It was as strange a feeling as Sinjin had ever felt, as he stood by his dragon's side and watched the Drakon show him their respect. The gifts were generous beyond anything Sinjin had ever received, even if indirectly, given the scarcity. These objects were the things that the Drakon had poured all their resources into creating. These were the hopes and the dreams of the Drakon, the Dragon clan, and perhaps the Arghast collectively. Sinjin couldn't claim to understand the Arghast legends and beliefs, yet he was now deeply entrenched in them. He came to know then how his mother must have once felt. He was part of something over which he had no control and very little understanding, yet his actions would write history. The pressure of it made him tremble.
After the gifts had been given, the Drakon came to Sinjin. He stood before them, humbled and a little shocked. They had all just effectively ignored him in the moments before, but he now realized that they saw things differently. The respect they showed him now made it clear the insult was only perceived; Sinjin reminded himself to be careful of that; he was among a community whose rules he did not know and whose traditions were a mystery to him. If only someone could tell him exactly what it was he was supposed to do. The world was falling apart, and he knew so few of the things needed to make any difference whatsoever, yet here were these people standing before him.
"May we help you assemble your saddle?" Mikala asked, Arakhan at her side.
The two had continued to grow in power and influence, and they wore it well. Sinjin was proud of his mother's choices. Though he missed her dearly, she had, in many ways, made this easier for him. Even if he did still face insurmountable challenges; she'd done what she could. No one could have predicted what the future held, even those who seemed to have some uncanny ability to catch glimpses of the future. Her struggle was over, it seemed, and his had only just begun.
* * *
Numb, Allette followed Thundegar and Rastas in a haze; only the light of comets and the moon shining through the patchwork of clouds lighting their way. Thundegar looked over his shoulder, looking near worn out but still determined. What looked like annoyance crossed his face for an instant, but it was replaced by concern and empathy. "I'm sorry."
Allette said nothing; there were no words. She did meet his eyes, and there was an apology in them.
"Do your best to keep up," he said.
It was pointless, Allette knew, but Thundegar would not give up; he would persist until they died horrible deaths in the swamps and marshes. There was no cover between the jungle and the Cloud Forest, only open expanses of marsh, swamp, and desert, and there would be no place to hide. With ferals in the skies, those were the last places they should go, but still she could find no words. Something inside of her was broken, and she wasn't certain it could ever be mended. The pain was unbearable, and only the need to survive, driven by primal instinct, kept her going. Already the trees were thinning, and the marshes could be seen through the gaps. Despite her thoughts, she continued to follow, unwilling to let Thundegar and Rastas go, yet unable to make them stay.
Not long after the trees were left behind, they found their canoe, which had been mostly claimed by the grasses; even if there had been large enough channels to row through, getting it out intact looked like an impossibility. Thundegar gave her a wistful look and shook his head before moving on. Again she wanted to speak out, to plead with him to stay in the jungle where they at least had some chance, however slim, but still she could not. Tears of frustration flowed freely.
"Are you all right?" Thundegar asked when he next looked back.
Allette shook her head.
"Can you tell me what's wrong?"
Again she shook her head.
Thundegar was about to ask another question, but he went silent when the light around them shifted. He cast his gaze to the skies, and Allette did as well, feeling like a squirrel looking for the hawk. When she saw a dark shape block the light as it moved across the skies, she couldn't help but draw a sharp breath. Waves of fear washed over her, and her strength fled. Thundegar had said that the ferals didn't fly at night and that he, Allette, and Rastas could hide themselves within the grasses during the day. She'd been skeptical of his plan from the beginning, knowing the sands waited beyond, and the thought of being buried in the sand along with the snakes and scorpions frightened her almost as much as the black swamp did. Now knowing the dragons could and did fly at night, the plan seemed hopeless. They'd be lucky to make it back to the trees. She knew they were scant protection, but they were preferable to the wide openness of the marsh.
Silently he pointed back the way they had come, and they moved with all the speed they could muster over the unpredictable and spongy landscape. Thundegar took a bad step and slid up to his knee in mud. Twice he tried to pull himself free, but the quagmire held him fast. Grunting, he tried again, and Rastas huddled nearby, crouched low, his ears folded back. When Allette heard the first growl, she thought it was Rastas, but the cat sat trembling before her and was incapable of issuing a growl as deep as the next one she heard. This one sounded like drums being played in a cave, and she could feel it as well as hear it. Thundegar's movements became more frantic, and Allette reached out to him, trying to help pull him free. There was a long sucking sound, and they both fell backward, Thundegar's bare foot suddenly free of the mud and his boot.
Before either of them could move or react, the big cats struck. Rastas let out a high-pitched howl, and one of the much larger cats squared off with him. More cats came, and Thundegar pushed himself backward with his hands and feet. Allette could not move quickly enough, and a massive paw struck her in the face, the claws only a hair's width from raking her eyes. Sent tumbling backward, Allette was separated from Thundegar and Rastas. She could see their forms struggling in the comet light. Dividing them was the shape of the cat that stalked her. Thundegar screamed and Allette yearned to be by his side, defending him. A moment later Rastas issued a terrifying sound, and Thundegar's cry suddenly rose in pitch and intensity.
The menacing darkness moved closer, crouched low and silent, its muscles bunched and ready to release. Faced with the most difficult and painful decision she'd ever known, Allette shamed herself and the memory of her father and the memory of the Maker's Mark. Thundegar was lost and so was Rastas. She could not save them, and she chose instead to save herself. To be a coward, part of her screamed. Again, the darkness flying through the skies blotted out the comets and Allette ran. Behind her, she could hear the grasses parting as the land-bound black death descended upon her. Just before she expected to feel the bite of tooth and claw, Allette turned and fell, looking back at the rapidly approaching cat.
For some reason unknown to Allette, the beast slowed and regarded her. There was no friendliness or charity there, only a bit of curiosity. Quivering, Allette stared into the eyes of death and she pleaded. Not me, she said with her eyes. Not me. You don't want to kill me. Not me.
Another of Thundegar's cries split the air.
Not me.
The cat blinked then slowly turned and walked back toward the others. Allette ran.
* * *
Creating a comfortable space within the hollow mountain, where there was naught but rock and more rock, was a challenging thing indeed. The few items they had brought with them were strewn about with nothing that resembled real order. A small fire circle surrounded by melon-sized rocks was the most organized thing in their camp. It seemed odd to camp within a mountain, but they were far from settled. It would take years to establish the services and materials needed to replicate things they had taken for granted on the Godfist. Here there were no mines, no forges, no mills, no farms, nothing but unfriendly wilderness.
Only the discovery of what people were calling stalk weed gave Durin any hope for establishing some order in the short term. Stalk weed grew in large quantities and was relatively easy to harvest. When mature, the stuff was as big around as Durin's forearm and twice his height. Each stalk was hollow and segmented, forming natural chambers
as long as Durin's arm. Beyond the obvious utility for creating containers and vessels, he saw unlimited potential using the stalks as building materials.
After dragging an armload of stalks from the forest to their camp, Durin wiped the sweat from his brow and took a few deep breaths. His back ached but the hard work felt good, and he knew the effort would be worthwhile in the long run. He smiled, remembering how he had gone to such lengths to avoid the work Miss Mariss had assigned him. Now he knew how good it could feel to have worked your hardest and to have something to show at the end of your labors. Sinjin and the other Drakon had their hands full with the dragons, which put even greater burden on everyone else on the Firstland. Those without dragons had little choice but to support themselves and the Drakon at a time when just keeping themselves fed was difficult enough.
For once in his life, Durin applied himself to finding solutions to the problems his people faced. It was strange to him that the Arghast had existed on the Godfist all along, albeit separately, and now he lived among them in a different land and was coming to know them as he never had before. These were good, kind, hardworking people, and they deserved the very best from him. Miss Mariss had deserved the very best as well; it had just taken time for him to realize it.
With so many thoughts and ideas competing for his attention, Durin found he didn't even remember much of the climb back down to the forest. Once there, he didn't simply harvest the stalk weed as other were doing; he explored other parts of the forest where the stalk weed didn't grow. Stalk weed tended to grow in isolated clumps where nothing else grew. Durin had enough stalk to work with and needed something to bind it. Rope was in precious short supply, so he looked for a substitute. Already he'd seen others using thick vines to tie bundles, but those vines were brittle and had seemed more trouble than they were worth. Watchful of his surroundings, he wandered into the forest. Small creatures moved within the underbrush, and not being able to see what they were nearly made him flee, only the fact that whatever it was fled from him kept him moving forward. Sinjin and the others had urged people to forage in pairs, but he'd been paired with Kendra, and she wasn't much for foraging. She'd also made it quite clear that he was not well suited to hunting. In the end, it was easier to just go alone and stay fairly close.
Still, he found himself farther from the base of the mountain than he'd intended, and he froze at the sound of a nearby branch snapping. Pressing himself against a towering oak, he looked around nervously. A shadow detached itself from a nearby tree. Durin was ready to run, but the form was familiar.
"You're gonna get yourself killed coming out this far alone," Kendra said.
"I heard you coming, didn't I?"
"Only because I let you know I was here," she said. "Did you know you have a habit of talking to yourself? It's very informative."
Durin flushed at that comment, trying to remember what he might have said. Odds were that he'd said something uncomplimentary toward Kendra; her looks certainly implied that was the case. "I thought you didn't like foraging."
"I don't," Kendra said. "I'm not foraging. You are. Sneaking up on you is far more fun."
"And so much more useful," Durin said. Kendra just raised an eyebrow. "Why did you even come here? It sure doesn't seem like you want to be here. You could've stayed on the Godfist. In fact, you could've stayed in the Greatland. So why come here? I wonder--"
"Shut up," Kendra said.
Durin was in no mood for her abuse. "No. You mope and complain and whine, and I'm sick of it." He'd half expected to get punched for his words, but all he got was silence in return. When he looked back, she was turning away. Was that a tear he saw on her cheek? She didn't give him the chance to find out as she disappeared into the forest.
"Women," Durin said.
* * *
Watching the Drakon work together to assemble Sinjin's saddle and everything he could possibly need to fly, Sinjin felt unworthy. He'd done nothing to earn such devotion, yet he tried to receive it gracefully. When Mikala insisted on adding a stirrup cup and strap to secure the Staff of Life and another set of straps near the pommel to hold Koe, Sinjin didn't object, despite his misgivings. The additions wouldn't hurt anything, and no one else needed to know how he felt about the staff and Koe; both items seemed to require things from him that he did not possess, especially power. Always they reminded him of what he was not.
There was one thing that he did have now that changed the equation and caused his thoughts to diverge from their familiar tracks. Now he had Valterius and a saddle made with such care, it brought tears to his eyes. He had the power of his mind, and that would have to be enough.
At long last, there was nothing more that could be done to prepare; all that was left was for Valterius to don the saddle. Even though the dragon had accepted the gifts, Sinjin still worried he would refuse. This was far more than a simple leather strap. The dragon's stance was neutral as Sinjin approached, carrying the saddle and dressed in overwarm leathers. Sinjin would have held the saddle over his head and let Valterius try to put it on himself, but it was simply too unwieldy, and there were far too many straps and other bits that needed to be just so. Sinjin was amazed how much the Arghast had picked up on the construction of dragon saddles in such a short time with access to Kyrien and his mother's saddle. The skills they possessed for making horse saddles largely translated, and the craftsmanship was without rival; these were remarkable people, indeed.
Valterius sniffed the saddle and gave a satisfied woof; Sinjin thought again of him and Valterius flying together--comfortably. The dragon then presented his withers. It was as clear a message as Sinjin was likely to get, and he wasted no time. Mikala and Arakhan approached Valterius, and he pulled his wings back, presenting his breast to them; it was a sign of implicit trust. The two bowed in deference and helped Sinjin secure the girths and breast collar, which would help keep the saddle from sliding backward.
The bridle worried Sinjin the most, but it had no bit, and he hoped Valterius would not take offense. Standing before him, bridle in hand, Sinjin presented it to his dragon. Valterius eyed the item with suspicion, as if it had changed in nature since he'd accepted the gift. Sniffing tentatively, he gave a snort, and Sinjin wasn't certain he approved. Still, he held out the bridle and moved closer to Valterius's head. To his surprise, the dragon slid its mighty jaws into the leather loop. Sinjin pulled the crownpiece over horned ridges and cinched it snug. Braided reins he pulled back to the saddle, and Valterius lowered himself to allow Sinjin to easily mount.
Durin came with the staff and Koe, and Sinjin secured them out of respect for Mikala.
Durin whispered, "It scares people that you leave these laying around. Do me a favor and just keep them with you. Besides, the staff makes you look more . . .. leaderly, if that's even a word."
Once he was strapped in and secure, Sinjin tested his mobility and smiled; the saddle kept him completely secured and still allowed for a limited amount of movement; perhaps not as much as his mother had enjoyed in her much larger saddle, but she'd also had a much larger dragon. What Sinjin had fit him and Valterius perfectly, and he'd never felt such excitement. He knew what a rush it was to fly, but now he would get to experience it without the constant fear of death. Maybe it was his imagination, but he could almost swear Valterius was laughing at him.
In the next moment, though, the dragon reared up to his full height, not touching the roof of the chamber but close. With his wings extended, he flapped just enough to send swirls of sand and dust into the air. Sinjin felt as if he would fall over backward at first, but the straps held him firmly and he relaxed. All those within the hollow mountain gathered to watch as Valterius walked toward the opening. The dragon took his time and seemed to enjoy the sense of drama he created. Sinjin chuckled that his mighty dragon was also a bit of a show-off. Perhaps Valterius sensed Sinjin's mirth, for he suddenly leaped from the stone and flapped his mighty wings before they had actually reached the edge of the chamber. Roughhewn stone that lo
oked almost smooth from below proved to be jagged and pocked when seen from up close--far too close for Sinjin's liking. Pressing himself down low to the dragon's neck, he could almost hear Valterius laughing. Sinjin reminded himself to be careful of his thoughts around Valterius; the dragon could sense perhaps more of Sinjin's thoughts than he could the dragon's.
All thoughts vanished when the stone surrounding them disappeared, and once again Sinjin knew the exhilaration of flight. This time, Valterius did not head toward the sea; instead, he skimmed the trees and hugged the valleys, allowing Sinjin to get a much better view of the lands surrounding the hollow mountain.
At first, there was the devastation left by the battles, but then they moved into lands untouched by battle or human hands for thousands of years, and still there were traces of that ancient past. Carvings adorned mountainsides and parts of the forest bore symmetrical shapes that resembled the remains of cities and towns. Here and there a mighty statue remained, but few were recognizable beyond vague shapes, the details lost to the ravages of time. Movement within the trees caught Sinjin's attention, and he spotted Gholgi on the hunt, working as a pack to drive their prey, in this case a young buck deer, into a narrow ravine. Valterius swooped in low and gave Sinjin a better look. Though there was resemblance between the Gholgi and the demons, the Gholgi appeared much more natural. The demons were like Gholgi that had been fouled in some way, and the thought made Sinjin's stomach spasm.
The Balance of Power (Godsland Series: Books Four, Five, and Six) Page 67
