by Mirren Hogan
By the time he calmed down and realised he was being completely irrational, he'd be too far away to come back prove that his thoughts were unfounded. He wanted to be angry for a while longer, it was easier than feeling heartbroken that Kaida had moved on without him.
Chapter Twelve
In spite of the steaming heat Paryos bustled; everyone moving about on their way to somewhere important. Tempers frayed. People started to push to get past or around other people. They began to shove, knocking each other aside in their haste to be first. It was life or death, urgent, vital, pressing.
In the middle of the crowds a man stood alone. He was the one who had slipped the note to Dashka as she sat at a restaurant overlooking the harbour. He'd followed her all over Paryos, up and down the hills, watching every move. He was still watching, looking at her over the heads of the passing throng.
He turned and started to walk.
Dashka followed.
They passed the vendor who had sold her a green scarf. His face was pasty, eyes staring. He held out a different scarf, this one a sickly shade.
"You buy," he said without blinking.
The other man beckoned Dashka forward. He mouthed something, but she heard no words.
"I can't hear you," she said.
He spoke again.
She shook her head. "I'm sorry, I don't know what you're saying."
He pointed. She turned her head.
"The train?" The ground beneath her began to shake. A loud rumble filled the air and the ground split in two. The hurrying crowds began to fall. At first, it was slow, like they were hardly moving at all. Then they began to tumble, arms raised, waving as if to grab onto something to slow their descent. Finding nothing, they disappeared into the yawning chasm.
The train started to move sideways, dragged downward by the forces of nature. The wood and steel creaked and groaned in protest, then shattered into splinters and slid into the hole. The tracks themselves started to tear out of the ground and follow the train.
The chasm started to widen, heading toward Dashka and the strange man.
He threw back his head and shouted, but this time she heard the word, "Sing!"
She opened her mouth, but found it stuffed with cotton. Aunt Mabyl stood in front of her, arms full of green scarf she was pressing into Dashka's mouth.
"Not a word." Her face was pasty like the vendor, and her skin had begun to peel off her face.
Dashka struggled against her as the chasm got closer. If she fell in, she'd be dead, just like her aunt. She reached for the scarf to pull it out of her mouth, but her hands passed right through. Panic started to rise.
Despite the gag, she screamed.
"Dashka?"
Her eyes shot open to see Kaida standing beside her bed.
"Are you all right?” her forehead creased with worry. “You were screaming in your sleep."
Pushing herself up onto her elbows, Dashka found herself drenched in sweat. Her hair was plastered to her face. Her blankets were all pulled out from the mattress and spread across the bed. She must have been kicking wildly as well.
She rubbed the hair off her face with the back of her hand and nodded. "I'm fine, it was just a dream."
Kaida sat down beside her, her expression unchanged. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"I can't really remember it now." The dream was already fading from her mind. All she remembered was Mabyl and feeling terrified. "I'm sorry, did I wake you?"
Kaida smiled. "Just a little bit, but it's all right. It's almost time to get up anyway."
Dashka looked toward the window. Sure enough, the grey of dawn showed through a gap in the curtains.
"Can I get you anything? Some tea?"
"I don't want to be a bother."
"No bother." Kaida patted her arm. "I was going to make some anyway. Why don't you have a wash? The pipes are hot at this time of day, from the bread making."
Dashka nodded. "I think I will." She wanted to clean away the sweat and the nightmare. "Thank you."
As Kaida left the small room, Dashka wondered if this was what having a mother was like. She'd been abandoned by hers so long ago she hardly remembered her. What she could recall was a stern face, and a parade of men passing through her mother's rooms. It took years for her to realise what her mother was doing, and several more to even consider that one of them might have fathered her. She still held the romantic notion that out there was a man who had loved her mother but had had to leave for some oh-so-noble reason. It was a nicer daydream than thinking her mother simply had so many lovers she'd lost track. She must have been relieved to have an excuse to dump her on her great aunt and uncle.
She'd always thought she'd look for her someday, but now she knew she probably wouldn't. If her mother had wanted anything to do with her, she'd have known where to look. Which reminded her—she needed to send a letter to Uncle Huberth. She'd have to find time later to write one.
Pushing the blankets aside, she rose and pulled a dressing robe around herself. The sweat had dried, leaving her feeling sticky and unpleasant. She grabbed a change of clothes and went into the bathing room.
Half an hour later she felt much better. She brushed out her damp hair and went to find Kaida.
Here in the top of the Dragonhall, the rooms had a small chimney, enabling them to build a fire to cook, or in this case heat water. It looked to have just reached the boil as Dashka stepped into the room.
"Perfect timing." Kaida measured out a small amount of tea into two cups and reached for the pot. "I was thinking—"
Whatever she was about to say was cut off by a shout from the corridor outside their rooms.
They exchanged glances, then both bolted for the door. Kaida reached it first and wrenched it open.
"Reason," Kaida swore.
"What—oh." Dashka was on her heels as they ran up the corridor to where Sarev Raeb crouched beside another draakin.
"Gallanor?" In a moment Kaida was on her knees beside the man, while Dashka stood back to watch.
Gallanor Gil's face was ashen. He lay prone on the floor, his hand to his chest. He was breathing, but it was shallow and laboured. His mouth moved, but he didn't seem able to speak.
"Shhh, don't say anything, we'll get a healer." Kaida looked at Sarev who nodded, rose to his feet and headed down the stairs at a run. Dashka took his place on the floor, feeling helpless. She saw the same emotion on Kaida's face, and something else. It didn't take much consideration to know what she was thinking. If her son was here, he could save Gallanor. There was little an ordinary healer could do for him.
Dashka swallowed and took the man's hand. "It'll be all right, the healer will fix you." She wasn't sure he heard her, but it was worth a try. At least he might get some comfort before he… She licked her lips.
"Should I try?" she asked in a whisper.
Kaida looked uncertain but gave a slight nod.
Dashka turned her face to look around. She saw no one else. Taking a moment to think up a song, she started with a low hum. If Gallanor wasn't better, at least he seemed no worse. She sang a few words of a song she remembered from her childhood.
There is no king but reason.
There is no god but logic.
Turn the wheels of progress,
For every boy and girl.
Work hard every day,
Keep your head down and
Reward will be yours,
To see reason prosper.
Save braids for tomorrow,
Don't squander them today.
Then wealth we all will have,
For every boy and girl.
She finished singing just as Gallanor's chest fell still. His hand went limp.
"Risper said Nehko says he's gone," Kaida said regretfully. Her eyes shone, but her expression was stoic. Dashka was grateful for that. She wasn't sure what she'd do if Kaida broke down.
Dashka lowered his hand to the ground, placing it gently by his side. "I'm sorry."
Kaida wi
ped a tear before it spilled out."There was nothing anyone could have done," she assured her. "If his heart gave out, he was gone before we got here. At least you tried." Again, Dashka could see her thinking about her son.
"Oh, he was a draakin," Dashka said, the full implications hitting her. "Is Nehko…"
"He's fine for now," Kaida replied. "Ah, Sarev."
Dashka saw him running back, his face red from exertion, a healer at his heels. He skidded to a halt before he reached them, his eyes unfocused. She'd been around draakin long enough to know Fashfi was passing the news on to him. His shoulders slumped. and he moved to crouch beside Kaida, his arm around her.
The healer knelt to check Gallanor, feeling for the blood flow in his wrist, and the air in his body. A formality; she, of course, found neither.
"I'll make arrangements to have his body removed," she said. "I'm sure you have—matters to deal with." She looked right at Kaida and Sarev, not even sparing Dashka a glance.
"Yes, we do," Kaida said firmly. Dashka could almost see her bristling. "Thank you."
The healer gave a curt nod and stood. For the first time she looked over to Dashka, clearly wondering who she was. Dashka smiled back and gained perverse pleasure from seeing the woman's discomfort. Perhaps she thought she was a draakin. She probably thought the only good draakin was a dead one. Looking back at the way she used to view draakin and dragons, she felt ashamed of herself. At least she'd learned and knew the draakin to be ordinary, decent people. The healer was missing out, but that was her problem, not theirs.
The woman huffed and walked away down the corridor, shoulders hunched.
Once she was out of sight, Kaida let out a sigh. "She's right, we do have to deal with this."
"Gallanor has no children," Sarev said, "at least not that I know of. He was too young to worry about passing down Nehko's bond."
"Risper told me that people used to line up to bond a dragon," Kaida said sadly. "They'd vie for the honour. They'd crowd the hatching nest in the hope a baby dragon might be offered to them." She was lost in her thoughts.
"Fashfi said the same thing," Sarev gave a sad smile. "But reason knows if anyone is going to want to now."
Kaida sniffed. "We can't lose Nehko." She had tears trickling down her cheeks. "Losing Gallanor is bad enough. Nehko and all his wisdom … Reason, he's the oldest of all the dragons. Everything he knows—it's precious. So is he." A tear dripped off her chin.
Sarev cleared his throat. "There is someone," he said.
"No one can bond two—oh!" Kaida jumped and her eyes turned to Dashka. Her grief was shot through with a vein of hope.
Dashka stared at her, confused. It took a moment for understanding to sink in. When it did, she sat back in surprise.
"Me?" She felt like the wind had been knocked out of her. "But I…" She sat in shock, blinking several times in an attempt to clear her thoughts.
"Why not you?" Sarev said, giving her a kind smile, "Kaida says you're sweet and strong. What do you say?"
What could Dashka say? She was struck dumb.
Chapter Thirteen
Any sense of security Daven felt at being back at Hoza was an illusion. He knew that at any moment the reasoners could find the magin and kill them all. However, being at a distance from Paryos, anywhere felt like a sanctuary. He couldn't relax completely, but he found comfort in the daily activities of healing and watching children play. He even forgot, once in a while, what he was, what they all were. It felt like a community of people, most of who genuinely seemed to care about each other. If it wasn't for glimpses of Bakel in his waking moments and Rahkin while he slept, he could settle in here and be happy.
The reality of his situation was never too far from his thoughts, or his plans. He hadn't given up on the idea of leaving. Even though he had a room to himself near the infirmary, he kept his belongings in a bag under the bed. Only a couple of shirts and a pair of trousers occupied the wardrobe. If need be, he'd leave them there, grab his bag and flee. He'd almost done it a dozen times already, but something held him back each time. Or someone.
He knew where Emmin would be at this time of day—the library. She might be unpredictable, but not in this. He wasn't sure if she sought the peace and quiet, the books, or both. With such a busy community, finding a place to be alone was a challenge, and the library stored hundreds of volumes on any number of topics. A great many were about engineering, but previous residents had left behind novels and books on random things like pottery, farming or star watching.
If her choice of books was anything to go by, whatever the subject, Emmin was interested. He wasn't sure he'd seen her with the same book twice, and she did appear to read them from cover to cover.
The door to the library was open when he approached. Even from a distance he could make out Emmin's head bent over the pages of a small book. A novel, by the look of it.
Daven walked inside, eyes on her. He saw her twitch, but she didn't look up. He knew she was aware of his presence, and was either ignoring him, or engrossed in her book and hoped he'd go away. He had no intention of doing that, not until she'd heard what he had to say.
He sat down opposite her and waited. He'd counted to a hundred before she sighed and looked up.
"What?" She narrowed her eyes at him.
"I think you know what," he replied.
She tucked a scrap of paper into the book and put it on the table. "Do I?" she asked.
He regarded her for a moment. "You know what we did was wrong." He didn't bother to exclude himself from the magin's actions. He was there, he'd done nothing to stop it. That made him as complicit as the rest of them.
"You're better than this," he said.
She looked surprised, then her usual cynical expression returned. "Am I?"
"Without a doubt," he said firmly.
"What are you basing that on?" She wasn't going to make this easy for him. He hadn't thought she would. She was her father's daughter after all, and he was asking her to put other considerations before Bakel. To even think about doing that would be difficult, much less following through.
He thought about that for a moment. "I don't believe you approve of killing children," he said. "I think you found that as horrendous as I did."
"Things happen in war," she replied, but she averted her eyes as she spoke.
"You don't believe that any more than I do." He tilted his head to see her face.
"You can't bring her back," Emmin said, looking up and frowning. "Even if you'd been there sooner. Isn't that what this is about? You're guilty because you didn't get to her in time?"
He shrugged. "Partly," he agreed, "but the whole thing could have been prevented by us not doing what we did."
"But we did. It's done. There's no point in thinking about what might have happened. It's in the past now."
"Yes, but it doesn't need to be the future as well. Do you really want to spend the rest of your life sneaking around and attacking people?" If she did, the rest of her life wouldn't be very long.
"Maybe I do," she said. "I mean, you really know nothing at all about me."
"I know you're not a bad person."
She raised her eyebrows at him. "Then you really have misjudged me. I'm a terrible person. I've lost track of how many people I've killed, and I don't regret a single one."
For a moment, he was shocked. Then he realised she was trying to goad him. It had worked. He cocked his head.
"I bet you lie awake at night and think about everything you've seen and everyone you've hurt," he said. "Do they haunt your dreams too?" He'd pushed too hard, he saw that the moment the words left his mouth.
"You think you know so much," she hissed, "but there's so much you don't understand. Yes, I see those faces in my dreams. I see them until I vomit because I hate what I am and what we did. I hate having magic. I hate that I'm a murderer. So many times I wished I had never even been born. I think I should end it, to stop the pain.
"But then," she added, "I remember why we're doi
ng this and I know we can't stop it."
"Because of freedom," he stated.
"That, and a lot more. There are things you don't know. Maybe we should have told you before but…" She glanced around and lowered her voice.
"You've heard about how in the past the reasoners used to test children for magical ability, then take them away to be executed?"
"Of course, everyone knows that." He frowned. These days they relied on people like his father to turn in any magin they discovered.
"What not everyone knows is that they didn't execute them all," Emmin said.
"Some escaped?" Daven asked, unsure as to where this was going.
"Some did," Emmin agreed, "but they kept a lot of the children. Some worked with the reasoners to find other magin. Others—" She inhaled deeply, then plunged on, "They were used for various testing, like they were animals."
"I don't—"
She cut him off with a look. "In the early days, they were cut open to see if they were different inside." She shuddered. "But others, they were raised to fight for the reasoners. They wanted an army of magin."
"Are you saying that some of the reasoners are magin?" He could hardly believe what he was hearing. The depth of the hypocrisy was almost too much to grasp.
"It's possible," she replied. "Mostly they just kept them locked away so they could brainwash and breed them."
"I beg your pardon?" he asked, mouth agape. "Breed them?" He was almost certain he hadn't heard her right.
"Yes, breed them," she said insistently. She licked her lips before going on. "My grandparents were magin, taken as children by the reasoners. It was the only life they ever knew, utter obedience to their captors or they were beaten. They were taught to believe they were nothing. Less than nothing. They were broken. My—" She choked on her words.
"My grandfather was forced to impregnate my grandmother several times. The children were tested for their magic. If they couldn't use it, they were taken away. If they could, they were absorbed into the program."
