Troubled, she touched the brooch of Joabis and saw again the children playing in the garden. She heard their laughter as the girl, Holma, teased her brother and the boy, Skylanson, stood at her side, both of them ready to fight each other or fight for each other, whichever fate offered.
Joy spread through her body, tasting like summer, warming her like honey mead, banishing fear and doubt, regret and sorrow. Such joy had been missing from the world for a long, long time. It would be her privilege, her own joy, to bring it back.
Feeling strong, prepared to face down any obstacle in her path, she was buckling on the sword of Vindrash when she heard a low-voiced conversation being carried on in the other room.
“Owl Mother, do you know what Aylaen is going to do, what will happen to her?” Farinn was asking.
“No, child, I don’t,” said Owl Mother. She paused and then added, “But I can guess.”
“Does she know?”
“As much as a mortal can know. She was given the choice when she became Kai Priestess and she made it with her eyes open.”
“Then … I don’t suppose it would be right to try to stop her,” Farinn said, dispirited.
“Your part and mine is to stand by her, young Farinn,” said Owl Mother. “As if we were standing shoulder to shoulder in the shield wall. The welfare of your people depends on her and on us.”
“I was scared to death in the shield wall,” Farinn admitted.
Owl Mother snorted. “You’d be a damn fool if you weren’t.”
Aylaen walked into the room. Farinn saw the spiritbones and his lip trembled, but he managed to give her a smile, working hard to be brave and supportive.
Owl Mother scowled when she saw the shining dragon-scale armor and glittering spiritbones.
“What is wrong?” Aylaen asked, alarmed.
“Your fire burns more brightly than the sun,” said Owl Mother. “You can’t walk through Tsa Kerestra looking like a star fallen from the heavens. People will notice.”
Rooting about in a large wooden sea chest, she dragged out a long, hooded cloak that would cover Aylaen from head to toe. She wrapped the cloak around the priestess and, indeed, the small hut seemed dark and shadowy when the light was extinguished.
“The gates of the city are opening,” said Owl Mother, cocking her head, listening to some sound only she could hear. “Raegar and Aelon and the god’s priests and soldiers will be entering the city. Time to go.”
She put her hand on the door handle, then looked at Aylaen. “You can turn back, child.”
“Skylan and my people have put their trust in me,” said Aylaen.
She smiled to see Farinn brace himself, very much as if he were standing in the shield wall, taking his place beside her.
Owl Mother opened the front door and walked outside. Aylaen and Farinn started to follow her, then came to a startled halt. The quaint houses and wildflowers flourishing beneath the ancient trees had disappeared, replaced by a wide paved street, silver spires soaring into the sky, and sunlit burnished golden domes.
“This way,” said Owl Mother.
She led them past marble facades, columned porticos, ornamental trees, and splashing fountains.
“But what happened to the small houses with the gardens?” Aylaen asked.
“As I said, Raegar needs to see what he expects to see. Otherwise he would grow suspicious. Our way lies up the hill, toward that shrine with the golden dome.”
“Which city is real?” Farinn wondered. “And which is the illusion?”
“One could say both,” said Owl Mother, looking somber. “What we thought was real turned out not to be.”
As they walked up the hill, they were joined by other people, wearing robes of green and brown or blue and silver.
“Are they real?” Farinn whispered.
“Of course, they’re real,” Owl Mother snapped. “Those wearing green are from the Kingdom Below and those in blue are from the Kingdom Above. They walk together now, for both are gone.”
Several greeted Owl Mother, though they did not call her that, but spoke to her by another name. She answered them with only a grunt and a snort. Aylaen noticed that although the Stormlords appeared to be aware of her and Farinn, they deliberately took no notice of them.
“Jyoti,” said Aylaen to Owl Mother. “Is that your true name?”
“One of them,” said Owl Mother.
Night fell fast around them. Silver spires and golden domes vanished in the darkness. They walked in the lambent light of the stars and Aelon’s shining, gloating moon that turned the Stormlords into gray shadows, as if Tsa Kerestra were populated by ghosts. Aylaen shivered and reached out to clasp Farinn’s hand, needing the warmth of a human touch. They were were about halfway up the hill when the silence was broken by the sound of tramping feet and jingling armor.
“Raegar,” said Owl Mother.
Owl Mother took hold of Aylaen and Farinn and guided them into the shadows just as the standard-bearers, who marched first, rounded a corner, and came into view. Flaring torches shone brightly on the flags and standards of Oran, Empire of Light.
A group of priests, looking supercilious and disdainful, walked behind, chanting Aelon’s praises in loud voices.
Four soldiers carrying a litter bearing a corpse marched next in line. The lower part of the body was covered with a bloody blanket, leaving the face exposed. A murmur spread among the Stormlords, who up until now had been silent.
“Baldev,” said Owl Mother in bitter tones. “Right when he might have been useful in removing the magic spells, he gets himself killed. Well, that’s torn the tapestry.”
“But even if he’s dead, the other Lords of the Storm, your brothers, can remove the magic,” said Aylaen.
“They could if they were here,” said Owl Mother. “Unfortunately, they’re not. They left with the others.”
“Left to go where?” Aylaen asked, dismayed.
“To the Realm of Fire,” said Owl Mother. “When they sundered the realms, we had to choose: one realm or the other. The portal is closed. Or to be more precise, there’s no longer a portal.”
“But that means you’ll never see your brothers again,” Farinn said. “And what about your magic? We were told the Stormlords had to return periodically to the Realm of Fire to replenish it. What will happen?”
In the darkness, Aylaen could see the old woman’s eyes faintly glimmer.
“Our magic will fade over time. When it does, we’ll have to learn to make do without. Like the rest of you.”
“I am sorry, Owl Mother,” said Aylaen, clasping the old woman’s hand.
“I’m not,” said Owl Mother. “My people lived in two realms and did no good in either. Perhaps now that will change. The question is, what do we do about the spiritbone?”
“What we have to,” said Aylaen.
Owl Mother quirked an eyebrow and glanced at Aylaen in surprise. Aylaen was herself surprised at her own calm. She had no idea how they were to remove the magical spells guarding the spiritbone, yet that didn’t seem to matter. It was as if bright wings folded around her and a voice said, “Have faith.”
The soldiers carrying the body marched past them. Owl Mother bowed her head and other wizards did the same.
“He was one of us,” said Owl Mother.
Raegar walked last in the place of honor, surrounded by his guard, wearing a purple cloak over his armor, a golden crown, and a wide grin. He waved mockingly to the Stormlords, who watched in silence, with an air of quiet expectation and resolve. When Raegar was gone, the Stormlords continued on their way, walking toward the tower at the top of the hill.
“Is the spiritbone in the tower?” Aylaen asked. “Will all these people be there?”
“No and no,” said Owl Mother. “Well, we’ve seen all we need to see. Best not dawdle any longer.”
Taking hold of Aylaen’s hand and Farinn’s, Owl Mother muttered something beneath her breath and the next moment, they were standing in pitch darkness that smelled o
f dirt, dampness, wine, and onions.
Owl Mother struck a spark on her finger and dropped it onto a piece of cloth floating in a dish of oil. The spark glowed, the cloth caught fire, and Aylaen was startled to see that they were in what appeared to be an underground cellar.
Walls, floor, and ceiling were dirt. There were no windows and only one entrance—a wooden door, held closed by a loop of rope attached to a hook in the wall. The cellar was packed with barrels, boxes, jars, chests, jugs, and other oddments, all jumbled together.
“Why bring us to to this place?” Farinn asked. “Are we hiding from Raegar?”
“No,” said Owl Mother. “In fact, this is his destination.”
“A root cellar?” Farinn asked, amazed.
“A shrine,” said Aylaen. “For the spiritbone.”
Farinn stared at her as though she’d gone mad.
Owl Mother picked up the lamp and led Aylaen and Farinn toward the back of cellar. They had to move slowly, wending their way around wooden chests banded with iron and covered with dust, barrels stained with wine, and sacks that, judging by the smell, contained onions, apples, and various vegetables.
At the very back, Owl Mother stopped to point to what looked like the dragon-head prow of a Vindrasi ship.
“Hiding in plain sight,” she said.
Aylaen took the lamp from Owl Mother and drew closer.
The prow, stashed carelessly in a corner, was covered in dirt and dust. Brushing away some of the dirt with her hand, Aylaen saw that the carving of the dragon had been done with loving care. She pictured a craftsman whiling away the lonely hours of the dark, bitter cold winter nights, giving life to a block of wood, turning it into a dragon.
The unknown craftsman had taken the time to carve each individual scale on the graceful neck. The head was a long tapered snout with the lips parted in a roar to reveal wooden fangs. The dragon’s crest consisted of five spikes, four on the neck and a single large spike at the forehead. Below the crest, wide wooden eyes gazed blankly at nothing.
Aylaen rested the lamp on a barrel, causing the light to waver. The dragon’s eyes flared to life and then shifted to look steadily at her. A flash of gold on the spike glinted in the fluttering flame.
Lured by the intelligence in the eyes, Aylaen looked more closely and realized the spike was made of bone, not wood, and that the crest was not a part of the prow. The crest was a helm, made to fit over the dragon’s head.
“The spiritbone,” Aylaen murmured and reached out toward it.
“Don’t touch it!” Farinn cried, grabbing her and dragging her back. “Remember the magic!”
“Hush!” Owl Mother hissed a warning and blew out the flame.
Outside the door, Aylaen heard priests chanting the name of Aelon, the clashing of arms and the sound of booted feet marching nearer and nearer. A commanding voice called a halt. Booted feet stamped and were silent. The priests now sounded hoarse and had lost much of their enthusiasm. Their chanting straggled to a halt.
“This foul place is dark as death,” said a voice. “Eolus, hand me a torch.”
“Raegar!” Aylaen said in a smothered voice.
“Hush!” Owl Mother repeated.
A moment’s pause, as though he were looking around, and then Raegar bellowed in anger.
“This is no shrine! It’s a goddamn root cellar! We must have taken a wrong turn! Eolus, give me Baldev’s map.”
“You see, sir, we came up the hill to the tower that is clearly marked ‘the shrine of the spiritbone.’”
“I know what it’s supposed to be!” Raegar snarled. “Why isn’t it?”
“Send the men away, Raegar,” said a woman’s voice, cold and imperious. “Order your soldiers and the priests to wait for you at the end of the street.”
Raegar gave the orders and they heard the commander and his troops and the priests marching away.
“You promised me, Revered Aelon, that you would lead me to the shrine with the spiritbone,” said Raegar, sounding subdued.
Owl Mother muttered, “Aelon! Damn and blast it. We have to get away from here!”
She grabbed Aylaen’s hand.
“No,” said Aylaen, snatching her hand away.
“You can do nothing, child!” Owl Mother argued. “We are in danger. At least, the magic will protect the spiritbone from Raegar. We can come back…”
“I am where I need to be,” said Aylaen. “You should go and take Farinn with you.”
“I’m not leaving,” Farinn whispered.
“Stubborn Vindrasi fools,” Owl Mother muttered.
“Stop whining, Raegar,” Aelon was saying, “and trust me. The spiritbone is here. The Stormlords tried to trick you, hoping you would give up and go away.”
“If that is true, not one of them will be left alive by the time I’m through with them!” Raegar said angrily. “I’ll burn this city to ashes.”
He must have kicked the door with his foot, for they heard wood splintering and then torchlight flared, making the room come alive as the shadows flowed across the floor and crawled up the wall.
The sight was alarming, and Raegar sucked in a startled breath. “How do I remove the magic? Baldev said powerful spells guarded the spiritbone.”
“Baldev also said the spiritbone would be in a shrine, not a root cellar,” Aelon retorted. “Throw down the torch. We will search using my light!”
A harsh burst of radiance filled the cellar. Owl Mother and Farinn ducked down behind a barrel. Aylaen was going to join them. Then, hearing a whisper, she stopped and turned around.
The helm shone in the god’s light. The first spike, rising from the top of the helm, was made of a single bone, long and curved and sharply pointed. The other three spikes were gold twined with silver and sparkling with diamonds. The helm itself was bronze, trimmed with silver and gold.
“I know the secret to the magic,” said Aylaen softly.
“Do you?” Owl Mother asked, casting Aylaen a shrewd look.
“I do,” said Aylaen.
She unbuckled the sword of Vindrash and handed it to Farinn.
“Tell Skylan that our wyrds are forever bound and that no matter where I am, he will know how to find me.”
She walked toward the statue of the dragon.
CHAPTER
40
Farinn watched Aylaen approach the dusty dragon-head’s prow that to him looked as if it had been discarded and forgotten. He longed to stop her as he had once longed to flee his place in the shield wall.
He had been so scared then that he had thought he might die of the terror before even a spear pierced his body or an axe sliced open his throat. He had stayed for only one reason, the song and the right to sing it. For he knew that if he failed his people, the song would fail him. The music would leave his soul cold and empty and without words.
He had held his place in the wall alongside the other warriors, though (Torval forgive him!) he had closed his eyes when death had thundered straight toward him. By some miracle, the wave of battle had surged around and past him, leaving him untouched, unscathed, shaking, and in wonder.
He watched Aylaen draw nearer and nearer to the old, forgotten prow and he clutched the sword of Vindrash in its sheath that she had given to him and bit his lip till the blood came, fighting the impulse to cry out, “No! Please, don’t touch it! Go home and be happy!”
“You are the witness for all people,” said Owl Mother softly. “You must be as brave as she is.”
Her admonition helped. Farinn drew in a deep breath. Aylaen was very near the dragon.
“I heard voices! Who is there?” Raegar called out.
“It must be Skylan and his priestess!” Aelon said. “They come for the spiritbone.”
“I can’t see them,” said Raegar. “The light is too bright. Can you see where they are?”
“I can see where they are not,” Aelon replied, sounding sullen.
“That’s a bloody big help!” Raegar raised his voice. “Cousin Skylan! So no
w I find you skulking in the shadows! I always knew you were a coward. Come fight me like a man or I will kill you and your bitch of a wife!”
Farinn shuddered and Owl Mother dragged him back behind the barrel. Aylaen appeared oblivious to Raegar’s threats and the presence of the god. Her dragon-scale armor glowed in shimmering opalescence, her red hair flamed, and Farinn wondered that neither mortal nor immortal eyes could see her, for her radiance seemed to banish night. She was gazing, rapt, at the dragon, paying heed to nothing else. If she knew Raegar and Aelon were there, she did not seem to care.
Raegar waited impatiently for an answer that did not come.
“Skylan would never let such an insult stand, Revered Aelon,” he said, sounding nervous. “Are you sure it’s them? Maybe it’s the wizards.”
“Wizards! Bah!” Aelon returned with scorn. “I have pulled the teeth of those vipers. We have no time to waste. The spiritbone is here. Go fetch it.”
Farinn heard the rattle and scrape of a sword sliding out of a scabbard as Raegar started moving toward them and he felt the old, sickening fear fill his mouth with gall. He looked at Owl Mother. She seemed very frail in the light, an old woman, dried up and wrinkled. The portal was closed. Perhaps her magic was already gone.
I will have to stop Raegar, Farinn thought, gripping the sword. There is no one else.
Aylaen seemed utterly entranced by the dragon. She did not look at Farinn or Owl Mother. She did not look back at the god or Raegar. Reaching out, she lifted the helm from the dragon’s head.
Raegar was hampered in his search by the clutter in the cellar. Farinn heard him kick something out of the way, then there was a clatter, as if he’d bumped into something else, and finally a thud and swearing, as if something had fallen on him.
“You are a god!” Raegar cried, angry and frustrated. “Tell me where to find the damn bone!”
Doom of the Dragon Page 33
