by Resa Nelson
She felt overwhelmed with the urge to hug Frieda, feeling pride in her fellow Northlanders for their courage and cleverness. “It might work,” Astrid said, awash with new hope.
“While I appreciate your concern for my brothers and myself, you can understand why it is impossible for us to leave Gott.”
“Of course,” Astrid said. “You’ve come up with a wonderful idea.”
Frieda laughed. “The idea to use fire for a warning? No Northlander came up with that idea. I believe you know the man who thought it up. His name is Komdra.”
Astrid smiled at the peculiar way in which the world sometimes worked. Komdra, the man who once bought Lenore to be his slave. The man who agreed to sell her to Astrid for the price of a small sword forged in the same way as a dragonslayer’s sword.
Had Drageen never destroyed Guell, had his brigands never sold Lenore into slavery, had Astrid never gone in search of her, had she never crossed paths with the man while traveling with the Iron Maidens, Komdra never would have been in the Northlands to figure out how to protect them from Mandulane.
“If you and your brothers stay,” Astrid said, “you risk your lives.”
Frieda shrugged. “If we do not stay, we go to a land that isn’t ours. A foreign place we don’t know or love. If we stay and the Krystrs kill us, we will have done all that we could to protect our homeland and our way of life.” She gave Astrid a half smile. “I prefer that outcome to living under the foot of the Krystrs.”
Astrid nodded, realizing at that moment that Frieda had just put into words what Astrid felt since meeting Mandulane and his soldiers.
CHAPTER 36
The gleaming tower cracked apart and sank sideways while the island that supported it for the past century crumbled apart. The tower’s golden surface caught and reflected beams of light and cast them in all directions. For a moment it seemed that the sun itself had fallen into the sea, destined to be distinguished for all time.
What had once been Astrid’s cage, now the gigantic image of a woman with her hair flying free while holding up a sword toward the sky, now seemed to reach up for help that failed to come. Like the tower, the iron woman sank into the sea, seeming to drown.
The carrion birds that circled the island screeched and flew in scattered directions. A low rumble sounded in the distance.
Drageen glanced at the large square sail snapping behind him in the wind. He’d learned enough about sailing to get by, but true seamen held far more knowledge than he could ever hope to achieve.
His gut twisted and turned, not from the unevenness of the waves but from the sight of the sinking of Tower Island.
Experience be damned. I can sail this ship by innards alone.
Drawing himself up with confidence, Drageen shouted orders at his only crew, the three alchemists. “Put your oars back in the pile in the middle of the deck! Then find a place to tie yourselves to the ship.”
Bee hesitated, the white hair piled on top of her head now frayed and frizzy. “Why?”
Drageen wrapped a rope around his waist and fastened himself to the ship. “When you throw a stone into a lake, it sends circles of waves all the way to the shore.” He pointed at the place where Tower Island had once been, and a wall of water formed in the wake of its fall, heading toward the ship.
Bee shrieked and scrambled to find her own safety, while her sisters followed Drageen’s lead and tied themselves to the ship.
Drageen stared at the wall of water, surprised by his own sense of calm and new-found belief in dragons.
Lies. Everything I ever believed boiled down to lies, and I shall follow the truth to the end of the world.
The wall of water struck the ship with an impact that slammed Drageen so hard that it crushed the air out of his lungs. Gasping, Drageen looked up to see the power of the ocean bearing down on him, never once doubting his decision to listen to the dragons or the secret Fiera had told him about his own fate.
Given the choice, he’d far rather risk his life against the likes of Mandulane than run to a far corner of the world to hide in safety.
* * *
“Wake up,” a distant but familiar female voice said.
Drageen realized the voice called him out of a sleep he couldn’t remember having fallen into, but he knew he still lived. It would make no sense for him to die now.
Struggling to open his eyes, it took a few moments for Drageen to recognize the sight of a cloudy sky directly before him. It took longer for him to realize he’d ended up lying on his back. Then Bee’s face leaned into his view.
“We’re fine,” she said brightly. “Thank you for your concern about our well being.” The alchemists’ sisters, Fee and Glee, hovered over her shoulder.
Drageen grunted. The last thing he needed was irritated alchemists. Who knew what type of potions and portents they might use against him if they saw the opportunity and wished to do so?
Sitting up, Drageen started at the uneven sensation of the surface beneath him. Taking a look around, he realized they’d somehow come ashore and he was now on land, not the ship.
“Where are we?” Drageen said, rising on his knees only to reach out to the nearby ground to steady himself.
Glee extended a firm hand to him. “One of the Western Islands. You missed all the excitement, my lord sleepy head.”
Wincing at the stiffness radiating through his body, Drageen accepted Glee’s hand and let her help him stand on his feet. After a few dizzy moments, Drageen’s head cleared and he took a good look at his surroundings.
He and the alchemists stood in the port of a small island. Instead of a city, rolling grassy mounds nestled behind a narrow strip of beach.
Drageen sighed in relief at the sight of his ship safely harbored nearby. But he soon became aware of a great deal of shouting and the fighting among crowds of men in the port. He reached for his belt, relieved to discover the Magenta still safe in its sheath.
“No need for that,” Fee said. She gathered up the soaked hem of her skirt and examined the damage to her clothing. “The great waves that brought us here flooded the port.”
Taking a closer look, Drageen noticed the drenched appearance of everything surrounding him: the ground where he and the alchemists stood, the nearby wooden plank walkway of the port, and the grass bent over from the heaviness of saltwater still beaded on its blades.
“It seems Krystr soldiers invaded this island,” Bee said while she puttered to make sure none of the small tools she kept stored in her hair had fallen out. “The flood swept them off their feet. The islanders came out of their homes and now they’re attacking the Krystrs.”
Drageen studied the fights taking place within shouting distance from where he stood. He recognized the Krystr soldiers. But Drageen smiled at the sight of a crowd of native boys and old men, probably deemed useless by the Krystrs and therefore allowed to stay on the island. Those native islanders looked determined and strong while they defeated each Krystr soldier, one by one.
Drageen recognized opportunity unfolding before his eyes.
CHAPTER 37
Every time Astrid came to an encampment around a stack of wood ready to be lit to spread the warning of attack, she met people like Frieda and her brothers. Sometimes the beam of light from Astrid’s hand showed them the path to Gott, where they could sail away on the port village’s remaining ships. But few ever took her up on that offer.
When Astrid encountered bands of Northlander men camped between the warning posts, the stone in her hand remained still and refused to light. Those Northlanders laughed at the thought of abandoning their homeland for the sake of safety.
Astrid thought about them while she walked the shore alone. Today was the finest day she’d seen in many weeks. The sun glowed like fire in the cloudless sky, bright and blue. White foam danced across the waves, thundering against this rocky stretch of the Northlands shore, sending sprays of water high into the air. She walked across a stretch of grass, soft and smooth beneath her feet.
/> Despite an ever-increasing need to find her friends—and an equal hope of finding out where she could join Drageen and fight by his side—Astrid realized a sudden need for a few moments to herself. Convinced she stood on the precipice of battle, she became desperate for a moment to remember who she was. Maybe doing so would make it less likely for her to lose herself, the very thing that had led her to make the regrettable decision of surrendering herself to Dragon’s Head.
Mind yourself
Mind your thoughts
Or Scaldings
Tie you into knots
Astrid stopped and stared at the sea, not knowing why the old children’s rhyme had popped into her head. At the same time, she thought about how far she’d come since childhood.
They take you
Into their tower
Walk inside
Where dragons glower
She sank to sit on the grass and perched on a ledge overlooking the shore below.
Rip your head
Leave you for dead
Making sure
The dragons get fed
Astrid learned years ago that everything Taddeo told her was true: you must decide who you are before you can stand up inside your own skin.
Astrid wrapped her arms around herself. Her skin. Her lovely, lovely skin. Whether she chose to make it appear scarred or smooth, light or dark, it was her own. Her skin belonged to no one but her.
Her thoughts, her decisions, her life belonged to no one but her.
Is that what this is about?
She hugged herself.
You decide who you are every day with every decision you make. Is that how you come to belong to yourself? Is that how you anchor yourself in the world, like a ship in a harbor?
She remembered the delight of the first time she’d made a dragonslayer’s sword, the weapon that DiStephan named Starlight.
Is it up to each person to heat and twist the metal of their being, to hammer out the slag, to twist their strengths and weaknesses together so they can become something that won’t bend or break when they need themselves the most?
Astrid ran her right hand along her left arm, the flesh-and-blood limb that had once been a phantom, existing only because she believed in it. Smooth skin, no scars.
With a sudden pang, she missed her scars. All her life, she’d been ashamed of them. In childhood, she’d hidden her entire body beneath a blanket to keep others from seeing them and wondering how she’d come to be covered in them.
“They’re still here,” she reminded herself, pulling down the neckline of her shirt to expose her collarbones, which flanked the tattoo-like image of a dragonslayer’s sword that ran along her sternum to her navel. Reaching under her shirt, she ran her hand along her back until it found the companion image running down her spine. The day she decided to become a dragonslayer, her scars migrated and forged themselves together of their own accord to sandwich Astrid between the images of two sides of a sword.
Two sides. I’m mortal and I’m dragon.
She shuddered when a realization hit her.
I’ve survived being each. I’ve survived being both.
She withdrew her hands from her scars, sitting so that she could fold her arms across her knees. She stared at the foam riding to shore on ocean waves.
Battle scars. I love my scars because they remind me I’m still alive. That I’ve survived horrible things. That I’m capable of surviving anything.
Watching the waves below, she remembered the day she and DiStephan became friends.
Had her parents lived, she would have led a good life on Tower Island. A life without event, without pain, without strife.
An easy life.
Something inside her gut clenched.
I never would have become a blacksmith. Or a dragonslayer.
She thought about her life and all the twists and turns she’d endured. Being given to the childseller. Rejected from Tower Island. Traveling throughout the Northlands.
I might have stayed on Tower Island my entire life. I might never have seen other parts of the world, like the Midlands or the Southlands or the Western Islands.
I never would have met Temple. Or DiStephan.
Astrid stared at the sea, suddenly understanding the blessing of having been cast out by Drageen all those years ago.
I never would have met Randim or Trep and the other blacksmiths. I wouldn’t have met Lenore and learned about her phantom feet.
A knot formed in Astrid’s throat.
I never would have met Vinchi or Margreet. And because I never would have met them, Margreet would have stayed with Gershon. Vinchi never would have trained the Iron Maidens—they wouldn’t exist. They might even be dead by now, because they never would have learned how to use weapons.
Astrid gazed across the ocean and spoke to it, wondering if Taddeo would hear her. “My life,” she said, “has been a blessing.”
CHAPTER 38
In the western seas, a Northlander ship cut smoothly through gentle, rolling waves. The carved shape of a dragon’s head in a snarling pose presented the ship’s most forward point. A single bright red sail in the shape of an enormous square puffed and strained at the ropes holding it in place.
Trep had to admit it. The brigands sure knew how to trade. Joined by several of Peat’s Boglanders, they’d pooled the blooms of iron they’d smelted, traveled by foot to the western coast, and found a small town of fishermen and shipbuilders willing to part with their prize vessel for a wealth of iron.
While the others bustled about the deck, Trep stood at the rail, glancing down every few minutes to make sure the tiny dragon still slept peacefully inside his pouch.
Suddenly, a whale breached ahead of them, leaping out of the ocean and displaying the full length of its huge body.
Delighted, Trep called, “Peppa! Look!”
She looked up at the sound of her brother’s voice. Peppa had taken it upon herself to figure out a better way to store the oars, which were currently piled haphazardly lengthwise in the center of the deck. She wore the traditional Northlander garb of an ankle-length underdress and overdress pinned at the shoulders with a pair of silver, twisting brooches. Peppa hiked up her skirts to her knees and borrowed a man’s belt to keep them in place so she could walk among the piled oars without tripping over them.
But like the others on board, she wore leather guards wrapped around her calves and forearms plus a large leather apron that wrapped around her torso and leather gloves to protect her in case the little dragon took a nip at her. When she and the others bedecked in leather walked, they reminded Trep of small children bundled up in winter, wearing so many layers of clothing that every step they took looked stiff and precarious.
“Come here!” Trep shouted, smiling at the sight of Peppa standing calf-deep in the oars. “Come see!” Excitedly, he pointed ahead at the whale. “Hurry!”
Peppa picked her way out of the nest of oars. Along with the other Boglanders, she joined Trep at the railing.
“It’s a beauty!” Trep said, taking her by the hand and pulling her next to him.
But Peppa glanced at the pouch with the sleeping dragon inside and kept a certain distance. “It’s a big fish.”
The great grey creature hurled itself into the air, seeming to display its might and glory before splashing back into the water.
“Come on,” Lumpy said, standing behind the crowd at the railing, which included his wife holding their infant. “What’s this, then?”
His wife looked over her shoulder at him and smiled. “A whale.”
Lumpy brightened. “Truly?”
His wife nodded.
Lumpy squeezed in between the others next to her at the railing. “Where it be?”
As if on cue, the whale broke the water’s surface, its enormous back hovering above the waves before it disappeared beneath them again.
Lumpy sighed in awe. “A pretty pony of the sea!”
Nearby, Trep nudged Peppa with his elbow. “See?” he
whispered in her ear. “Even brigands like whales.”
Peppa’s jaw slackened and her face grew pale. She dared a quick peek at Lumpy, who now fixated on the waters ahead, waiting excitedly for the whale’s next appearance. Turning back to her brother, she mouthed, “Brigands?”
Trep nodded. Still whispering, he nodded at Broken Nose, who puttered at the opposite end of the ship, oblivious to everyone else for the moment. “That one, as well. They once worked under Drageen. They captured Astrid in Guell and sold her to Randim.” Trep shrugged. “But they made some sort of amends since then. They don’t seem to be as bad as they once were.”
Peppa smacked Trep’s arm. Keeping her voice low, she said, “You let me come on board with a boatload of brigands?”
“First,” Trep said patiently, “it’s not a boat. It’s a ship. Second, there’s just the two of them. It’s not full of brigands. It’s full of Boglanders.” Trep shrugged again. “And a couple of men who might have brigandish ways.” He smiled happily. “I hear brigands are mighty good navigators, having traveled to so many lands in their days of looting and plundering and fighting and all.”
“Thank you,” Peppa said dryly. “I feel so much better now.”
The grey whale popped up near the front of the ship and seemed to grin.
Everyone watching cried out in wonder at its closeness. Lumpy leaned far over the railing, stretching one hand toward the animal. “I can almost touch it!” Lumpy shouted.
The waves grew larger, and the ship rolled with them.
Trep noticed his sister become even paler. “Are you all right?”
Peppa shook her head. “I don’t like it when the waves make the boat go up and down.” She stepped away.
“What is wrong with all of you?” Broken Nose stomped across the deck toward all of his fellow passengers. “What possesses you to stand around like good-for-nothings when there’s plenty of tasks to be done?”
