The Passage to Mythrin 2-Book Bundle

by Patricia Bow

  “Probably doesn’t understand English, anyway,” Simon murmured back.

  Amelia let go of Simon’s arm and took a couple of painful steps forward. Simon made a small sound, but she ignored him. She crouched down and tried to put a smile in her voice. “Hi, there! I’m Amelia, and this ….” She turned to wave at Simon, and her breath hissed in.

  Simon stood stiff as a brick. Half a dozen men and women surrounded him. They pointed weapons at him — short bows held flat, with arrows that gleamed like steel. One was pointed at her, too.

  One of the men said, “But they are only children! And human, surely?”

  English: funny-sounding English, though, like water flowing, Amelia thought in the back of her mind. The front part of her mind was full of: Those arrows look like they could go through an elephant without stopping. Or a dragon. Or me.

  The pale child pointed at Simon. “He is human, yes.” She/he pointed at Amelia. “That one? I cannot be sure.”

  “But where did they come from?”

  “Through the gate,” the child said.

  “From the Prism World?” asked one of the women.

  “You might try asking us!” Amelia flared, more from nerves than courage. Simon shushed her.

  “Keep clear of that one,” the child commanded. “I fear that she is —”

  Amelia never found out what the child feared, or why he/she seemed to be giving the orders. Between one word and the next, two giant sharp-tipped hands clamped onto one shoulder and one hip and snatched her up and away. She screamed. The stony shelf dropped. The last thing she saw before blacking out was Simon’s upturned face — a white circle with a black “O” in it — growing smaller and smaller below.

  “Amelia’s not a dragon,” Simon said for the tenth time. They didn’t believe him, he could tell that much by their faces. He wished Amelia would back him up, but there hadn’t been a peep out of her since … since …

  Something happened after they came out of that building with the stained-glass windows. But he couldn’t remember what. All he could remember was how it felt to suddenly have something sharp against his spine. And then the singing.

  The singing was all around him now. He could hear it when he listened for it, but mostly it clung to the background, soft and grey, like cobwebs. There were words, but he couldn’t make them out. He thought the singing came from the eight or ten people sitting cross-legged on straw mats against the wall, with their hands in their laps. All their lips moved. Their fingertips moved too, gently in and out, as if they were braiding invisible string.

  And they were all watching him. They never took their eyes off him. That bothered him more than the singing, but he pretended not to notice.

  The men and women with the crossbows hadn’t treated him badly. They’d marched him into this place — he thought it was underground, because there were no windows — and sat him down on a soft cushion and one of them gave him a hot drink that tasted like mint tea, in a silver mug, and a slice of some kind of nutty cake on a silver dish.

  He’d had time to look around and notice the slim white pillars and the pale stone walls — marble, he guessed — carved all over with scenes of people fighting dragons. The polished floor had silver veins in it. He had never seen such a beautiful room.

  But he was in trouble, no mistake about it. Here he was, sitting on the floor with a big bare space around him, and there they were, the three of them all in a row, looking down at him from their carved and gilded chairs.

  At first look you’d think they were a family: a middle-aged woman with her small child and her old father. Simon got straightened out on that right away. Gram, on his left, was all wrinkly and dark like a raisin under a halo of silver hair, and wrapped in silky grey robes. Yulith, on the right, with a face blunt as a hammer, was all in brown leather, jacket and pants and boots, studded all over with shining steel.

  The child, Pier, sat in the middle. Simon was almost sure by now that she was a girl, but he still wasn’t one hundred percent certain. The flowing white shirt and leggings, with gold trim at neck and wrists, looked like something a girl would wear. Her small face was colourless, her eyes a greyish green, maybe, pale as water. She hadn’t smiled once. Nobody had.

  Pier was the one who had said, in her little-girl voice, “We are the Triad: Weaver, Warrior, Seeker. We led the people to this place from Cassar.”

  Simon had never heard anyone speak exactly the way she did, a soft, precise, up-and-down speech that made English sound like a foreign language.

  And then she said, “How is it you keep company with a dragon, then?”

  “If you mean Amelia, she’s not a dragon.”

  “Then how did you come through the gate? Where did you learn the skill? Is it that you are seekers?” She leaned forward, her eyes all over his face. “You have been to this world before?”

  “Um, yes. And no. I–I mean ….” Simon gripped the warm silver cup. “I don’t know what a seeker is. This is Mythrin. We aren’t from here, we’re from a place called Earth.”

  “Lie!” snapped the Warrior. “We come from Earth.”

  “But,” Simon waved the cup at Pier, “she just said you come from Cassar.”

  “Cassar is our homeland. Was our homeland.” Yulith looked sad, suddenly. “Earth was our world.”

  “But you can’t be from Earth!”

  Yulith’s fist clenched. “And who are you to tell me where I come from?”

  The old man laid a frail hand on Yulith’s arm. “This boy, he does not lie,” he said, in a voice like feathers. “He believes truly that he is from Earth.”

  “And about the dragon?” Pier asked, still without taking her eyes off Simon’s. She seemed fascinated.

  “He also believes that is the truth.”

  “He is under a spell, surely?”

  “No!” Simon was getting desperate. “I’ve known Amelia all my life! We’re cousins!”

  “It could be that the dragon killed the real Amelia and stole her human shape,” Yulith said.

  “If you’d just let her speak!” Simon looked over his shoulder, then all around. It came to him, like a stone dropping on his head, that Amelia wasn’t here. The silver plate slid off his knee. The cup hit the floor with a strangely dull clunk. “What’s happened to her?”

  He staggered to his feet. The pale room broke up into patches of darkness and smoky yellow light. Suddenly there were more faces around the walls, eyes bright with flickering reflections. They were all looking at him. Strange people in a strange world, and he was all alone among them. He trembled.

  “Soft!” whispered the old man. He looked older suddenly, and the sheen was gone from his robes. And Pier looked different, and so did Yulith, and …

  Gram lifted his hands an inch. The singing rose. The light grew brighter and lost its smoky look. Simon took a deep breath. He didn’t know why he’d been so scared, all of a sudden.

  But something still bothered him. “I know you can’t be from Earth. Not my Earth, anyway.” He looked at Yulith. “It isn’t just the, um, crossbows. See, nobody on my Earth believes in dragons.”

  Her head jerked back in surprise. “But why not?”

  “Well, because we don’t have any dragons. We haven’t had any for, oh, a thousand years. People think they’re just a story.”

  After a long silence, Pier said, “On this Earth of yours, do they know the one we call Wayland Smith?”

  “Wayland Smith?” Simon frowned. The name sounded familiar, but …. Then he remembered. It was in a book he’d read for school last year. Legends of Northern Lands, or something like that. “Yes, sort of. He was a myth, right? He made magic swords and things.”

  “Myth!” Yulith barked a laugh.

  Pier pointed at the floor. “Sit down. Listen.”

  “But I don’t understand!”

  “Then we will make you understand.” Her face just then was not childlike at all. “And why? Because if you fail us, we will all die, every last one of us.”
<
br />   Simon sat down again with a thump. “All right,” he said. “I’m listening.”

  “Good,” Pier said. “Now, this is the tale from the beginning.” Her voice slipped into a storyteller’s singsong rhythm. “Long, long ago, in the springtime of the world….”

  She told him of the half-brothers, Wyrm and Wayland, and their bitter rivalry, and the making and hiding of Wayland’s Prism. And she told of the rise of the dragons, and the long decline of the humans, and their search, for years upon years, for the one gate leading to the world where the Prism lay hid.

  And she told of how the seekers’ dream of the Prism faded, though it never died. For in all those years, not one seeker had found the gate to the Prism World.

  Until now.

  CHAPTER 5

  A MUSTERING OF DRAGONS

  Amelia woke up. It was like waking into a nightmare. The clawed hands still gripped one shoulder and hip. They felt like teeth biting into her flesh. Far below, a jagged landscape slid under the sequin moon. Something black, with wings, rippled over the ground. She realized it was the shadow of whatever was carrying her.

  “M-Mara?”

  No. The voice was inside her head.

  But the only dragon I know is Mara. None of the others would remember her after … how many years was it? Only six months at home, but time was different here. They’d think she was something to eat. I’m going to be sick. I’ve got to get away! She forgot how far above the ground she was and tried to struggle free.

  The claws dug in. Be still or I’ll drop you!

  Amelia went limp. Soon as it lands, I’ll run.

  I can hear every word, you know. Then it said, Be ready. We’re there.

  The earth swung up, swirling as the dragon circled. It’s going to land and I’m underneath and I’ll be squashed! Amelia squeezed her eyes shut.

  Next moment, she sprawled like a doll flung down. A nest of springy stuff — it had a smell like cedar — gave under her hands. She looked up at an arched silhouette against the stars — snaky neck, long head. It grinned. Each tooth was longer than her hand. A crackling, whistling sound filled her head. It was laughing at her.

  Then, with a flex of wings and a gust of sulphury wind, it lifted and was gone.

  “Okay, I’m all in one piece. Pretty much.” She sat up and rubbed her left shoulder. It was bruised, but not punctured. “But what the heck? What is this? Where am I?”

  Nearby, something scraped. Sounded like claws on rock. She staggered to her feet. A gully cut through this meadow. Something was climbing out of it. Amelia backed away, heart pounding. A huge, clawed hand scrabbled on the edge, then another, and a glinting, scaled head rose above the brink, and then …

  … they changed. Shrank, shortened, lost their sheen. A smaller figure heaved itself over the edge, lay still a moment, then unfolded upwards. It tossed a river of hair, glinting red even in this light, over its shoulders. It pulled down the cuffs of a glistening jacket — crimson sequins now instead of scales. It stooped to brush dirt from denim-covered knees.

  Amelia came unstunned. “Mara!”

  “I wondered where your tongue was.”

  Amelia jumped at her and hugged her. Mara laughed and hugged her back. All the air whooshed out of Amelia’s lungs. “Oof!” She’d forgotten how strong Mara was.

  She stepped back, scrubbing tears from her cheeks. “Oh — here.” She unzipped the pocket of her shorts, dug out the ring, and held it out. Mara closed her fingers over it without taking her eyes off Amelia’s face.

  “Your head of fire has gone to ashes.”

  “I washed out the red and yellow gel.”

  “But for that, you are just the same.”

  “It’s only been six months, for me. Five years for you, gosh! You’re … you’re … different.” Different how, was hard to say. Come to think of it, Mara would never have crawled out of that ravine. She’d have leaped out. “Are you hurt?”

  “I was shot. It is nothing.” Mara gripped Amelia’s hand. “Come, walk with me. My kinsman will stand watch.”

  “That other dragon?” Amelia looked around cautiously. The meadow sloped up from the ravine to a ridge. Beyond that was nothing but sky. A long, black hump against the stars might have been a dragon hugging the ground.

  “One of the few I trust in a time of weakness, young though he is. He brings me food and drink while I heal. He carries messages. Amelia, I need your help.”

  “You bet! What? Anything!”

  “I need you to deal with these new humans. They came through one of the gates. They are your people.”

  Amelia remembered the strange, old-fashioned weapons. “Not my people, I don’t think.”

  “They are human. I cannot talk with them, but you can. Make them go away.” Something in Mara’s voice told Amelia there was no use arguing, but she couldn’t help trying.

  “You don’t think there’s room on Mythrin for both —”

  “No!” Mara’s pointed teeth gleamed. “You do not understand. They already ….” She swivelled. A whistle came down the wind. She set a hand on Amelia’s shoulder and shoved. Amelia sprawled in the grass. “Stay down!” Mara hissed, and was gone.

  Amelia lifted her head. A vast dark shape flowed up the slope. On the ridge it reared up, spreading its wings wide. She’d forgotten how terrifyingly big Mara was. Twice the size of the other dragon, at least.

  For a still moment, while even the wind held its breath, Mara stood poised, magnificent. Then she made a sound like a whole orchestra full of cellos, with a few trumpets thrown in. Amelia clapped her hands to her ears. Mara furled her wings around her body. And slowly, as if she commanded the world and all the time in it, settled beyond the ridge out of sight.

  Amelia stared at the skyline. The other dragon was up there watching, she could see the shape of his head against the sky. I need to know what’s going on! But Mara said to stay down. Yes, but she didn’t say I had to stay right in this spot, did she?

  Keeping her head low, she crawled up the grassy slope. The dragon didn’t look around as she wriggled up beside him. She inched on her elbows between two boulders, nosed through a patch of something raspy that smelled like onions, and peeked out the other side. Her heart flipped.

  Oh … holy … No wonder Mara said ….

  Dragons, dragons, dragons. Thousands of them. They filled the valley that sloped away from this ridge to the next one, half a mile away at least, Amelia guessed. And more coming down all the time. They settled out of the sky like huge jewels.

  Their claws scraped rock and their wings folded with a sound like stiff silk. After that they lay still as stone, except that their eyes flickered. All eyes were fixed on the great crimson dragon that crouched on a stony outcrop above them.

  Mara’s perch was a few metres below where Amelia lay. She thought, All it’ll take is one of them to look up a little and they’ll see me! She scrunched down until her chin pressed pebbles.

  The dragon to Amelia’s left slanted one yellow eye at her and then fixed again on the scene below. Quiet! Let me listen. This is important.

  “But I don’t hear anything!” Amelia whispered.

  Of course not. You ardini, you are mind-deaf, you hear nothing. But we dragons hear your thoughts, and your thoughts are deafening!

  Amelia seethed. Then she thought: He’s right. I’d better keep quiet. But how? I can’t not think!

  But as she lay there watching, she forgot all about trying to think quietly. Mara was speaking with the dragons, and they with her. It was nothing you could hear, and nobody opened their jaws. You could follow the flow of thoughts back and forth by the lighting of eyes, and occasionally the flick of a tail-tip.

  Silence filled the valley, except for a whispering, buzzing sound like wind in bare branches. Huh, it’s almost like I can hear them. Take that big dark dragon just below Mara. His teeth showed suddenly, and his eyes shone deep orange. You could just imagine: fire, he was saying.

  Amelia shuddered. Only the wind.
<
br />   Not the wind. The dragon beside her lowered his head to peer at her. Not so mind-deaf after all, ardin child?

  “Huh?”

  That was Zephrinarrinaden. I name him because I despise him. Contempt blew through Amelia’s mind — and a trace of fear, as well. He is a friend of the chief’s brother, the usurper, only he never followed him into exile over sea. He would gladly carry fire and death to the two-legged invaders. And do it now, he says.

  “But why?”

  He says they have things that can pierce dragon skin. Soon they will make even stronger things. That is what ardini do, he says. They are weak, so they make things to kill people stronger than they are. Is that true?

  Amelia couldn’t think of an answer. “Ask me again later. What is Mara telling them?’

  She is the chief. Why do you cut her name short? Bad enough you even know it.

  “She told me herself!”

  Even so. You show no respect! He snorted a sulphury-smelling gust. She says it is her will to deal fairly with these humans. Don’t kill without warning, she says. Give them time to leave. Give them until the rise of the full moon. After that, if they are still here, bring fire and claw. That is fair, she says.

  The valley might have been paved with stones shaped like dragons, they held so still. Then the stones glittered as they stirred. The big grey dragon arched back his neck and spat flame at the sky. More flames spouted up from the dragons close to him, and a few farther away.

  The dragon beside Amelia hissed softly. Only a few would go against her, if they could. Most are with her. But none are happy.

  The valley was dark again, but no longer still. It shimmered and broke apart and emptied upwards. The first to go was that big dark grey one, Zef-whatshisname, and half a dozen around him.

  When they were all gone, Mara turned and surged off her perch and over the ridge. She changed shape as she came. In passing, she grabbed Amelia by one arm. Amelia stumbled after her down the hill.

  “That snake, Zephrinarrinaden, I do not trust him not to crawl back here and spy. I think he picked something from your mind, kinsman. Amelia, go now!”