“The embodiment of fear,” said Kahg. “The gods’ fear. Fear cannot create. Fear can only destroy.”
“What did the gods fear?” Aylaen asked.
She put her hand on the spiritbone of the Dragon Kahg that still hung on a leather thong from a nail driven into the prow. Plain and unadorned, the dragon’s spiritbone was quite different from the beautifully adorned spiritbones of the Vektia.
“Themselves,” said the Dragon Kahg.
Aylaen watched the shadows of the clouds glide across the water. She was thinking she knew the truth. The idea was awful, terrifying, but she needed to know for certain. As Kahg had said, the decision to use the Five would be up to her.
“Kahg, why do you stay with us? You never used to. You have no care for humans. You can’t even remember our names.”
The dragon was silent; in his silence was the answer. He stayed to guard the spiritbones.
She glanced about the deck. Acronis was taking his afternoon nap in the sunshine. He had ceased trying to persuade Aylaen to bury Skylan at sea.
“I have no rational explanation for why the body is not decaying,” Acronis had told her. “The idea that he is dead and not dead will do as well as any.”
Farinn was gazing into the sky, humming to himself. He was composing a new song. He did not have to sing Skylan’s death song yet. Wulfe was back at the stern, gossiping with his oceanids.
Leaving the deck, Aylaen descended into the hold, closing the hatch behind her. She had hidden the spiritbones down here in a large stone jar used for storing dried beans—not a very safe hiding place.
She knew of a place that was more secure, and she had been meaning to transfer them. After Skylan’s death, however, she had not been able to find the will to do anything. To keep them safe, she had placed the sword of Vindrash across the lid of the jar.
The sword remained where she had put it, undisturbed. She touched the hilt, thinking of the goddess who had given it to her. Aylaen had walked among the gods since she was a little girl. She had not thought much about it, believing that walking with gods was a thing done by all mortals. Only later would she realize that she had been given a gift. Perhaps even then the gods had foreseen that the thread of her wyrd would be bound with theirs.
“Why me?” Aylaen asked softly, aloud. “Was I chosen? Or did I choose?”
She smiled wistfully to think that Skylan would never ask such a question. He knew he was the chosen of the gods and whether he was right or wrong, he lived his life in that belief, putting his faith in Torval, knowing the god had faith in him.
She remembered clearly the night she had found the blessed sword. She had gone to the Hall of the Gods, a grand name for a small shrine built to honor Vindrash.
“I knelt before the goddess to confess that I had lied,” Aylaen murmured. “I had told everyone I was going on the voyage with Skylan and Garn and the other warriors as a man-woman, to honor the gods. I had told a lie. In truth, I was running away from home, running off to be with my lover. But the lie was the truth—as Vindrash knew.
“You did not doubt me, Vindrash. To prove your faith, you gave me this sword, forged long ago in your honor and then left, covered in dust and forgotten, in a corner. You gave me the sword,” said Aylaen. Her hand closed over the hilt. “But I chose to pick it up.”
She set aside the sword, took the stone lid from the jar, and plunged her hand in among the beans, feeling about until she had found all three of the spiritbones. One by one, she drew them out. The hold was dimly lit, cool, and shadowy. What light there was seemed to coalesce in the gold and jewels that adorned the three spiritbones.
The Vektan Torque was her favorite, for it belonged to her people. As a mark of her favor, Vindrash had given the spiritbone to them. Horg’s failure to protect the spiritbone, bartering it away to save his own craven skin, had been the beginning that led to this end.
So many wyrds, bound into one.
The Torque was made of heavy gold formed in the shape of two dragons, their tails intertwined, their heads facing each other, holding the spiritbone in their front claws. The bone was adorned with a beautiful sapphire that glowed with the light of the stars.
She set the Torque aside and picked up another.
Vindrash had given this spiritbone to the god Sund to protect. Of all the gods, Sund was the only one who could see into the future. Foreseeing what he believed was the destruction of the gods, he had given the spiritbone to Aelon to try to bribe the god, persuade him to leave them in peace. It hadn’t worked.
The spiritbone formed the body of the dragon. Golden bands twined about the bone, becoming the dragon’s tail. Golden wings spread from the bone. A golden head reared up from the body. Emeralds adorned the spiritbone, set above the head. Two smaller emeralds were embedded in the wings. A long golden chain extended from the two wingtips.
Sacred, Kahg had called the spiritbone. Aylaen laid this one beside the first.
Vindrash had given the third spiritbone to the Sea Goddess for safekeeping. The Sea Queen had given the bone to Aylaen as a wedding gift. The spiritbone was set in a bracer made of twelve brass rings attached to a bar in the center and studded with emeralds and sapphires and pearls. The bracer was meant to fit over the lower part of the arm, extending from the wrist to the elbow. Every ring was decorated with various sea creatures: dolphins and whales and all manner of fish.
The bone was mounted on the bar in the center. A dragon made of brass twined around the bone, holding it firmly to the bracer with wings and tail. Blue sapphires and green emeralds reminded her of the colors of the shafts of sunlight slanting down through seawater. Pearls shone with a lustrous radiance.
Aylaen had come to love and admire the Sea Queen and grieved her death in a war Aelon had brought to her people. This spiritbone was doubly precious in her eyes.
She arrayed the three on the floor in front of her, touching each of the bones with the tips of her fingers. As Kahg had said, she felt their sacred power.
Lies. Fear. The truth.
Above all, she must keep them safe from Aelon.
The Sea Queen had given Aylaen a pouch made of fabric spun of bamboo in which to carry the spiritbones. She placed all three together in the pouch, thrust the pouch down the front of her dress, then reached out with her hand and knocked over the stone jar, sending a torrent of beans onto the deck.
She lifted the hatch and called out, “Farinn, Acronis! One of the jars has tipped over and there are beans everywhere!”
“I will clean it up,” Farinn offered, jumping to his feet.
Acronis followed more slowly. Observing the large quantity of beans scattered across the deck, he remarked, “How do you suppose a jar came to fall over in a calm sea?”
“The time may come, Legate, when the seas are no longer calm,” Aylaen said. “The less you and Farinn know, the better.”
“And when that time comes, what will happen to you, my dear?” Acronis asked, his smile gone.
“I suppose we will have to wait to hear the end of the song,” Aylaen replied, with an affectionate glance at Farinn, who was on his hands and knees scooping up beans and putting them back in the jar.
“In the meanwhile, I’m picking up beans,” Acronis said wryly.
He joined Farinn, grunting as he bent to the work, and Aylaen hurried up onto the deck. Wulfe had quit talking to his oceanids and was hovering near Skylan’s body, convinced Aylaen was going to throw him into the sea.
Seeing her approach him, he watched her warily. “What do you want?”
“I need you to do something for me.”
“You’re not going to take Skylan,” Wulfe said.
“We’ve talked about this. I promise,” said Aylaen.
“You Uglies always say one thing and do another.”
“It’s not about Skylan. I need you to—”
Wulfe started backing away. “Then it’s about a bath. I don’t need a bath.”
“You do, but that’s not what I want,” said
Aylaen. She held up the pouch. “I need your magical hidey-hole. You hid something in there once for me. I need you to hide this.”
When Wulfe had first come aboard the Venejekar, he had worked his magic to hollow out a hole in the bulkhead, using it as a place to stash his most valuable possessions.
Wulfe crept toward her, watching her suspiciously from beneath his shaggy thatch of hair, undoubtedly still expecting to be scrubbed within an inch of his life with foul-smelling soap.
She held out the pouch to him. “These are the spiritbones. I want you to take them and—”
Wulfe shrank away from her, putting his hands behind his back. He cast a nervous glance at the dragon. “Those are god bones. Kahg doesn’t want me to touch them. If I do, he’ll hurt me.”
“God bones!” Aylaen repeated. “Why would you say that? These are the bones of dragons, like Kahg’s.”
Wulfe opened his mouth, then looked up at the dragon and shut it again. He shook his head. “Go away. You’ll get me in trouble.”
“Wulfe, I need to know. You said these were god bones—”
“Dog bones. You heard me wrong,” Wulfe said. “Clean out your ears.”
The bones of dragons. Spiritbones. Sacred bones. God bones. The reason Vindrash had lied to the dragons, the reason Owl Mother’s five rune stones had come up blank; the reason the Dragon Kahg stayed with the Venejekar.
“I know the truth,” Aylaen said to herself. “But what am I meant to do with it?”
“Why are you staring at me?” Wulfe asked, scowling. “I didn’t do anything.”
“I wasn’t staring at you,” Aylaen said.
She had been staring at the vision of an immense and beautiful dragon coming to life, her wings spanning the heavens, sweeping the stars from the sky and the gods from this world.
Aylaen sighed and went over to sit down near Skylan’s body. She patted the deck beside her, inviting Wulfe to sit with her.
“I didn’t meant to upset you, Wulfe,” she said. “I have a problem and I was trying to think what to do. You don’t have to touch the … bones. All you have to do for me is use your magic to unseal the hole.”
Wulfe looked up at the dragon. Aylaen knew what he was thinking. Wulfe’s hidey-hole was in the bulkhead directly beneath the nail on which hung the dragon’s own spiritbone.
“Kahg won’t mind,” said Aylaen. “He will use his own magic to guard it.”
“Is it all right?” Wulfe asked, talking to the dragon. “Kahg says it’s all right.”
Wulfe apparently didn’t altogether trust the dragon, because he crept toward the bulkhead like a thief, all the while keeping an eye on Kahg, who was gazing out to sea in seeming unconcern. Aylaen knew better. The dragon was conscious of their every move.
Squatting down on the deck, Wulfe touched one of the wooden planks. Since it looked like all the other wooden planks—faded and rough and worn—Aylaen had no idea how he could tell one from another. Wulfe began to sing.
Open to my waiting hand.
Open to my knowing eye.
Open to my little song.
Open it and don’t take long.
The plank disappeared, revealing a hole filled with the boy’s treasures. Last time Aylaen had looked inside, she had seen an assortment of odds and ends, a lock of her own hair and a silver thimble. This time a flash of light caught her eye and she recognized the amulet Skylan had always worn around his neck: a small silver hammer.
“Don’t look!” Wulfe cried, putting his grimy hand over her eyes.
“Wulfe, I didn’t mean to, but I saw—”
“I didn’t steal it. Skylan wanted me to have it. To remember him.”
He took away his hand and glowered at her.
“I know he did, Wulfe,” said Aylaen gently. “But when Skylan comes back, you’re going to have to give it back. That is not just a piece of silver. It is his amulet, given to him to honor Torval.”
Wulfe gasped, horrified. “And I took it away from him! I didn’t know! Now he’ll be in danger.”
He grabbed hold of the worn leather thong, snatched it from the hole, and sprang to his feet.
“Wait! Where are you going with that?” Aylaen asked, noting that even in his haste, Wulfe took care not to touch the silver hammer. Despite the boy’s fear of all things metal, he had risked harm to take this token of Skylan.
“To give it back,” Wulfe cried. “He needs it to protect him!”
Crouching beside Skylan’s body, Wulfe gently tied the leather thong around his neck, then returned to Aylaen, who was kneeling on the deck in front of the hidey-hole.
“Skylan looks angry,” said Wulfe, sniffling and wiping his nose with his hand. “I told him I was sorry, but I don’t think he believes me.”
“I’ll explain it to him,” said Aylaen.
She eyed the secret place that was packed with Wulfe’s treasures.
“It won’t fit,” she said, disappointed. “There isn’t room.”
“Yes, there is,” said Wulfe. “It’s magic. Don’t you know anything? Put them inside.”
One by one, Aylaen drew the spiritbones out of the pouch and tucked them into the hole. To her surprise, they fit as snugly as if all the strange objects the boy had collected had moved aside to make room for them. Aylaen let her fingers rest on the spiritbones, feeling the sharp edges of the wingtips and snouts, crests and tails.
“The responsibility for the Five is mine, Vindrash,” said Aylaen. “All my life, you have favored me, given me insight into the lives of the gods. Am I right about the spiritbones?”
Aylaen waited, but there was no response.
Wulfe began to fidget. “Are you done?”
“Yes, I guess I am,” Aylaen said, rising to her feet. She clasped her hand over the empty pouch.
Wulfe sang the second part of his “hiding” song.
Keep safe from thieving hands.
Keep safe from spying eyes.
Let them meet a swift demise.
The planks returned to worn, weathered rough-hewn wood.
“If someone tried to steal what was inside, would the person die? Would your magic kill him?”
Wulfe cast a glance up at the dragon and then looked back at her. “If my magic didn’t, Kahg would.”
“Thank you, Wulfe,” said Aylaen. She reached out to brush back the ragged hair. “You know, you really do need a bath—”
Wulfe dashed off, racing across the deck toward the stern to get as far from her as possible. Aylaen walked over to the prow, to talk to the dragon.
“The Five do not belong to five dragons,” she said softly, for only Kahg to hear. “They belong to one—the Great Dragon Ilyrion.”
The dragon’s red eyes gleamed with pleasure. “Your name, human, is Aylaen.”
Aylaen smiled, but then she sighed. Now that she knew the truth, what was she meant to do with it?
CHAPTER
14
“The Isle of Revels lies up ahead,” said the Dragon Kahg. “I can see it on the horizon.”
The sky was clear, the sun bright. A light breeze ruffled the water. Aylaen eagerly searched the horizon, but could not sight any sign of land. She called Acronis to bring his magic glass and he used it to scan the ocean. Farinn came to look, as well, for he had the best eyesight of all of them on board.
“All I see is a patch of mist,” Acronis reported. “Though I must admit that is strange, considering the day is fine and the sun bright.”
“Farinn?”
“I see the mist,” he said. “But nothing else.”
The dragon snorted. “You look with mortal eyes. I see an island and now I hear the clash of arms. What you see as mist are ghosts. The dead fight the dead.” He sounded awed.
“Told you,” Wulfe muttered. “Dead Uglies.”
“But why would the dead be fighting?” Aylaen demanded. “Especially on an island devoted to pleasure.”
“I see the winged serpents of Aelon,” Kahg reported. “The god is leading the attack.”<
br />
“Skylan is on that isle … Aelon has long pursued him!” Aylaen stared at the horizon until her eyes ached.
The dragon’s eyes flickered red. “Aelon has raised an army of hellkites, dragging them from the bowels of hell. The god would not go to all this trouble to capture one mortal, no matter how valiant. Aelon seeks bigger fish.”
The dragonship bounded across the waves. Sea spray broke over the bow.
“On the Isle of Revels?” Aylaen was perplexed. “What treasure could Joabis possibly have…”
Her voice trailed off, for she knew the answer.
“Make haste, Kahg! Increase our speed.” She turned to run down into the hold, intending to arm herself, when Acronis and Farinn both stopped her.
“You forget, my dear, that we hear only one side of your conversation with the dragon,” said Acronis. “You look dismayed. Wulfe says that we are sailing to an island belonging to a god, and that Skylan is on that island. You speak of treasure and Aelon. What is going on?”
“Vindrash gave spiritbones to the Sea Goddess and to the god Sund,” said Aylaen. “Those two are in my possession, as well as the one she gave to the Vindrasi people. I believe she gave the fourth to Joabis. Aelon is desperate to find it and now the god is attacking the island. The dead fight the dead.”
“Then we living must arm ourselves,” said Acronis. He smiled at Aylaen. “For I assume you plan to sail into the midst of the battle?”
Aylaen flushed. “Thank you, sir, for not telling me to flee to safety.”
“I would if I thought it would do any good,” said Acronis.
Aylaen hurried off. As she was leaving, she heard Wulfe say, “You’re going to be fighting hellkites. If they kill you they’ll eat your soul.”
“Having my soul eaten?” Acronis laughed. “Just another day’s work on board the Venejekar.”
Aylaen had packed in her sea chest the armor she had worn when she had disguised herself as one of the Legate’s soldiers. Lifting the lid, she looked inside, drew in a soft breath, and sat back on her heels to marvel at a miracle.
A shaft of sunlight from the open hatch gleamed on a shirt that she thought at first was made of chain mail, only to discover, on taking it out to admire it, that the shirt was not made of chain. It was far lighter in weight, smooth to the touch, and glistened with rainbow opalescence that reminded her of the Dragon Kahg.
Doom of the Dragon Page 13
