The Pages of the Mind

by Jeffe Kennedy

  We’d gone much higher than I had before, the crumbled lip of the volcano not far above. And a cave opening before us about my height, the shadowed interior impenetrable after a few feet. My vision grayed at the edges, panic that hadn’t quite receded fluttering in my chest.

  “No, no, no,” I whispered, then realized I spoke aloud in Common Tongue.

  Tane yanked me to my feet. “Go.” He pointed, in case I didn’t understand. “Call the dragon, get the treasure, and you can live.”

  Oh, right. I absolutely believed that. It would be very easy to pitch my body into one of the lava pits and return to the palace. There would be no sign of what had become of me. All Nakoa would know was that I’d risen from our marriage bed and disappeared. He’d likely think I left deliberately, that I’d escaped him at last.

  At least the thought snapped me out of sinking into that place of formless fear again. Barely. “I cannot,” I told him. “I am afraid.” No playacting necessary.

  His face contorted with contempt and he slapped me. Not terribly hard, but shocking tears to my eyes. “Infant. Put her in the cave. We’ll block it up and only let her out when she says she has the treasure.”

  The man hesitated, giving his chief an uncertain look. “That will take time and—”

  “Did I ask for your opinion? Do as I say. You will stay here and I will go back to the palace, offer my services to help search for the queen.” His face split in a nasty smile. “So flighty, these foreign witches, running off like that.”

  I considered bolting, nearly shaking with the need to simply run, even knowing they’d immediately recapture me and likely hurt me worse. But I couldn’t be blocked up in that cave. I’d go insane. Felt like I was already, at the mere prospect. I had nothing left to lose. Time to stop dissembling about how much I understood.

  “Chief Tane. If you let me go, I’ll leave this island forever. I am protected by a wealthy and powerful ruler who will pay—”

  He slapped me again and I tasted blood. “I care not. The treasure is in there with the dragon. Get it. If you don’t, it will be your tomb. Take her.”

  They seized me and I screamed, thrashing as I hadn’t mustered the ability to do in the library. Not that any of it did the least thing to dissuade them. With grim efficiency, they ignored my struggles to escape. One man hauled me inside the cave mouth and held me there while twenty or so of his tribesmen gathered heavy stones, grunting with the effort of moving them. The one keeping me inside kept glancing nervously down the tunnel, as if expecting attack from behind.

  The dragon?

  “Please,” I tried. “My queen will reward you. Nakoa would reward you! Take me back and you’ll be a hero.”

  He ignored me as if I hadn’t spoken. The wall of rock nearly filled the opening and one of the other men called him to come out. He pushed me aside with enough force that I fell, then climbed up and wedged out, the remaining hole barely big enough for him to squeeze through. I tried to follow, begging them not to leave me, no pride left. He kicked at me, knocking me back. Another banged my fingers with a rock when I tried to reach through, the pain brighter even than the terror.

  In despair I watched as they sealed away the morning light, leaving me in utter blackness. Walled in. Outside, more rocks clunked, creating a barricade I could never hope to move.

  My legs gave out and I collapsed to the floor.

  I sat there a long, long time.

  Long enough for the air to grow close and the sulfurous stink to burn my lungs. I’d die from lack of oxygen before anything else. Better than dying of thirst, which would take a few days but would be grueling to suffer. I wasn’t there yet, but I would be—and I remembered that, too, with new clarity. Opening the door to those few memories allowed them all to come through. I’d been so thirsty it hurt. My tongue had cracked, filling my mouth with blood, as it was now, and my head had ached with the dry heaves of my stomach.

  Then the rain had come, trickling down the rock, allowing me to lap it up, bit by bit.

  I saw you. I sent you rain.

  Nakoa.

  Would he see me now? I didn’t know what to believe or hope for. There was no reason he wouldn’t believe the worst of me, that I’d fled my captivity. I couldn’t even reason to myself that he’d know me better than that, as I would have done that very thing, given the opportunity.

  But he had called rain from a cloudless sky. I’d seen other magic I couldn’t explain, both terrible and wonderful. Andi said she could feel Ursula thinking at her—maybe she meant that literally.

  Trying to reach him mentally at least let me think about something other than being trapped in this cave. I certainly wasn’t going any deeper inside the mountain. I closed my eyes against it and sat cross-legged, in one of the meditative poses some of the Hawks and other followers of Danu used. Concentrating on the feel of Nakoa, the shape and scent of him in my mind, the distilled essence, I thought at him.

  Nakoa. Help me.

  Over and over.

  I imagined pictures of where I was and what had happened. And repeated my mantra, fueling it with all the emotion he aroused in me.

  Nakoa. Find me. Help me.

  Something shifted in the composition of the air. Not fresher. Hotter.

  Stubbornly, I kept my eyes closed. I didn’t want to see.

  Something snuffled. Then a soft gravelly noise, like a snake sliding over sand.

  Or a dragon, moving over lava rock.

  Perhaps I’d hit some point of terror where I couldn’t become any more afraid. I’d reached the peak and simply remained on that knife-edge of it. I opened my eyes, expecting blackness—and had to blink against the glow.

  The dragon filled the cave beyond. Or rather, her head did. The narrow passage I sat in opened up farther on and the dragon watched me from ruby-red eyes that shone like twin suns, shedding a pink-shaded light over the glitter of golden scales. She rested her chin on the floor, nostrils as high as me flaring as if she drew in my scent.

  She made no aggressive moves. If anything, she seemed to be making an effort not to startle me. Could I ascribe intelligent actions to her like that? The Nahanauns worshipped the dragons and valued them. The lovingly rendered drawings of the death of the dragons showed that much.

  And, logic aside, I’d looked through her eyes and she through mine.

  We were connected. I knew it in my heart, even if it made no sense.

  Moving slowly, my limbs stiff, muscles cramping—another symptom of early dehydration, I noted automatically—I managed to stand and face the dragon.

  27

  How did one talk to a dragon?

  Respectfully, for sure.

  I bowed to her, in the style of Nakoa’s people, the unreality of the moment making me feel suspended in some space apart from the world I knew. Not a dream, but a different place. As if I’d stepped into one of Zynda’s parallel realms, leaving my usual shape behind.

  “Greetings, Your Majesty.” Best to go with the highest honorific. Scaled lids as big as the Vervaldrs’ shields blinked slowly over the ruby glow, casting me into darkness and then light again. Curious to know if it would make a difference, I tried the same thing again in Nahanaun.

  A sense of amusement rustled through my mind, dry and leathery as the sound of scales on rock.

  Greetings, Daughter.

  Goddesses!

  Had I heard that? Stunned beyond comprehension, I stared at the great beast, who returned my gaze with an almost human expression of amused fascination. The words in my mind weren’t in any language, but still I understood.

  “Why do you call me daughter?”

  She huffed, searing breath heating the narrow space more. A laugh? An imprecise term, but our families intertwined ages ago. You are my descendant.

  “Our families . . . in Annfwn?”

  Close. My ancestors came from a land called N’andana. Some moved away to Annfwn.

  Startling, but . . . it fit. The Tala, N’andana, my family sharing a Tala border fo
r so long. I’d been able to cross the barrier due to some long-ago Tala relation. Nakoa had insisted we were linked—to each other and to the dragon. The connection clicked into place. It made sense that the people of N’andana would be shapeshifters, too.

  “Do you . . . have a human form, then?”

  Clever daughter. No longer. Once I walked the earth as a woman, much like you. I had many shapes, gathering them through my life. I grew aged. Rather than pass from this world, I committed to this form. As was the way of my people.

  “Why a dragon?”

  This body is very strong, nearly indestructible. I need no food, as fire sustains me. The animal mind is large and allows my human one to persist, for the most part. The form has drawbacks, but mostly it is perfect.

  “What kind of drawbacks?”

  We get very hot. Her mind-voice sounded wry. And I was a scribe when human. I miss having hands to write with. But virtual immortality is worth it.

  “Not immortal once the magic was sealed away.”

  A sense of immeasurable sadness swept through me.

  No. The youngest went first. We tried to reach the Heart, but it was locked away from us. Finally we used the last of the magic to seal ourselves in stasis, awaiting the change that would awaken us.

  “Us?”

  There were a dozen or so of us who bedded in various places. Hopefully they will soon wake also. Liberated, as you and my son freed me.

  “Why did it matter that Nakoa and I . . . were together, to liberate you and for you to stay?”

  Amusement flickered through her thought-voice, kindling crackling into flame. It is how we built the spell, fueling it with sexual energy—the most basic of human creative magic, the kind that never changes, no matter how language or culture shifts. When my people choose this final shape, we anchor to a family, to a bonded couple. The women talk to us, relay our wisdom. The men bring rain, to keep us from burning up. You, my daughter and my son, along with your daughters and sons, will be my human family. I will relearn what I’ve forgotten and give it back to you.

  “Why didn’t you speak to me before?”

  The mental equivalent of a shrug. My mind has been slow and I’ve forgotten much. Being in your heart, feeling with you, has brought much back to me.

  “Fascinating,” I murmured. “I hate to ask this, but—do you have a treasure?”

  Treasure?

  “Gold, jewels. The legends of dragons often speak of treasure hordes.”

  Laughter bubbled in her thoughts. Perhaps true dragons did. I don’t know. But no, what would I do with gold and jewels?

  So much for that. I swayed on my feet. Definitely light-headed. “I want to talk more with you, if you’ll allow it, but for now I need water. Can you help me?”

  Follow me.

  I didn’t want to go farther underground, but the greatest danger lay in staying where I was, where I’d either die or face Tane’s men. And yet . . . the thrice-damned wail of old fear kept me rooted to the spot.

  It takes more courage to examine the dark corners of your own soul than it does for a soldier to fight on a battlefield. I wasn’t sure if that was the dragon’s thought or mine, because she echoed it, agreeing.

  She was already moving away, the shadows falling in her wake. I forced myself to take a step. Then another. The rock beneath my feet was warm and smooth, easing my path. Small mercies. The dragon turned her bulk, reversing on herself as a snake would, legs and wings folded against her body as she slithered along the tunnel.

  I kept my gaze on the tip of her forked tail, noticing as my eyes adjusted to the dimmer light that all of her emitted a golden glow, as if lit from within like a lantern. As we descended, the air grew hotter, sweat that beaded on my brow drying immediately. Then I stopped sweating, a dangerous sign that I was entering more severe dehydration. The increasing heat made it worse. How long had I been in the caves? Perhaps a full day.

  Perhaps longer.

  Nakoa had not come for me.

  “My Queen?” I called out, my voice cracking so I had to try twice.

  I hear you, Daughter. And my name is Kiraka.

  “The heat . . . it might be too much for me. I don’t have your strength.”

  So frail, the human form. Come, climb up on my back.

  I moved along her side as she glanced back, holding still and shedding ruby light. She partially unfolded a wing, making a ramp of it to her back. Batwing thin and translucent gold, the membrane felt like softest leather. Or like Nakoa’s skin. So soft it seemed I could easily put a foot through it, even barefoot.

  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  That rustle of mental laughter. You will not. With the magic flowing, this form is indestructible.

  I climbed up her wing, still moving with care. The bones of her wing, like the fingers of a hand, formed a ladder for me and I made it to the flat space of her back between her wings. Dizziness swamped me and I wondered how I’d manage to hold on to her without fainting. I’d have to, if I wanted to survive.

  Kiraka moved carefully, barely jostling me, and I rested my cheek against her surprisingly smooth hide. Her scales were as fine as a snake’s, and lying against her back, the pattern of her golden scales shifting as she moved, I fancied I was back in bed with Nakoa, as I’d fallen asleep with him last—lying atop him, his heart slowing beneath my ear, the tattooed scales shimmering in the candlelight.

  He felt near at that moment. Maybe it was my rising fever. Maybe we were truly connected through Kiraka, because I almost scented him, felt the loving trace of his hand down my back, heard him murmur in my ear. Mlai.

  Mlai.

  Wake up, Daughter.

  “Nakoa?” My throat creaked soundlessly around his name, my tongue too thick to move.

  Here is water, but you must climb down.

  My eyes felt like rocks as I blinked them open. We’d emerged into fresh air, blessedly cool on my skin, which felt as if I’d baked in an oven. It was night, Moranu’s moon high overhead. Two more nights and it would be full. It rose an hour later every night, so it had been a bit over twenty-four hours since I’d slipped out of Nakoa’s bed.

  Are you awake, Daughter? Focus your thoughts and speak to me so I can hear.

  Yes. It looked impossibly far, even with Kiraka crouched as flat as she could get. And I was both stiff with muscle cramps and swimmingly dizzy. I moved slowly, but my bruised and bloodied fingers wouldn’t grip right. In a tumble, I fell to the ground, buffered somewhat by the curve of her wing. Sand, fine and white, grated against my cheek. She’d brought me to the beach. Salt water. I nearly wept at the crushing defeat. Might have, if I hadn’t been so parched.

  Drink, she urged.

  “I—” My voice was gone. Burned away. I can’t drink seawater.

  Oh. I have forgotten much while I slept. Can you climb back on?

  She towered over me and I could barely lift my head. I don’t think so. No.

  A cloud scudded across Moranu’s face, bright and beautiful. From a distance I considered that I might be dying. I should have been able to make it at least three days without water and I’d lasted barely more than one. I made such a lousy adventurer. Kiraka’s ruby light blended with the silver from the moon, and I wanted to ask her to tell Nakoa what happened to me, so he wouldn’t always wonder, but my throat had closed down. If she could even talk to him as she did with me. So many questions to ask her. Things he needed to know, too.

  So much time used up. All those years I’d won, by cheating the death that took my siblings, my parents, all of them. Had I used them wisely? Hlyti is playing a fine game with me. Maybe I wouldn’t change a thing, as at least I’d had this time with Nakoa. Any turn in the path might not have brought me to him. He might not have had a choice in our marriage either, but he’d been good to me. And I loved him with brutal intensity. Almost from the moment we met, he’d stirred such strong feeling in me. I hadn’t known what to do with it. Ursula had tried to warn me . . . the emotional wounds leave scar tis
sue that keeps us from being able to feel like normal people do. Everything I’d felt with him—the lust, the anxiety, even the rage—had all been about falling in love, and I hadn’t had the tools to recognize it. Or handle how I felt.

  A little more time and I might have figured it out. That and all the puzzles I’d left unsolved. So much left undone. At least Ursula was High Queen. I’d done that much.

  Maybe enough to have made my life worthwhile.

  The night grew darker. No. More clouds gathered over the moon, hiding her light.

  Then the rain began to fall.

  Nakoa. My lips shaped his name in hope, in prayer. Mlai.

  Rain ran into my open mouth, easing the cracked tissues, a gradual moistening. My skin drank it in, too, it seemed, the wetness easing the burning heat. The rainfall increased, drenching me, and I gulped it down. Too much, too fast. Water hit my aching stomach and it convulsed into heaves, bile rising into my throat in a burning cough with it. Afraid I’d choke to death, I wrenched myself onto my side, spitting it out. Then turned my face to Nakoa’s rain again, rinsing my mouth and drinking, closing my eyes to concentrate on making myself go slow.

  “Dafne mlai.” Urgent hands patted my cheeks, stinging my burning skin. “Wake up!”

  I opened my eyes, the rain feeling like tears running from them. Nakoa mlai.

  His breath, already uneven, as if he’d been running a long distance, whooshed out in relief and he sat, gathering me up into his lap, leaning his forehead against mine, hair falling around my face. He took several deep breaths, just as I’d gulped at the water.

  “I was so afraid,” he whispered. “I couldn’t see you. For so long I could not see. Then suddenly here you were. Can you speak?”

  “You sent me rain,” I croaked.

  “Always.” He ran his hands over me, skidding across my rain-soaked skin. “Are you injured?”

  “Thirsty,” I managed.

  “Of course.” He cupped his palm to the rain, then fed it to me, holding me in the crook of his arm with gentle care. Easier to take it in gradually that way. I leaned against him, savoring the feeling of coming home. I would not treat the gift of him lightly again. How I’d satisfy all of my obligations, I didn’t know, but that would be a riddle for another day.