov to reach Cinderfell before I do.’
‘I’m so glad we didn’t bring everyone we know down here,’ said Tief, passing an annoyed glance across Kimi, Silverdust, Taiga, Sundra and the host of cinderwraiths following in Steiner’s wake. ‘It’s not like we’re about to let this dragon slip free of her bonds for the first time. I mean, we wouldn’t want to startle her.’
‘It’s not the first time,’ said Kimi. ‘I let her stretch her wings and her legs once a day.’
Tief stared at Kimi as if she had lost her mind. ‘Once a day? When do you find the time?’
‘I make time,’ said Kimi as she unlocked the heavy padlocks with a ring of keys retrieved from a back pocket.
Maxim pushed his way to the front of the crowd, eyes wide with shock. ‘Be careful, Steiner,’ he whispered.
‘You’ll want to bring that bucket of beef over here,’ she added. ‘Being unchained means food, and there’s no telling what will happen if there’s no meat.’
Steiner fetched the bucket of gristle and stepped towards Själsstyrka. Tief’s eyes were wide with anticipation, while Silverdust remained inscrutable behind his mask, a dozen feet away.
‘Perhaps we should give her a little room,’ admitted Steiner. Everyone shuffled back, the sense of excitement almost as bad as the feeling of dread. One by one the chains fell to the floor, rattling as they went, scraping on the flagstones. The other dragons stirred and tails swished with agitation or excitement. Steiner looked down at his own chain, still wrapped about his wrist like a bracer. He’d endured three days of such confinement, he couldn’t imagine the dragons’ misery.
‘Själsstyrka,’ said Kimi, tenderly.
‘It’s a good name,’ admitted Steiner as the dragon slumped to the floor. It paused a moment before standing on all four legs and arching its back. Talons flexed and clawed at stone and Steiner offered a fistful of beef.
‘They caught her in Drakefjord when she was young,’ explained Kimi. ‘It’s rare when that happens. Most of them are born into captivity.’
Själsstyrka growled a moment, then snatched the beef from Steiner’s hand. He felt the teeth brush his open palm and struggled not to flinch.
‘There are still dragons in the wild?’ asked Steiner.
‘Not many,’ admitted Kimi. ‘They never make it to maturity. They know to stay close to Shanisrond and Svingettevei. Any further north is too cold for them. It seemed right I give her a name in Nordspråk, so I called her Själsstyrka.’
‘I don’t know that word,’ admitted Maxim. ‘What does it mean?’
‘It’s an old word, an antiquated word for “fortitude”,’ said Sundra. ‘I had no idea you were so conversant in languages, Kimi.’
Steiner offered more meat to the snapping jaws of the silver dragon. Själsstyrka appeared to d
elight in cracking open the bones, causing Steiner to wince.
‘I once hoped to travel and found trade routes with the Scorched Republics,’ said Kimi. ‘I wanted Yamal to enjoy riches again.’ Another hunk of beef disappeared down the dragon’s gullet. ‘But the Empire will never let the Yamal be free, never let us choose our own way.’
Själsstyrka gave a low rumble, her slitted eyes blinked, then became heavy-lidded. Steiner had run out of beef and took a step back, suddenly afraid he might be next.
‘That’s good,’ said Sundra. ‘She’s sated now.’ The priestess approached the dragon and held out a hand, palm outstretched. ‘Hush now, Själsstyrka. You are fed and sleepy, but you are not so strong that you do not need my help.’
Själsstyrka sniffed at the slender hand of the black-garbed priestess and eyed her with wariness.
‘Hush now, close your eyes and kneel before me. My kin have never been allies of your kind, only prey. But let us not think of such things.’
To Steiner’s surprise Själsstyrka folded her legs beneath her and lay on the flagstones. Her sinuous neck remained upright, and the wedge of her long skull pointed towards the priestess like a spearhead. Sundra stepped closer, resting her palm on the ridge of bone between Själsstyrka’s eyes.
‘You can bet your boots you’ll never see the likes of this again,’ said Tief, tugging at one ear. Sundra turned her head, beckoning to Steiner with her free hand.
‘Come, kneel before me in the presence of the goddess. Let us see if we can join your will with Själsstyrka’s.’
Steiner stepped forward, unnerved to his very bones. ‘I have to kneel? Are you sure she’s had enough to eat?’
‘You must be joined,’ said Sundra in a harsh whisper. ‘Kneel.’ Steiner did as he was told, closing his eyes and releasing a shaky breath.
‘Remember what I told you,’ said Sundra. ‘Release yourself from thoughts of this island. Release all concerns for unfeeling stone and wretched suffering. Hush now.’
Though it took long moments to calm himself, Steiner was back in the echo of the forest, a memory of the woodlands Sundra carried within herself. The snowdrops had gone but the trees were lush and green; tall grasses swayed in a gentle wind. Ferns crowded together and the stream reflected silver in the sunlight, like steel, like Själsstyrka. Steiner breathed the gentle scent of the woodland, savouring the rich earth and pleasant warmth of summer. Two crows occupied a low branch and muttered to one another. Woodsmoke drifted on the air.
‘Pay attention,’ whispered Sundra. She stood before him in the clearing, just as she had done in the chamber of dragons. One hand rested on Själsstyrka’s brow while the other was a cool presence on Steiner’s forehead. Her black robes were more splendid here, the bird bones polished, tiny flecks of black glass sewn along the collar. Bangles of obsidian hung from her slender wrists.
‘You look different,’ whispered Steiner.
‘I am here as I used to be,’ said Sundra, wistful. ‘I am here as I remember myself best. Free and young and beautiful.’
Själsstyrka released a long growl from deep in her chest and Steiner struggled not to panic and run behind the nearest tree.
‘Tell her,’ said Sundra.
‘Tell her what?’
‘That you need her help, of course.’
‘Will she understand me?’
‘Don’t put it into words, merely think it, imagine it, picture it in your mind.’
Steiner thought of Cinderfell and riding Själsstyrka through the clouds.
‘That’s good,’ whispered Sundra. ‘What else?’
Steiner imagined the long skull jabbing forward at soldiers, splitting wide open to reveal rows of teeth. He imagined the great wings buffeting Shirinov and knocking him into the sea.
‘Yes, that’s it,’ said Sundra.
Steiner breathed deeply and felt the strangest sensation: reaching his arms wide, stretching his limbs until they were held out at his sides, magnificent and strong. Not arms, he realized, wings. Själsstyrka’s wings were opened, almost filling the clearing. The silver was more vibrant, iridescent and startling, hues of blue and purple shimmering beneath the surface. There was a moment taut with expectation, an undercurrent of anxiety. Steiner imagined being swept up in her claws and wrenched into the sky.
‘She will smell your fear,’ said Sundra. ‘Clear your mind!’
The wings snapped down and a gust of air made the leaves and twigs dance in the clearing. Another beat of the vast silver wings forced Steiner backwards and he held up one hand to his eyes.
‘Look,’ said Sundra, her voice full of awe. Above the canopy of the trees, against a pale blue cloudless sky, Själsstyrka held herself aloft with great beats of scaled and powerful wings.
‘Själsstyrka is ready to fly,’ said Sundra with reverence. ‘Are you?’
Steiner nodded. ‘And Frøya keep me close,’ he whispered.
CHAPTER FORTY
Kjellrunn
The people of Solmindre do not deal with loss well, and I write this as one of them. A Solmindre serf scowls at death, curses its name, and spits on the floor at barely a mention of the afterlife. They despise those taken for having the audacity to die. A great deal of blame is heaped upon the deceased until the vodka flows, and then finally, tears may be seen.
– Untainted Histories Volume 3: Serebryanyy Pyli
‘It didn’t take them long to arrive,’ said Kjellrunn, taking a moment to catch her breath. She’d not dug a grave before and couldn’t say she cared for it much. A murder of crows filled the trees above them, all muttering to one another, extending black wings and calling out every so often.
Marek raised eyes from the turned earth and looked across the clearing. The bodies of the Okhrana lay strewn across the ground, smashed trees watched over the scene of devastation. Snapped branches and upturned stones littered the ground.
‘Crows,’ said Mistress Kamalov. She sat outside the chalet, staring at the desolation as if in a trance. ‘Lady Frejna’s messengers and consorts all. They heed the call of death and bear witness to it.’
‘Let’s hope there’s no more death to come,’ said Kjellrunn, though she didn’t feel much optimism.
‘There’s always more death to come,’ said Mistress Kamalov. ‘It’s the only truth you can count on in life.’
‘How deep should we make it?’ asked Kjellrunn, flashing a glance at Marek, who was glowering at the old Vigilant.
‘A good few feet,’ said Marek after a pause. ‘Or the scavengers will dig him up and that’s no good. You might want to get in there and dig.’
Kjellrunn climbed into the shallow trench and thrust the spade into the earth, lifting and shovelling and lifting again. Long minutes passed by and the soil grew in a heap. Kjellrunn paused to catch her breath.
‘I keep thinking he’s at his cottage in town,’ she said. ‘Or he’ll come to us tonight with empty pockets and that big, broad smile of his.’ Kjellrunn eyed the bundle of old canvas. Not much of a shroud, but it was all they had. She hoped Verner would understand.
‘I know,’ said Marek with tears in his eyes. ‘It’s hard, and it will always be hard. Sometimes you’ll find yourself thinking of him as if he were an old friend who moved to the next town. Then you’ll remember, and all the pain and sadness will return.’
Kjellrunn wiped her tears with the back of a muddied hand. ‘First my brother, now my uncle.’
‘Verner died protecting you,’ said Marek. ‘A hero’s death. He didn’t drown in a squall, or get knifed in bar fight gone bad. He died a proper death, resisting the Empire, looking out for those he loved. And Steiner’s not dead.’
‘He may as well be if we can’t get to the island.’
‘He’s not dead,’ repeated Marek. ‘Don’t speak that way.’
A glimmer of light snared their attention. Mistress Kamalov hobbled closer, holding up a lantern. ‘It gets dark so quickly.’ Her voice was tree bark and grit, eyes unfocused. ‘Frejna only knows why you’d bring y
our family this far north.’
‘I wanted to be close to the island,’ said Marek. ‘My wife was sent there for a time. After she died, well, I just didn’t have it in me to start over somewhere else.’
Kjellrunn pulled herself out of the grave. ‘She was a Vigilant, and you a lowly soldier. It doesn’t make any sense.’
‘An unlikely combination,’ agreed Mistress Kamalov.
‘Not that lowly as it turns out. I was a sergeant. I knew her for a long time, and things happen when you serve alongside someone. A trust develops, even for someone in a mask.’ Marek looked up at the darkening sky and sighed. ‘We always knew what the Empire was doing was wrong. We hoped things would change in time. We hoped the leaders would become less complacent, less intolerant, less vindictive.’
‘You’ve been waiting a long time,’ said Mistress Kamalov. ‘We all have.’
‘That’s how it goes with power.’ Marek looked away to the clearing and the many corpses, where the crows had begun their grisly feast. ‘Given to someone great, power is a boon to all. Given to someone weak, it’s a curse to everyone else.’
Kjellrunn remembered how the arcane had surged through her, lifting her from the ground, coursing through every fibre of her body, an irresistible storm. ‘I don’t want to use my power again,’ she said. ‘Not after today.’
Mistress Kamalov and Marek stared for a moment.
‘I’ll let you bury Verner,’ she added. ‘I can’t be here to watch that. I won’t …’ Any other words were lost to the thick swell in her throat, washed away by the tears tracking down her cheeks. She stalked away, letting the shovel drop without a care.
Kjellrunn was on the floor of the chalet when Mistress Kamalov found her. She was staring into the flames hoping to forget the many corpses outside and what she had done. The old woman’s breaths sounded gently in the silence, her eyes glimmering firelight.
‘Too bad the roof has mostly gone,’ said Mistress Kamalov. ‘And too bad I have to move home so soon. I was just settling in.’
Kjellrunn bowed her head and wept. She wept for Verner in his canvas shroud. She wept for her father beaten and broken by the Okhrana. She wept for Steiner, alive on the island yet impossible to reach.
