He lifted his arms from the moss and stared at his hands, his fingers. He flexed them and then drew his brows together. How did he know how to do that? How did he know how to move this body? Was he truly a human, now, after all? And if he was . . . “Will I die as they do?”
“You can die, yes. When you do, you will once again take your place among us.”
He narrowed his eyes. Perhaps there was a way out of—
“If you kill yourself, however, you will be reborn as one of them. If you goad someone or something into killing you, you will be reborn as one of them. If you allow yourself to die, if you do not fight for your life, you will be reborn as one of them.”
Muscles tightened in his clenching jaws.
“Also, I could not block your access to all knowledge that I wanted to. Your mind, your memories, would have been fragmented, disjointed, perhaps even unstable. Thus, there is one more condition. You will not use spells or otherwise impart knowledge unto them that they could not attain on their own. If you do so, you will repeat this as a new human on another continent.”
“So what am I to do, then? Wander about aimlessly?”
“You have but one task. Live.”
Ridiculous! He closed his eyes and attempted to exert his will. Nothing happened.
“As I said, you are one of them, now.”
Was there no getting out of it? He stared at the canopy of leaves above. A breeze played across it, shifting it about, making a few leaves flutter. “What completes my . . . task?”
“A proper death after spending time among those whom you would interfere with. As such, it would be wise not to reveal who you are. You are not to be revered, you are to live as one of them.”
“Am I to do this alone?” He lifted his arms up and looked at his hands again. They seemed so strange and frail. “I appear to be young and weak.”
The clouds began breaking up, and sunlight lanced down through them. “Would you like a companion?”
“Is it permitted?”
“A girl, or a boy?”
A human? As a companion? The mere thought of them, the fact he had been made into one, rankled. There was another, however, that he wished he had also tried to save.
It was a gamble, but even though he was now human, the nature of the Lord of Chance remained with him. “I want her.”
“She is gone from this world. Dead.”
“That means nothing to us.” He scowled. “Well, it means nothing to you. I choose her and no other, Father.”
There was no response.
He bit his lip. Had he pushed too far? Would he travel this world alone?
“As you wish.” The last clouds that had gathered faded away along with his father’s voice.
Relief washed over him and that in itself was a revelation. Perhaps because much of his former self was walled away, these sensations, these emotions, seemed to have a large influence on his perceptions. Was this how every human lived?
A sudden thought made him grunt. In order to live, humans needed food. From what he remembered from the few times he’d paid somewhat close attention, they hunted it, grew it, or bought it. He had neither the knowledge nor the currency to do any of that at the moment. And that was just food. What else did humans require to live? He knew almost nothing of existing as a human, so beyond any needs he could think of, there were probably some he didn’t even know to be worried about.
As Ulthis, there had been little he had to bother with, but he was no longer one of the beings humans called gods. That life, that existence, may as well have been someone else’s. Due to the number of years left here as a human, everything from before was as good as gone.
He suddenly felt alone, as if he were standing in the middle of an enormous gulf. His heart beat feebly against a squeezing constriction. The small clenching muscle’s weak pulses within a vast emptiness was a strange and terrible feeling.
Powerful, rhythmic pounding finally drew his attention. The sound overwhelmed the quiet buzz of insects and the gentle creak of branches moving in the spring breeze. It was enormous wings, beating again, and again, and again.
He raised up on an elbow and watched a beautiful dragon descend beyond the trees.
She landed and turned incredible eyes to gaze upon him. A–Allfather She ducked her head in a quick bow.
Allfather? If only that were still the case! He stared at the ground a moment before rising to his feet. I would rather you not call me that. For in this form, I am not He.
Lids slowly blinked over large eyes, golden in the sunlight. W–What shall I call you, then?
The clenching tightness around his heart had lessened, somewhat, with her arrival. He absently rubbed his chest. How about . . . Chanté? It’s as good a name as any.
She chirped at him.
Chanté walked from under the trees and stood next to the lovely dragon. He looked up and placed his hand on her lowered cheek.
She closed her large eyes. We are one.
Blinding light burst forth and a flood of sensations nearly overwhelmed him. Chanté gasped as his senses, feelings, and emotions were assailed. He felt happy and terrified, exposed, yet safe, protective and in need of protection, and so many things that he simply had no name for.
And the dragon! He breathed with her, enormous chest expanding and contracting. He stretched wings with her, wrapping the enormous limbs around them both. He felt her happy rumble even before it thrummed against his chest and against his arms, which he suddenly realized held her neck in an embrace.
We are one, he told her in astonishment.
Even after the Bond completed, the emotions continued to swirl within him, and he struggled to make sense of it all. Memories of the time long past were few, so he couldn’t be certain, but he could not recall intentionally including anything like this as part of bonding. Were these feelings merely some sort of biological reactions that randomly emerged as part of the process? Or—and worry spiked within him at this thought—were tempests of emotions like this a normal part of being human? The mere act of thinking on this had caused him to quickly shift from excitement to fear! How did they manage these volatile moods?
External feelings came to him through the link from her. She sat beside him on her haunches, watching him patiently with something like fondness, only stronger.
His heart beat a little faster at that, and his chest felt as if it were expanding. It didn’t hurt. On the contrary, it felt good, or perhaps a better word was nice. It felt very nice.
As he watched her, the storm of emotions began to subside. While he still didn’t understand even half of them, perhaps she could help make sense of those he didn’t know.
She chirped.
The dull feeling of emptiness, of abandonment, receded further.
Putting hands to hips, he stared into her magnificent eyes. Mother of the first to bond, I am new to this . . . life. What shall we do? Where shall we go?
Mother of the first? She tilted her head. I do not know what that means. Call me . . . Nantli. We may as well both have new names for our new lives. As to where we go, you should decide. I have no place I want to return to, no one in particular I want to see.
Not even your child?
I have none. I killed what few I might have had in my haste to flee House Yaot.
One lived. A daughter.
A rapid series of emotions pierced his heart through the link and made him take a quick breath.
Nantli stood, wings lifted. One survived? The excitement and happiness was short-lived, however. Her wings lowered as a dark feeling, hot and thick, oozed through the link.
Fear not, Chanté told her. Anaya is well. He frowned. Or at least she was a month ago.
That was not fear, it was shame. Through my stupidity, I left her to fend for herself. Alone.
So, that feeling was shame. Did his father feel shame for abandoning him here?
He looked around again at the trees and, in the distance, the hills. The size of this land was intimidating. I
t seemed to go on forever. Lethera was much larger than he remembered. It made him feel . . . lost. What should he do?
‘You have but one task. Live.’
Chanté frowned. The words made no sense. He’d already lived for countless eons.
Perhaps we can see my daughter?
He turned to her in surprise. The sense of . . . of longing that came through the link was having a powerful effect on him. He had a strong desire to make her happy. Yes. It will be good to see what has transpired since last I was here. He’d actually like to see Anaya, too.
And, he thought, if they could join the dragon guild, food would be taken care of along with shelter. Then he could devote some time to figuring out what his next steps would be. Humans lived for several decades. With the slow pace at which humans experienced the passage of time, the years left him would seem to pass very slowly. What was he supposed to spend the rest of his time here doing?
He shook his head. First things first. He patted Nantli’s foreleg. Come, pick me up. We must discover where exactly we are. Once our location is learned, we can make for Caer Baronel and the Dragon Craft Guild to see your daughter. And if we join the guild, we’ll likely have access to food and shelter.
It was much easier said than done. They’d been flying north for perhaps an hour, and they had yet to spot any sign of humans. At least he thought they were traveling north based on the sun’s position. Nantli assured him that they were. He’d chosen to search that direction on a feeling. He hoped it was right.
They had no saddle nor anything with which to make even a simple one, so she carried him in her forelegs. Though they flew above the treetops in full sunlight, most of his body was in her shadow, and the wind whipping past was chilling. There was no other way for them to travel, however.
There is someone to the east.
Oh?
A young man with a horse.
Let’s go to him. He must know where we are. A short rest from the cool rushing air would be nice, too. He clutched his arms tighter around himself and tried not to shiver. At least Nantli’s forelegs and chest were warm.
She banked and then flew east. It took less than a minute to spot the traveler and horse below. After passing them up, she angled downward in a circle to land ahead of them.
The young man pulled back on the reigns, and the horse stopped. The black stallion remained surprisingly calm even though a dragon had landed less than thirty feet away. The handsome steed only snorted.
Chanté hopped down to the ground and, while rubbing the chill from his arms, faced the young man sitting in the saddle.
Or boy, more like. He seemed to be fairly young. His hair was brown, like the leather of the saddle, and his eyes were light. Blue? Green? It was difficult to tell from this distance, but whatever the color, they held surprise. Because of Nantli? At least he didn’t seem frightened.
Fear is not what he feels.
What did that mean? Chanté glanced at her, but when she didn’t elaborate further, he shook his head and turned back to the tousle-haired boy.
Chanté stared. Unlike some of his former kind, he’d never been wholly in the direct presence of a human before. At least, he couldn’t remember having been.
What troubles you?
How do you talk with a human? What do you say?
You have never spoken to one?
I’m not certain. I know I have contacted them, appeared in dreams before, but as impressions or images. The few times I actually used words, it was to give instruction. I don’t recall ever having a real conversation.
He seemed to know their languages, at least he assumed he had spoken a human tongue with his father and with Nantli, but he wasn’t human, or rather, hadn’t lived as a human. Did he know all their words and how to use them in conversation? While he must have witnessed humans speaking together, he couldn’t recall any specific instances to use as guidance, at least not in the memories that remained.
Recalling again what his father had done to him, he felt strange, unsure of himself.
It is not difficult. Just talk.
Chanté twisted his lips. Just talk?
“I must be dreaming.” The boy stared at him, face flushed.
“What?”
The boy smiled. “Yes. This must be a dream.” He looked around, as if searching.
Chanté drew his brows together. A dream wouldn’t have him in a situation like this, cold and lost. “This isn’t a dream for me. More like a . . . a nightmare.” That felt like the right word.
The boy looked back at him, eyes wide. His cheeks turned a deeper red. “This isn’t a dream?”
“I can assure you, it is not.” Curiosity piqued, Chanté asked, “Why did you think you were dreaming?”
“Because you’re . . .”
When the boy didn’t finish, Chanté hazarded a guess. “With a dragon?”
A glance at Nantli, then back. “N–No.”
“Because you found someone in the middle of this enormous and empty wilderness?”
A head shake. “No.”
What else could it be? “Because . . .” Chanté scrunched his nose in thought.
What is clothing? His thoughts are about you not wearing any.
Chanté blinked. “Because I’m naked?”
The blush somehow got even darker and the boy seemed upset. “Are you having fun at my expense?”
Chanté swallowed. Had he said something wrong? “H–How so?”
“You must know what people think of you.”
Had this boy somehow realized who he was? His heart started pounding. “I–I don’t follow.”
The boy cleared his throat. “Someone at some point must have told you how attractive you are.”
Nantli let out a grunting laugh and humor came through the link. I told you that it was not fear he felt.
Chanté raised his brows. “I’m . . . attractive?” Again, curiosity grabbed hold. This might give him more insight into the way humans thought. “What makes me attractive?”
The boy stared at him a moment, lips pressed together. He looked as if he wasn’t sure what to make of Chanté. Finally, he said, “Y–Your lips, I suppose. Your eyes. Your skin tone is darker than usual this far north. And your hair.” The boy stared at him. “It’s white. Even your eyelashes are white.” Why did he sound so surprised and impressed?
“White, you say?” Chanté grabbed a hank of hair, but it was too short to pull far enough down to see clearly.
“Have you never stood before a mirror?” The boy pointed. “It’s white there, too.”
Chanté looked down between his legs. The scant hair there was indeed white. He’d not noticed before. Was that going to present problems? He couldn’t recall if that color was atypical. Had his father disadvantaged him from the start?
“It’s surprisingly . . . striking. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone your age with white hair.”
Chanté looked at the boy. “How old do you think I am?”
A shrug. “Fifteen? Sixteen?”
Chanté grunted. “And how old are you?”
“Nineteen.” The boy frowned. “More importantly, who are you? What are you doing out here wandering about naked with a dragon?” He looked at Nantli.
Chanté bit his lip. How would he answer those kinds of questions? Care would have to be taken. His father had warned him not to tell anyone his true identity. Whatever tale he came up with, however, he’d likely need to recount it to the people at the guild, and dragons could sense lies. It would be best to come up with something that wasn’t too far from the truth.
“My father left me out here with nothing.”
The boy looked back at him. “What? Why would he do that?”
“I . . . broke one of my family’s more important decrees.”
“Decrees? Are you high-born?” His brows rose. “Or royalty?”
“Something like that, I suppose,” Chanté said. “After he left me, when I realized that everything of my previous life may as well ha
ve been a dream, I was overcome by a hollow feeling.”
Eyes wide, lips slightly parted, the boy stared at him.
“Luckily,” Chanté looked at Nantli, “she, ah, found me.”
It was not luck.
Chanté’s lips quirked in a half smile. Oh? I think I was extremely lucky.
“She’s beautiful.”
Nantli glanced at the boy and let out a happy rumble. I like him.
“What’s her name? Does she have one?”
My name is Nantli.
The boy smiled. “You can talk?”
She chirped. Of course.
“A–And my name is Chanté. We stopped you in hopes that you know where we are. We’re lost, you see.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” The boy dismounted. “I should have introduced myself. I’m Quillan. It’s—” He glanced at Nantli and then back at Chanté. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”
He is happier to have met you.
Chanté ignored her remark and the humor coming from her. He was more interested in getting to the guild and securing food and shelter. It would be nice to meet Anaya and Aeron in person, too. Hopefully, this boy could help with that.
Quillan began unbuckling a saddlebag. “So what did you do?”
“Do?”
Quillan glanced at him. “You said you broke a decree?”
“Oh, yes.” Chanté nodded. “A man was trying to kill . . . someone and I, ah, used a spell to stop him.”
Quillan’s brows rose. “Your family has a decree against saving people’s lives?”
“No.” He let out a breath. “Well, not specifically. It’s a decree of non-interference. We are not to interfere directly with people.”
The boy’s brows drew together. “Not even to save their life?”
Chanté let out a breath. “They have their reasons, I suppose.”
“What reasons?”
“Well, my father told me that people should not be toyed with, that they deserve respect.”
“That’s true enough, but I think that saving someone’s life could be considered showing them respect.”
“I agree, but you see, my father is—”
Tread carefully.
Of Gods, Trees, and a Sapling: Dragonlinked Chronicles Volume 4 Page 3
