by Resa Nelson
“Hello?” Astrid said.
The figure jerked upright as if waking from a dream, saying, “Let loose the arrows!”
“Peter,” Astrid said, smiling, happy to know he was by her side.
He sat in the dark for several moments. Tentatively, he said, “Mistress Astrid?”
“How long have I been here?” she said, realizing how stiff her body felt when she sat up in bed.
“Mistress Astrid!” His dark, shadowy figure hovered above her for a moment as he stood. Peter rushed toward the pale light outlining the tapestries. He pushed one tapestry aside and tied it in place, allowing a sharp stream of light to spill onto the floor and brighten the room.
Peter paled for a moment. “Are you a ghost?”
Everything rushed back at her. She'd managed to infect the wound made when an arrowhead grazed her leg with lizard spittle. Most people died from a lizard's bite within a day or two. Sometimes it took as long as three. Why did Peter look so afraid? “How long have I been here?” she asked again.
“A week,” Peter said. “I stayed by your side and kept feeling your hand. It's been warm every day, and I watched you breathe and thrash in your sleep.”
Had she died? Was she now a ghost like DiStephan?
Cautiously, Astrid raised her hands to her face. Her skin felt warm to the touch. “Have you taken night's bane?”
Peter shook his head. No.
“That's the only way you can see ghosts. To chew night's bane.”
Peter shook his head again. “That's mostly true. There are some who have the gift of ghost sight without night's bane.”
“Ghost sight?”
Peter nodded. “They say you never know you have it until you see your first ghost. I must have ghost sight, and you are my first ghost.” His voice trembled. “I never meant for you to get hurt, Mistress Astrid. I was headstrong and foolish in demanding the attack of arrows.”
“Peter, it wasn't your fault. I agreed to it.”
Ignoring her words, he took a cautious step forward, as if he expected her to turn into a wisp of smoke any moment now. “You warned us. You said the dragon's scales protected it and the arrows would bounce off. We shouldn't have let you become part of it.” Peter choked as tears spilled down his face. “It's my fault you're dead!”
Astrid wiggled her toes and flexed her knees and elbows. Everything worked, and her body still felt stiff and sore, probably from having spent a week in bed. “I'm not so sure I'm a ghost. Come here and touch my hand.”
Still crying, Peter wiped his tears away. “Everyone's always talking about how they wished they had ghost sight, but I don't want it! Please don't haunt me, Mistress Astrid!”
“All right. I promise I won't haunt you.” Astrid paused, wondering how to put Peter at ease. “But let's make sure I'm truly dead first. Just give my hand a quick touch. If we discover I'm a ghost, I'll vanish and leave you alone forever.”
Peter sniffled but gathered his courage. He walked toward the bed quickly and poked one finger at the back of her hand.
Astrid sighed in relief.
Peter's eyes widened and he grabbed her hands with his. “You're real,” he whispered. “You're warm.” He placed one hand on either side of her neck, looking into her eyes. “I can feel the life in you. How can that be? Why aren't you dead?”
Astrid smiled. “I don't know.”
Backpedalling, Peter stuttered, “Not that I want you dead. I want you alive! We all do. What I mean to say is I don't understand how this is happening.”
“It shouldn't be.” Astrid hesitated, wondering if she should take Peter into her confidence. Why not? Hadn't he stayed by her side all week? Hadn't he watched over her? Hadn't he shown remorse even though he'd done nothing wrong?
The black stone that had emerged from her foot last year weighed heavy in her pouch, and that weight felt too great to carry alone.
“I need to ask you a question,” Astrid said, looking at the doorway to make sure no one else was near. “Can I trust you?”
Peter let go of her neck, suddenly acting shy and awkward. But he gathered himself up with pride shining in his eyes and said, “Yes. I have always been good at keeping secrets.”
Astrid reached to her waist only to panic when she discovered the small bag she kept tied to her belt wasn't there.
Peter reached to the floor and lifted her belt and bag. “I took it off so you could breathe easier.”
She relaxed when he handed them to her. Opening the small bag, she felt among its simple contents until she recognized the cool touch of stone.
I shouldn't do this. I've been keeping it secret since it came out of my foot. Who knows what kind of power it has?
But what if the stone had something to do with the reason the lizard's bite hadn't killed her?
Astrid took it out of the bag and showed it to Peter. The stone was a gem the size of a fingernail. In the light cast from the window, it sparkled black with a hint of indigo.
Peter stared, his face drawn with puzzlement. “I've seen nothing like this before. What kind of gem is it?”
“I don't know. I've shown it to every alchemist I've met from the Far Northlands to here in the Southlands. No one can tell me what it is or what it's for. But it's the only thing I can think of that would explain why I'm alive.”
Someone nearby cleared his throat.
Astrid looked up to see the dark silhouette of a man in the bedroom doorway.
“If no alchemist has explained it to you,” he said, “then they're either liars or frauds.”
CHAPTER 5
As he stepped into the room and the light, Astrid sighed in relief when she recognized Peter's father, Master Antoni, the wealthiest man in Bellesguarde. Ten years Astrid's senior, he carried himself tall and straight, even though he stood only slighter taller than Astrid. Master Antoni kept his graying hair cropped close to his head and yet sported a dark beard. The servants gossiped that surely he must dye it with henna, but Astrid chose to believe the color natural and untainted. He gazed first at her and then at the stone in her hand.
“Peter,” he said quietly, “stand guard at the door.”
Without hesitation, Peter snapped to attention. “Yes, Father.”
Watching Peter take his position, Master Antoni said, “You seem well, Mistress Astrid.”
“Yes,” she said with a smile. “We've already determined I'm not a ghost.”
“Ah, yes,” Master Antoni said. He patted her hand as if to validate what she'd told him. “Peter is well aware that ghost sight runs in our blood. Few have it, but one never knows until it's too late.”
“Do you recognize this?” Astrid held the stone in her open palm.
Master Antoni gazed long and hard at it before answering. Even then, he kept his voice low and glanced up from time to time to make sure Peter still guarded the door. “Only from legend, which says such a stone is created whenever a Scalding has experienced a personal time so trying as to sink into the darkness of despair and sorrow.”
Master Antoni glanced briefly at Astrid, but his gaze pierced her like a needle.
Margreet. The stone emerged after what happened to Margreet. I felt despair, and that created this black stone.
“Legend tells of bloodstones, which are created from love,” Master Antoni said, “and it is love that gives them the innate ability to provide protection, although I’ve heard some alchemists use questionable means to release that ability. The stone of darkness is quite different.” He shook himself as he shifted his gaze from the stone to Astrid. “Even when a new one is created, it holds old powers.”
“Old powers?”
Master Antoni's gaze moved to the small pin in the shape of a tree fastened to Astrid's shirt. “Powers known by those who know the old gods and the old ways.” Looking into Astrid's eyes, he said, “But I would never take you for a Keeper of Limru.”
Astrid blinked back tears. A year later, and everything still stung as hard as if it had happened yesterday. “I kn
ew a Keeper of Limru.”
“I understood they all died several years ago.”
“There was one left.”
“One who became a friend? One who is no longer with us?”
Astrid nodded. Even now, she couldn't bear to talk about it.
“And the pin of the Keeper of Limru was a gift? You wear it to remember your friend?”
Again, Astrid nodded.
“And you found the stone afterwards.” Master Antoni's words resonated as a statement, not a question. “It could be that all these things led to the stone finding its way to you. And you may be right in believing the stone saved your life.”
“What do you know about it?”
Master Antoni shrugged. “Not much beyond a few old legends I learned from an alchemist in my family. Any alchemist worth his salt can tell you everything you need to know.”
Astrid held the gem in front of her, and the sunlight streaming through the window seemed to expose a glow deep within the stone for a moment. Or maybe it was just a trick of the eyes. “I've talked to every alchemist I've met during the past year. Some believe it's a hardened lump of coal. Others call it a blackstone. They all claim it's worthless.”
“Did any ask to keep it?”
“One or two, out of curiosity.”
Master Antoni snorted. “They knew more than they were willing to share. Should your path cross theirs again, run the other way.”
Astrid sighed. “If it's dangerous to ask an alchemist about the stone, then what am I to do?”
“For now, keep it hidden and don't let anyone know you have it. I can give you directions to a town where you'll find a pair of dependable alchemists.” Master Antoni laughed. “And if you should run across any other alchemist you've already met, tell him the stone is in the hands of a friend who has sent you on a mission to learn its value and use. If any alchemist wants to see the stone for himself, send him to us and we'll take care of him!”
Astrid laughed too, but a sudden dread overcame her as she wondered what kind of power she held in her hand.
CHAPTER 6
A few days later when Master Antoni's physician deemed Astrid well enough to travel on her own, his family held a dinner in her honor in their great dining hall. The tapestries that had covered the windows in her sick room returned to hang in their normal places on the stone walls of the dining hall, surrounded by larger tapestries, all of which illustrated scenes from legends or family history.
Astrid preferred taking her meals earlier than the family meals, so she'd always eaten in the kitchen and chatted with the cooks. For the first time, Astrid walked into the dining hall and felt struck by its size, so large that she suspected loud conversation would echo inside. The chill of the stone floor seeped through the thin soles of her leather shoes, making her shiver despite the warmth radiating from the blazing flames in the nearby fireplace.
A long wooden table dominated the center of the room, and benches stood next to its walls, presumably for gatherings of dozens or maybe even hundreds of people. Peter, who still refused to leave her side, nudged her gently and smiled. “We've family everywhere. You never know when they'll come to visit.”
The servants scurried past, hurriedly setting out fresh daggers for eating as Master Antoni, his wife, and their other children drifted into the room. A few of the children chased each other, screeching as they zipped from one corner of the room to another. Master Antoni quietly surveyed the scene while his wife scolded the servants out of habit.
Astrid stared as she stood in front of one enormous tapestry whose colors had faded. Men battled with short swords in the foreground, and they all bore a resemblance to Master Antoni.
Peter joined her side, pointing out the details of the tapestry. “About 100 years ago, this land belonged to thieves who sailed from the Far East and drove people out of their homes and farms.” The men who looked like Master Antoni fought paler-skinned men who reminded Astrid of her dragon ally, Taddeo, when he chose to take human shape.
Astrid pointed to the right side of the tapestry. A handful of fanciful creatures snarled behind Peter's ancestors. About the size of horses, they looked like colorful snakes with long legs and wings. “Are those supposed to be lizards?”
“Dragons,” Peter said, correcting her. He paused, studying the images. “The dragon you killed is the first one I've seen up close. These tapestry dragons look smaller and more delicate. And then there's the wings, which real dragons don't have. I wonder why they look so odd.” He shrugged and then answered his own question. “I suppose they'd never seen dragons up close. All they probably knew was what they heard from gossip.”
Taking notice of something new, Astrid caught her breath before she realized she'd lost it. She pointed at the tapestry. “That man. Who is he?”
Peter grinned. “Only the best dragonslayer we've ever known!” His smile faded. He stumbled over his words. “With exception to you, Mistress Astrid! What I mean is he was the first dragonslayer from the Southlands and the best we ever produced.”
Astrid's heart fluttered when she gazed at the familiar image. “He looks familiar.”
Peter stared at Astrid for a moment, his gaze soft with compassion. “He was DiStephan’s father. Did you ever meet him?”
Astrid smiled. “Many years ago. When I was a child.”
Peter pointed to the center and then to the left side of the tapestry. “You can see all of the Upper Lands here ... the Midlands and your Northlands.”
The regions spread out like a map showing landmarks identifying each region. Astrid stared at a depiction of Tower Island, a small island with a golden spire off the coast of the Northlands. She felt glad the dragons had regained their territory of Tower Island, surprised at how much she missed them. A wave of sadness overwhelmed her for a moment as she wondered if she'd ever see any of them again.
“It's nothing to feel fearsome about,” Peter whispered. “When DiStephan came here each winter, he told us about you. We know you're of the Scaldings. And your father was a dragonslayer, but he died long ago. Which is why DiStephan’s family took up the dragonslaying trade. Everyone thinks you're returning your family name to its former glory.”
Startled, Astrid turned to look at him. “Glory?”
“Of course. Back in the day of —”
“Peter!” Master Antoni called out. “Stop bending the dragonslayer's ear and seat yourself at the dinner table!”
“Yes, Sir!” Peter said before dashing toward the table and taking his place seated among his siblings.
Delicious aromas of cooked beef and vegetables filled the room when the servants streamed in with pots in hand.
Astrid took her place of honor next to Master Antoni and his wife, who for once suppressed her daily look of disapproval. While Master Antoni talked of the new crops and current sailing conditions, Astrid wondered what Peter could have meant about her restoring the name of Scalding. Had the boy merely been sparing her feelings? Or could there be some part of the Scalding history she hadn't yet learned?
CHAPTER 7
Taddeo stood atop the highest point on Tower Island, the tower itself, waiting for the sun to rise. The frigid spring wind tugged at the cloak he kept wrapped around his body. Fine sea mist stung his face, and he tasted its salt on his lips. The wind moaned while it whipped around the tower beneath him, reminding him of the help he could call upon should he need it.
The massive iron structure he'd helped Astrid forge last year showed signs of rust, and it creaked in the wind's embrace. Taddeo watched a thin band of gold spread across the horizon, glad to see the day begin.
“Taddeo?”
He turned at the sound of Wendill's voice. Like Taddeo, Wendill took the shape of a man, because it was easier to navigate the tower in that form. Decades ago, after the Scaldings had wrenched Tower Island into their grasp, they had transformed everything to suit their needs. They'd built new steps over what had once been a spiraling ramp inside the tower. They'd encircled the island with i
ron to keep dragons out. And they'd filled in and barricaded the lower passageway the dragons had created and used to travel to Tower Island from their own realm.
Taddeo smiled. He'd always liked Wendill, but he liked him even more since Wendill had helped Taddeo's only surviving relative Norah heal from the horrors wreaked upon her by the Scaldings. “Good morning.”
Wendill crossed the expanse of the stone floor, and the wind whipped his loose hair across his face. “I believe I understand the root of the problem.”
Taddeo nodded, waiting for him to continue.
“It will make more sense to show you than try to explain.” Wendill motioned Taddeo to follow when he opened the door to the stairway and vanished inside the tower.
Taddeo paused at the top of the winding stairs to give his vision time to adjust from the early light of day to the darkness inside the tower. Moments later, he easily made out the figure of Wendill and followed him.
Wendill stopped on a landing where a second set of stairs rose toward a large globe attached to the inside tower wall like a goiter on an old man's neck. “Here,” Wendill said. “It happened somewhere around here.”
“What?”
Wendill's eyes softened with sadness. “Murder.”
“Ah,” Taddeo said, remembering. “Yes. The Scaldings killed a girl. I took her shape to set Norah free. But the murdered girl's spirit was released. I saw it happen. It would be impossible for her to haunt this place.”
“I see no haunting.” Wendill knelt and placed his hands upon the stone step beneath his feet. His hands shifted and melted into the step, his skin taking on the stone's color. “It was the act and the unexpected nature of her death that seeped into the stone like poison. I feel its path, running down the entire stairway and into the bedrock of the island itself.”
Taddeo frowned. “Has the entire island been poisoned?”
Wendill looked like a statue carved out of stone. Slowly, his skin regained the color of flesh, and he withdrew his hands from the stone. At first they looked like square blocks of skin, but his wrists, hands, and fingers soon regained their normal appearance. “Our passage is blocked by this poison. Even if we are able to walk through the passage and leave this place, we are likely to take the poison with us. We risk damaging our own realm with the poison from this one.”
