by K. V. Wilson
In a distant corner of my mind, I hear Aelshen and Greg arguing over what best course of action to take. For once, Aelshen hadn’t joined in the booze fest; he seemed intent on reliving past lives with the newfound Nwyfre.
Centuries apart certainly did things to their friendship, and part of me wonders whether the great dragon would walk out again if Aelshen disagreed with one of his plans. But Greg Flint had spent most of his life with Aelshen at the pub; the burly bartender had practically raised the boy. Maybe the young dragon would keep that in mind as he began to remember times long past.
Maybe that’s why Flint didn’t beat Aelshen up as much as he’d threatened to.
I glance at Conall, amused to hear soft snoring emanating from his crumpled form. His hand still holds mine, and I lean my head against his shoulder, ignoring the strong scents of ale and sweat from the long journey he and the other Lycans had embarked on.
I’d flown out too after I’d learned of Nwyfre’s return. It had taken me most of the day, but I’d finally located the contingents of Lycans and Yeva’si to inform them to head back to the barn. I’d been unable to find Quinn’s party, and of course it all made sense now; Flint had been with them. He would’ve told Quinn to head back, and she’d kept a straight face while knowing all along what the avatar planned to do to Aelshen once the poor Lycan returned.
I close my eyes and concentrate on Xáan’s spirit once more. It has become a new habit of mine; I have to make sure the shapeshifter will recover fully from the wounds I inflicted upon him.
“Crap,” I breathe as I realize he’s gone from his perch atop the hay bales. My eyes flutter open and I gingerly withdraw my hand from Conall’s grasp. I stand up abruptly, wincing at the buzz from the ale.
“Careful, child,” a voice cautions me in Yeva’si. My muddled-up brain takes a few moments to register which voice it is. I stare up into the soft hazel eyes of Xunnu.
Crap, I repeat, though inwardly this time. I accept the chieftain’s hand as he helps me up. I hadn’t realized I’d stumbled.
“Skye,” he begins.
“I’m…sorry,” I mumble, trying unsuccessfully not to slur my words. “Xáan…”
“He is fine. I know you acted on an impulse.” He chuckles softly. “You’ve done what I have wanted to do for years.”
“Couldn’t down three, could ye lass?” another voice inquires.
I wince, trying to focus on Aelshen as he grabs hold of my other arm and helps Xunnu take me to one of the waiting tents.
Th-three?
“Lycan’s Head is strong liquor, mind ye. ‘Twas invented to take our minds off the hard times.”
“And it did a good job of it, looks like,” Flint adds, smirking at me as our eyes meet. “Skye, I’m honoured that you finally decided to give it a taste.”
“Mmm,” is all I can manage in response.
The three of them burst into laughter at my expense. As soon as I reach the tent, however, I feel myself beginning to slip away. The last thing I remember is the soft caress of a pillow against my cheek and the warmth of a thick blanket draped across my tired limbs.
43
TO RIGHT PAST WRONGS
Aelshen
“I propose a scouting mission to the heart of Saint Patrick’s army,” Flint announces, folding his arms and jutting out his chin fer emphasis.
“If he can be trusted to remember where it is,” Duncan scoffs.
Matthews narrows his eyes at the ex-beta, but unfortunately fer us all, that doesn’t deter him from continuing.
“Yer just going to trust this wee fellow, a late addition to the leadership team?”
I give the Lycan a withering look. “Compared with Nwyfre, MacLarty, yer the wee one. This lad’s hardly a lad; he’s thousands of years old, he is.”
“Figuratively,” Flint adds with a smirk, meeting the ex-beta’s eyes.
Duncan bristles. Normally, a man with wolf blood would take this as a challenge – and that’s what Flint means fer it to be – but Duncan has no interest in taking on an ancient dragon. My heart sinks a little in disappointment; I’m sure we all want to see Nwyfre go bonkers on Duncan’s sorry arse. His arrogance has ripened drastically o’er these past few hours.
“So, what’s the verdict?” the beta George asks, scanning the contingent of shapeshifters. “Wait. Where are David and Xunnu? We can’t make a decision without those two.”
Ace offers, “Checking on that bloke. Xáan.”
Matthews ignores George and Ace. “I agree that we need to go on the offensive, but not until we have exhausted all possibilities.”
“If we don’t get a move on soon,” Duncan sneers, “yer daughter’ll pick us off, one by one.”
I glance at Skye warily, and the look on her face is enough to bring a tear to anyone’s eye.
“I shouldn’t be here,” she whispers, turning to leave Quinn’s living room. The middle-age dragoness places a hand on the girl’s shoulder, meeting her eyes.
“Stay,” she commands without really meaning to. Even though she utters the words under her breath, Flint an’ I can hear them as clear as day. “We need your guidance as much as anyone else’s. Especially with people like him around,” Quinn adds, flicking her russet eyes towards Duncan with malice.
Skye mutters something that not even I can decipher, but she takes her place again, leaning against the back wall. The rest of us sit upon Quinn’s crimson furniture. Dragons seem to hold a soft place in their fiery cores for red decorating.
Glancing over at Elspeth, I stifle a chuckle. She’s found an armchair quite like her own. Quinn had better watch it; Elspeth will probably end up taking it home with her. Me heart sinks as I remember that the she-dragon and her husband, Ramsey, have nowhere to go after all is said an’ done. The Knights of Saint Patty destroyed their home.
“Ramsey,” Elspeth begins in her characteristic husky voice. She pushes her wire-rim spectacles higher on her bony nose while simultaneously elbowing her husband out of his near-slumber.
“Huh? What?” the elderly male dragon gasps, seeming to forget where he is fer a few seconds.
“Okay,” Matthews says, “for now, the plan is to scout out the Knights’ hideout. Get a good look at their army and the weapons they’ve been keeping under wraps. Nwyfre, tell us more.”
“In my last life,” Flint begins, eyes shining with rage, “I’d come to the conclusion that Patercius’ followers operated out of an underground location in Conwy—”
“Mo chreach!” I blurt out. “I was just there mere weeks ago. If they’d seen me…”
“What’d ye do, Guardian?” Duncan spits the word as if it’s a curse rather than a renowned title. “Shift in public again?”
I glare daggers at the son of a goat. “I saved yer son’s life the other day, stray. Damian and the other Lycans barely escaped the airport without me help!”
“Enough!” Matthews shouts, stepping forward so he stands between me and Duncan. “You are outranked, Duncan, so hold your tongue. And you,” he continues, turning towards me, “had better be careful, Mac Tíre. The Lìog Airgid has changed much since you founded it. And so have our enemies.”
Me eyes grow wide but I say nothin’ further on the matter. So he finally acknowledges the fact that I founded this organization.
“Keep going, Nwyfre,” Matthews commands, an’ I note that even though he’s showin’ more admiration fer the young man, he still looks down upon him. ‘Tis a shame.
“Patercius was a smart man; we can’t deny that,” Flint continues. “He had his lair carved out underground, like a network of caves. But the ceilings and passageways are barely able to contain a full-size man, let alone a dragon.”
“But how’s about a smaller creature? Did he think o’ that?” I give the lad a wink.
“’Course not,” Flint smiles. “He didn’t know. We were always careful to keep that from him, no matter how hard he pushed us.”
Me thoughts run back to the time I’d taken a sword to the heart t
o allow me Druids to escape Patercius’ wrath. I could very well have Shifted an’ been done with it, but how far would that have gotten us in the long run?
“So the Knights have full control o’ Conwy, now.” I shake me head in contempt. The dragon nods, eyes glinting with rage.
“What we need is a small group of expendable people,” Duncan says matter-of-factly. “I propose Thirteen and—”
“What we need is for you to shut up!”
I’m surprised to see that the voice belongs to the beta, George. All eyes are on him now, an’ though I can tell that he wants to crawl into a corner, he doesn’t. I award him a prideful smile an’ he nods at me in return.
“We’re not going to put anyone in needless danger.”
“I second that,” Matthews adds. “What we need are shapeshifters. Yeva’si or Spiritborne would suffice. Just not Skye. She’s not ready—”
“Au contraire,” I interject, glancing at Flint fer support.
The Ddraig nods, a small smile breaking out on his face. “Ru-Yeva?”
Skye steps forward, glancing at Flint in confusion. “Yes?”
“Your lessons begin now,” he says firmly before turning back to me.
Skye smiles, relief washing over her face as she listens in to our telepathy.
Flint clears his throat, meeting the alpha’s eyes. “Ramsey, Skye, Xáan, and Xera are my choice for this mission.”
“It’s not up to you!” Matthews sputters. “Skye’s not going anywhere!”
“It’s not Skye’s decision or yours,” Flint tells the alpha of the Lìog Airgid. “It’s the Ru-Yeva’s.”
I give the two o’ them a mental chuckle.
“Insolence,” Duncan mutters.
“I will go,” Skye tells the leaders, not meeting her father’s eyes, “to right wrongs in this life and my last. But on one condition.”
“Yes?” I inquire of her.
“Well, two actually. I want Koyah to come if he’s able. If he agrees.”
“O’course. And the second?”
“You said my lessons were to begin, Greg. Does that mean you remember all of it? Everything there is to teach me?”
“Not everything, but it’s rapidly coming back to me,” Flint replies with a haughty snort. “Aelshen raised me and taught me all the spiritual history he knows. In excruciating detail.”
“I’m in,” Skye says darkly.
“You are not!” Matthews spits, pushing past the other Lycans to catch the Guardian before she can exit the room. “Skye, stop!”
“If you wanted me to be your daughter, you should have made an effort before,” Ru-Yeva says softly without turning around. “I’m not just Skye anymore, and I have a bigger role to play than that of a porcelain doll sitting on your shelf.”
Matthews freezes for a split second, gaping at his only daughter. To me surprise, George steps in front of the alpha. He won’t meet Todd’s eyes, but his body language tells it all. Quinn comes up on his left, staring Matthews down with her fiery russet eyes.
I give the Lycan and the Ddraig a prideful glance, crossing me hairy arms across me chest.
“Mac Tíre?” Flint calls o’er his shoulder as he and Skye exit Quinn’s living room.
“Aye, lad?”
“Try not to get this hideout burned down like you did the last one.”
“Yeah,” Quinn adds with a warm smile that makes me heart melt, “or you’ll have us to reckon with.”
44
TRAITORS
Skye
The flight to Conwy is long and strenuous. We’ve attempted to skirt around the larger towns because Ramsey, being a bright red reptile, has to stay out of sight. But the high altitude is wearing on the rest of us, even Flint. He figured he should stay in raven form for the journey; one dragon would be harder to spot than two. “Plus, I haven’t used other forms in sixteen years. I miss them,” he’d told us.
And I miss dragon form, I think, defeated. I’d attempted to Shift into the great draconic shape before we’d departed, but I’d been unable to do so. I resolved to attempt again once this little mission was over with. At least I know I’d been able to transform into a Ddraig at some point; flashes of faint memories surface every time I think about it.
Since none of us can speak to entertain ourselves, Flint and I spend the journey using our telepathy.
He pauses as we navigate a particularly hazardous wind current, banking heavily to the left as we follow Xáan and Xera. Ramsey soars overhead, mostly shrouded in clouds, and Koyah trails behind. I glance back every so often to make sure Sejka’s brother is still with us.
I narrow my raven eyes in jealousy.
I raise my eyebrows. Or at least I would, if I had any.
A harsh wind buffets Flint and I dart aside to avoid it. Glancing around, I note that Koyah has copied my manoeuvre. He flaps harder, coming up beside me.
I fall silent, stealing a glance at Xáan. I try unsuccessfully to rid my mind of his scarred, burned face. He will forever bear those scars, despite the fact that his skin had been healed by the efforts of the three Spiritborne. He will bear those scars because of me.
We camp at the southernmost point of the river Conwy. It’s still a half-day’s journey to the town, and Flint informs us that we will be sneaking in at dusk tomorrow. The dragon makes a small fire and we all sit around it. I try not to meet the eyes of the shapeshifters.
“Let’s get some sleep,” Flint says finally. “I’ll take first watch.”
“I second that, young Guardian,” Ramsey says with a wink. “Let’s be gettin’ some shuteye.”
I repeat this in Yeva’si for the benefit of the three shapeshifters.
“Why do we need to keep watch? We are in the middle of nowhere,” Xáan inquires, glaring at me. I flinch as the firelight flickers across the scarred tissue of the shapeshifter’s face. Traces of scorch marks entwine across his cheeks. Seeing my glance, the man stretches his mouth into a small smile. He’s reveling in my discomfort.
“I am sorry,” I whisper to him, aware that all eyes are on me. And I’m glad Flint suggested that someone stay awake as a lookout. Otherwise Xáan might not allow me to survive the night.
“I will take next watch,” Xera offers. She places a hand on her father’s shoulder and he turns towards her. They exchange a glance, but it isn’t one of love.
Flint clears his throat. “Get some sleep. I’ll wake you when it’s time, Xera.”
I lay with my eyes wide open for what feels like hours. Every time my mind begins to slip away, my body flinches, yanking me back into reality. The reality of Xáan’s scars, the fire lapping at his skin with the hooked tongue of some dark monster, threatening to consume him whole.
My fire.
My anger, amplified tenfold with every thought, every memory of his betrayal.
I waited, alighted on a tree branch high above the chieftain’s tent, my talons digging ruthlessly into the bark. My heart thumped like thunder in my tiny chest, and I was barely strong enough to hold down the intensity of the flames surging inside of me.
Below, Sehwen and Xunnu sat huddled around a small fire. Xáan stood a few feet away, watching with eager eyes as the dying sun finally slipped below the horizon. I reached out with my mind’s eye to feel his spirit; there was deep anger in his heart. And there was jealousy. The same jealousy I’d felt from my brother when he looked into my eyes and saw the power of the universe within them.
