by Resa Nelson
Kikita gasped when her body evaporated, leaving only a wispy outline of the Iron Maiden she had pretended to be.
* * *
The ground trembled while the tower behind Drageen and the alchemists rattled and shook. A horrible cracking sound split the air like a crack of thunder.
“The potion has taken!” Bee shouted. She grabbed Drageen’s arm and tugged on it. “The island—the dragons have left, and it will fall in their absence! Our only hope is the ship!”
Shoving the Magenta back into its sheath, Drageen raced through the island’s gates, where the ship they’d sailed from Dragon’s Head bobbed in the sea, tied to the dock. After the three alchemist sisters climbed on board, Drageen jumped on his ship’s deck, released the rope, and shoved the ship away from the deck and toward the open sea.
With a quick glance, Drageen noticed the ship had been repaired and outfitted with a proper and large square sail.
He wondered if it might be a parting gift from Fiera.
Calling out to the alchemists, Drageen ordered them to each grab an oar from the long narrow pile in the center of the deck. Joining them, he slid an oar through a hole just under the railing. With one alchemist sitting behind him and the other two on the opposite side of the ship, he called out directions to row the ship away from the dock. Minutes later, they found themselves far enough at sea so they could pull the oars back inside. Drageen released the new sail, raised it on the mast, and tied it off.
A thunderous sound cracked the air again. Drageen and the alchemists watched Tower Island fall apart and sink into the sea.
CHAPTER 24
The next morning, Trep happened upon a clear spring pooled within a rocky terrain. He grinned at the sight of it.
After finding a place to nestle the egg he’d carried from Guell, Trep knelt by the spring to fill up his drinking flask. Finally, he stripped off his clothes. The gamey stench of his own skin made him gag. He resisted the temptation to scratch the bites covering the back of his hands from the cloud of tiny black flies he’d encountered a few days ago.
Trep lowered his muscled body onto the rocky edge of the pool. He dipped his bare toes into the water and sighed in relief. Its temperature warmed his skin. Taking a final glance at the egg resting safely nearby, Trep plunged headfirst into the pool.
Heeding Kikita’s advice, Trep had left Guell and headed north along the beach to the cliff that appeared to block any traveler’s wish to proceed. Kikita told him to wade into the ocean at the base of the cliff and look past its edge. Sure enough, Trep discovered a secret passageway that looked like solid rock until he walked past a jutting wall disguising the entrance.
Making his way back to the beach, he’d bundled large clumps of dry seaweed around a hefty stick of water-soaked driftwood and then used his flint to light the seaweed. With makeshift torch in hand, Trep navigated the passageway, keeping the egg safely clutched to his chest, and soon reached its other side.
He’d traveled along the seacoast and bathed in the ocean every time he felt the need, even though it left his skin feeling sticky and stinking with brine. Just yesterday he found the next landmark Kikita described and traveled inland.
But now the warm spring washed all that away, and Trep found another rocky ledge where he could sit with the water up to his chest. He draped his arms around the surrounding stones. He sported a slightly sunburned face from having walked on the beach. Squinting up at the sun, he figured from its position that he had enough time to wash his clothes and let them dry.
For the first time since leaving Guell, Trep allowed himself the luxury of thinking about the oddness of life. He’d been perfectly happy blacksmithing in Randim’s camp and later in Guell. He’d always liked Astrid but witnessed his feelings grow deeper for her, despite his frustration with her connection with the ghostie of the man she’d once loved. Everything changed the day she came back to Guell and let him share her bed.
But who would have thought the woman would then up and vanish?
Trep shook his head in disbelief. What was happening to the world these days? Everything he assumed he could count on had fallen apart. The steady and rewarding work as a blacksmith. The Northlands. Not to mention finding out the Iron Maiden he recently met turned out to be a dragon in disguise.
And hearing her tell about being Astrid’s grandmother, which would make Astrid herself a dragon.
Have I gone mad?
This wasn’t the first time the thought had troubled Trep since beginning his journey into the Far Northlands.
Why believe Kikita? Why believe all the strange things she told me? Why trust her?
But he already knew the answer. Although he still wondered if Kikita’s words were true, he couldn’t risk making a mistake. The cost would be far too high.
If Kikita is right, how could I forgive myself if I ignore her words? How could I live if I fail my own child? Even if that child is a dragon?
A soft cracking sound startled him. Trep bolted out of the pool, his dozens of skinny blond braids sending water flying everywhere when he whipped his head around, looking for the source of the sound. He stopped at the sight of the egg rocking back and forth, its perfect surface now cracking open.
Remembering what Kikita had told him, Trep searched through his pile of clothes until he found his blacksmithing gloves and shoved them on his hands. He held up his stinky shirt like a shield.
It can kill you with one bite, he reminded himself. All it takes is a tiny scratch, and you’ll be doubled up in pain for the day or two you’ve got left to live. During those few days, it will sit on its haunches and watch you, waiting for you to die so it can eat your flesh.
A tiny nose poked through the eggshell, sniffing desperately.
Don’t help it, Kikita had advised Trep. Each dragon must find its own way into the world.
Help?
Trep scoffed at the idea.
What man in his right mind would help a dragon? The smart thing to do is kill it.
The egg continued to rock back and forth.
Trep suppressed the urge to smash it.
The animal inside struggled for several minutes, pausing every so often to rest. Its nose disappeared back inside the egg, and a clawed foot emerged through the hole, pushing with all its might at the crack in the shell.
Finally, the egg cracked open, and a dragon the length of Trep’s forearm emerged triumphantly and then collapsed, its tiny chest heaving from exertion. It seemed to be mostly a long thin tail attached to a stumpy body. The newly hatched dragon heaved a great sigh and opened its eyes.
Trep’s gloved hands trembled, and the shirt fell through his fingers.
He’d met Astrid before he tasted dragon meat, so he saw her as she truly was, not the way she wanted others to see her. The day he met her, he’d seen a scarred Scalding with blond hair and blue eyes that leaned toward the color lavender.
Trep stared at the dragon and whispered, “You have Astrid’s eyes.”
It wriggled and reached up with one paw.
Feeling his fear melt away, Trep extended a gloved finger to the dragon, which clung to it and then fell asleep.
CHAPTER 25
Lumpy convinced the Boglanders that Astrid bore a gift intended to help them all escape Mandulane’s pending invasion. Like Broken Nose and a few cautious Boglanders, Astrid wasn’t sure she believed in portents but felt relieved that no one wanted to harm her or cast her away.
She spent that night in the women’s quarters, a large wooden building with a high sloping roof. Like most Northlander buildings, the large hearth dominated the center of the single room, and the smoke from its constant fire lifted up through the small hole at the roof’s highest point. Because a small, tight passageway led to the structure’s only door, the interior’s only light came from the fire and the hole through which the smoke escaped.
Astrid woke first. The fire had dulled to little more than a pile of embers and the gentle flames that danced across them, casting soft illumina
tion across the benches surrounding the hearth, the tables behind them that spread from wall to wall, and the sleeping benches lining the room’s perimeter.
Astrid sat up. Out of habit from roaming the Northlands in search of lizards, she preferred to sleep in the clothes she wore during the day. The air smelled of pine and smoke. Her straw sleeping mat crackled and the wooden bench beneath it groaned.
She paused, not wanting to wake anyone. Having chosen a spot near a narrow gap separating the tables, she took her time to ease her way toward the fire. Picking up a poker, she stirred the embers then added more wood. Once the flames grew stronger and brighter, she tiptoed through the narrow hallway, doubling over to squeeze under its low ceiling, intended to help keep the warmth inside.
Outside, she straightened and inhaled the crisp scent of morning air. Although Peat described this place as a worksite and not a town, it looked like a small village to Astrid. A large well stood in the center of a clearing surrounded by the same type of rock walls that ran through the bogs. She couldn’t tell if the walls and walkways had been built or were natural formations. Peat simply shrugged when she asked him to tell her about them.
The women’s quarters stood on one side of the well and the men’s on the other. Other smaller buildings dotted the clearing: a smithery, a building for smelting the raw iron they harvested into blooms, and a few others she didn’t know about yet. Perhaps quarters for the married folk.
Although Boglanders’ work seemed difficult and grueling, in some ways they lived in the lap of luxury. Everyone needed blooms of iron, ready for blacksmiths to forge them into farm tools or weapons. Even something as simple as a nail could make all the difference in the lifeblood of a village.
Iron commanded a high price, which meant traders brought the most desired homespun cloth, food staples, exotic foods, pelts, and anything else the Boglanders might desire. Some merchants even brought freshly-made dresses, shirts, trousers, and cloaks made by far-flung villages in a desperate attempt to convince the Boglanders to part ways with the largest blooms of iron. Normally, women made their own clothing for themselves and their families, but Boglander women took delight in accepting clothing made by others, which freed them from one more chore.
Astrid lifted the cover from the well and dipped out enough water to quench her thirst. A soft glow emerged from the stone in her hand.
“Now what?” Astrid said.
At first, the stone emitted light like the sun, throwing it in all directions. But then the light concentrated into a single narrow beam that pointed parallel to the ground and to Astrid’s left. It split into two beams pointing in separate directions. Northwest and west.
“Two paths?” she said to the stone of light. “Now you’re pointing toward the ocean.”
The beam of light trembled.
“Truly?” Astrid said in a miffed voice.
The beam trembled again and shifted slightly.
Astrid grew more impatient by the moment. “I have to get back to Guell! Why are you pointing to the coasts?”
“Why you be talking to your hand?”
Mortified at being caught, Astrid looked up quickly, feeling the color rise in her face.
Lumpy and Broken Nose stood on the other side of the well, apparently the first men to rise and leave their quarters this morning.
“Ain’t just her hand,” Broken Nose advised his companion. “It’s the light inside it. I still say that barbarian got some kind of evil white magic.”
“Krystr lover,” Astrid said, standing tall in defiance.
Broken Nose’s face flamed with anger. “Liar! I ain’t no lover of the White Krystr!”
She wrapped her fingers tightly around the stone of light, put her hands behind her back, and wrapped her other hand around her fist. “Krystr followers believe women are evil. They believe perfectly reasonable things are magic. They blame women for anything they don’t understand or that goes wrong.”
Broken Nose looked at her blankly. “And?”
“And if you believe that, that makes you a Krystr follower. And therefore a Krystr lover.”
Broken Nose opened his mouth to protest but hesitated with nothing to say in response.
“My pretty pony girl got a point,” Lumpy said helpfully.
“I ain’t no lover of the Krystrs! I give my allegiance to the Northlands and all its gods!” The angry flush on Broken Nose’s face flamed a deeper red. “And the girl got no point. She practices white, cowardly magic!”
“That’s exactly what every Krystr lover says,” Astrid piped up.
Lumpy took a few cautious steps away from Broken Nose and toward Astrid. Looking at his cohort, Lumpy frowned with concern and said, “When you start believing in the White Krystr?”
“I told you already I ain’t no Krystr lover!” Broken Nose shouted. “I’m a Northlander, just like you. I call upon the Northlander gods of air and fire and earth and water to protect me!”
“Just like her, too,” Lumpy said, now standing halfway between Astrid and Broken Nose. “When she ever be practicing cowardly magic instead of fighting like a man?
Broken Nose hesitated, seeming to make an effort to calm himself. In a quieter voice, he said, “When we first met the barbarian, she slipped out of our grasp like a slippery fish, claiming herself to be a shapeshifter.”
“Oh, plenty of Northlanders think that about themselves,” Lumpy said. “But we know she be no shapeshifter. She never got away from us, did she?”
Broken Nose pointed at his nose, misshapen thanks to the first time he met Astrid. “How quickly you forget the hammers she threw at us.”
Laughing, Lumpy rubbed the bump on his forehead that had never gone away. “You can’t deny a girl the right to defend herself!”
“Then explain to her I’ll kill a Krystr soldier if I see one,” Broken Nose said in frustration.
Lumpy glanced at her and shrugged. “I believe him.” Lumpy stared thoughtfully at Astrid’s hand.
“Well,” Astrid said, satisfied that she’d tortured Broken Nose enough, “I suppose I believe him, too.”
“I say the light be telling us to go to the Land of Ice,” Lumpy said to Broken Nose. “And maybe think on going farther to the Land of Vines.”
“The Land of Vines?” Astrid gazed from one brigand to the other, trying to determine if they were serious.
Broken Nose snorted in disdain. “Pay no mind. Ain’t no such place.”
“Grandmum told me about it,” Lumpy said, crossing his arms in defiance. “Said some Northlanders she knew made the journey across the wide Western Sea and came back to tell stories of screeching demons in the Land of Vines. Creatures with wings in their hair and painted faces. Monsters armed with daggers and ax blades made from sharpened stone who scream horribly while they cut off men’s heads.” Lumpy shuddered. “Scared me something awful in my boyhood.” He brightened. “But if the pretty pony dragonslayer Scalding girl’s shining light shows us we can go to the Land of Vines, it must be safe now!”
Broken Nose snorted again. When he spoke, sarcasm laced his voice. “Maybe she should come along for the ride.”
“Yes!” Lumpy jumped a little, lighting up even more. To Astrid, he said, “We still got awhile to gather everything we need, but do come along with us!”
Before Astrid could answer, the beams of light pointing toward the Western Sea bonded, forming a transparent barrier between Astrid and the brigands.
The brigands’ eyes widened at the sight. Broken Nose backed away as if preparing to escape the threat of a dangerous animal. Lumpy reached forward, and his fingertips grazed the smooth surface of the wall of light.
More and more, Astrid believed Lumpy must be right about the legend his grandmother told him so long ago. Apparently, the dragons were shaping her destiny and using the light from the stone now embedded in her hand to do so. Looking through the wall at the brigands reminded Astrid of looking through ice because of the way the light distorted their faces. “I don’t think I’ll be
able to join you,” she said.
CHAPTER 26
Mandulane’s temporary city, which had grown to thousands of billowing blue tents, perched on the northernmost coast of the Midlands. Dozens of ships lined the newly built docks, bobbing in the water like seabirds. Dozens more were anchored a short distance out at sea, partially as a defensive measure and partially as a means to launch a quick attack, if Mandulane so desired.
He stood in front of his large, luxurious tent, which served like the hub of the wheel of activity in camp.
A merchant newly arrived from the Far East unpacked his wares from the back of his cart and showed each item to the leader of the Krystr soldiers.
The merchant had such a relaxed manner that he seemed bored at first.
Mandulane knew no one dared feel bored in his presence and silently forgave the merchant for his manner. After all, the man probably learned it from his mother because no real father would have allowed his son to grow up with such a gentle attitude. Surely, under Mandulane’s watchful rule, this merchant might still have a chance to grow into his rightful self, even though grey streaked his cropped hair.
“These spices are quite exquisite,” the flowery merchant said and waved his hands like milkweed floating through the air. He pointed to several wooden bowls, each containing a brightly colored powder or seeds. “Some provide heat when you add them to food and others are pungent.” The merchant dared to wink at Mandulane. “Whatever you choose to do with them, I promise satisfaction.”
The guard standing nearby bristled. “Watch your words!”
The merchant looked the guard up and down. “I merely tell our master the advantages of the wares I bring for his pleasure.”
Mandulane laughed. He couldn’t explain why, but he liked this merchant a great deal. Perhaps his fondness emerged from admiring a man who refused to be intimidated, especially because others deferred to Mandulane so quickly and easily.
