Pense.
He did not reply, but I felt his attention shift to me.
Is there… do you know of a way to drain the life force out of things?
Life force? he repeated, after a pause.
Amasku, I suppose it is. Look at all of these things. I waited, nudging him until he shook off his stupor and joined me. He regarded the daefly and the insects in thoughtful, weary silence, and finally conveyed to me a mental shake of the head.
I have never seen anything like this.
It was the response I had been afraid of receiving, but had hoped not to hear. Something has forcibly drained the life out of every single living thing in this patch of wood. Not just the draykon.
Truthfully, Pense’s reaction was alarming me quite a bit. I had never seen him so flummoxed, or so horrified. I wanted to draw him out of it, by any means I could think of, so I kept asking questions. Once the analytical side of his mind focused upon the problem, hopefully he would revive a little.
Hmm. Pense began, at last, to think, and some of my tension eased. I do not know what could accomplish this, he repeated. But I can tell you that the power required to drain the life out of a draykon is… to call it considerable would be to badly understate the case. Pense was over-enunciating his complicated sentences, as though concentrating hard on the words was of some kind of help to him. In which case, it is perhaps unsurprising that the effects upon surrounding, lesser life forms would be profound. They surrender their lives so much more easily, after all.
There was that touch of draykon arrogance, that comfortable certainty of superiority over every other living thing. I may have rolled my eyes, I confess, but I kept it discreet. At least he sounded more like my Pense.
And in this instance, he was not wrong. I know of no other creature that “dies” the way a pure-blooded draykon does. It is as though they simply refuse to participate in a natural life cycle, out of pure force of will. Truly, it must take a lot to rend away an old draykon soul.
I felt sick and so, so cold.
Pense had taken to prowling around behind me, but he was not investigating as I was. His attention was focused upon the grave, and he strode in purposeful circles around it, his senses alert and probing. A female, he informed me. Old. Older than me, I would say, and by far. But I do not recognise… I cannot discern anything else about her.
A flicker of anger reached me with the words, which made me feel obscurely reassured. Pense’s spirit was returning. Whatever caused this atrocity, I cannot imagine, but I know that we need to find out. For that, we are going to need Pense at his best. Even if that means he is going to be in a poor temper.
I need Nyden, Pense suddenly announced, and took to the air. He was gone before I could reply.
It was silly of me, but I felt a little forlorn in the wake of this sudden departure. Nyden! What did he need Nyden for, that I could not provide? It occurred to me that it must relate to Nyden’s status as a fellow ancient soul, not a part-blood like the rest of us, and that was sensible enough. But still, I could not help feeling a little dismayed. I reassured myself with the reflection that I had been the first person Pense had looked for, and that he had instinctively come straight to me.
That made me feel better.
I occupied myself with another sweep of the strange, pale trees while I waited, but I discerned nothing else that struck me as significant... save for a flicker of something odd on the northern edge of the circle, a faint disturbance in the amasku that flowed still outside the confines of that odd space. It was a little disordered, more so than usual, but the difference was subtle enough that I could discern little about it. It was flirting with the idea of creeping back in to the dead space, though it had yet to make a significant attempt to reclaim it. I welcomed the thought that the area would recover in time, and flourish again someday.
I wanted to convince myself that whatever had happened here might have been natural, that it had not been deliberately imposed. But I could not. How could any natural phenomena produce such a strange, and isolated, effect as this?
By the time I completed a second exploratory circuit, I sensed Pense on the return, with Nyden swift behind him.
The two landed, slipping lithely in between the brittle branches of the trees. I instantly felt a wave of shock and revulsion from Nyden, so powerful that I had to close myself up. It is hard to explain what I mean by that, but it is the equivalent of shutting your eyes and putting your fingers in your ears, a desperate attempt to stop anything else from reaching you. I maintained this state while Nyden walked around the grave, inspecting every part of it.
At length, he sat back on his haunches. I thought him growing more composed, so I tentatively let my guards fall.
A mistake. Nyden’s head lifted, his black scales glittering darkly in the pale sunlight, and he shrieked. If I thought his battle-cry upon arrival had been alarming, I was mistaken, for this shook the earth.
Worse, he set Pense off, too. The pair of them screamed their fury at such volume, I could only assume the ruckus would be audible at the other end of Iskyr. I sat and endured, hunched up and as tightly closed to everything as I could manage to make myself, thankful that I had not brought poor Siggy along.
Eventually, they composed themselves.
I am sorry, Minchu, Pense said, and came over to nuzzle at me. I permitted him to coax me out of my huddle, though I could not immediately recover my own composure enough to reply. Nyden, meanwhile, sat by the graveside and sobbed, his misery all-consuming.
After a while, I mustered my resolve and crept a little nearer. I did not want to interrupt his grief, and I was feeling more than a little wary of him after his fit of fury. But his misery touched me, and I felt it incumbent upon me to do something. Did you know her?
I do not know, Nyden wept.
Oh. I wasn’t sure what else to say. Considering the degree of his despair, I had expected a favourable answer.
It is the pity of it, Nyden sobbed. And the insult!
With that, some of his grief transformed back into anger, and he did a bit more roaring. I was thankful that Pense restrained himself, this time.
Have you ever seen something like this before? I persisted, when he had calmed himself once again.
Nyden went back to sobbing. Never, he replied. Never, never. It is unthinkable.
I felt Pense’s disappointment echo my own. He had doubtless fetched Nyden in hope that the other ancient would be able to shed some kind of light on the problem. If Ny knew nothing, there was nobody else that we could ask.
Or… nobody else that we would like to ask.
I directed my next thought at Pensould alone, leaving Nyden to his weeping. Eterna? I said, hesitantly.
She would not do this, Pense swiftly replied. Not even she. No draykon would do this to another.
Eh, I have to doubt that. Humans kill each other all the time. Even people who seem perfectly normal and charming and kind, like Devary, can still kill at need. Are the draykoni so different, in that respect? Is there a species alive who will not, or cannot, kill its own kind, under the right (or wrong) circumstances?
That isn’t what I meant, I told Pense. Perhaps she, or one of her people, might know something about this.
Perhaps. His reluctance matched my own. Eterna had led the war on my home; she had shown herself to be impossible to reason with, so consumed with anger and hatred that she had (in my opinion) virtually lost her mind. None of us was eager to have anything more to do with her.
But this was the kind of problem we could not ignore. We might, at last, have to put aside our distaste for Eterna, swallow our pride, and entreat her assistance.
16 VII
My first diplomatic mission
Oh, and an Arrival!
The mood in Nuwelin was sombre, once we had shared this news.
We gathered late that day in the centre of our little settlement. There is a patch of grass there which we have left as open space, for use when we need to meet or like t
o socialise, as the others sometimes do. There are wooden benches set in a circle, and space for a comforting fire in the middle. We lit the fire. Meriall sat with Nyden, who crouched, brooding, behind the benches. Pense and I eschewed the benches entirely and lay down beside the fire, tucked up in a large blanket Loret had made. The closeness was comforting and he calmed, though his unease did not dissipate. I could feel it rippling beneath his surface composure, spiking sometimes as some dark thought or other occurred to torment him.
For my part, I was by no means tranquil. I appreciated the warmth of Pense’s embrace, and the blanket that largely hid me from the scrutiny of the people around me.
We ate, and we talked.
‘We must go to Eterna’s folk,’ said Loret firmly. ‘They must be informed, whether they know anything about it or not. This could happen again, and they have to know.’
Larion added his typically laconic support to this. The two men have become friends in recent days, despite their very different backgrounds — Loret is a prosperous, winged Glinnish man of almost sixty years, and compared to Larion’s relative youth and much more straitened upbringing in Irbel, there seems little to particularly recommend the two to one another. But they have grown close, and their opinions often coincide.
‘Then send a letter,’ said Sophronia, and added darkly, ‘Nowt good can come of havin’ aught else to do with that lot.’ Like me, Sophronia was from Waeverleyne, the capital city of Glinnery. I knew she had been present during the conflict. Her resentment towards those who had tried to lay waste to our home was understandable, but I wished — I wish — that it was not so easy to hold on to such feelings. Eterna acted as she did precisely because she could not get over hers.
The debate circled and circled, and went nowhere. Our little group was hopelessly divided and incapable of reaching a majority decision, which disappointed me. I confess, I had been hoping that the first major problem faced by the fledgling community of Nuwelin might be resolved by general agreement, rather than anybody’s having to make difficult decisions which would be unpopular with half of our number.
Or rather, if I must be specific: I was hoping that I wouldn’t have to do that.
No such luck.
You will have to intervene, Minchu, Pense told me silently.
I sighed, fighting an almost overwhelming urge to simply go to sleep. I felt weary beyond belief. Why must it be me? I demanded. It was petulant, I knew, but I couldn’t help it. The product of tiredness and anxiety and fear. I am never at my best under those conditions.
I did not expect a response from Pense, or rather I expected (and hoped for) comfort alone. He has long since come to understand my need for it, and its efficacy upon me; sometimes, all I need is a moment’s warmth and understanding from him, and I can muster myself to almost any action.
This time, he took the less common step of attempting to argue me into it.
I do not think you realise how you appear to our friends, he said. Or to me. In your own mind — and I know this, Minchu, because I have spent a lot of time there, so do not try to contradict me — in your own mind, you are a scrap of a thing, smaller by far than everybody around you. They loom and tower over your estimation of your own worth, and as such, you are cowed.
But to others, you are quite different.
You are quiet, but they do not see this as shyness. They see you as a person who considers her words carefully, and speaks only when she has something useful to share.
You are slow to impose your authority, but they do not see this as reluctance or lack of interest. They see you as a careful, considerate leader who exercises her authority with respect for them all, and will never abuse it.
They do not see or sense your fear, for you are adept at concealing it from all but me. They defer to you because you were the first to Change in modern times, yes, and because you are Lady Draykon. But also because you are the brave defender of Waeverleyne. Your exploits in that conflict are legendary, did you know that? They respect you for that, and for your welcome of them since their arrival in Iskyr. You are a woman of wit, wisdom and bravery, and in their minds, you tower over them.
Fortunately, Pense seemed to be aware that I couldn’t possibly be expected to find an immediate response to all of that. He nuzzled my hair and gave me time to think it over.
Which I did. In fact, I am still thinking it over. My instinct is to treat it with disbelief, and pass it off as Pense’s own bias operating in my favour. But I cannot. To do so would be to insult his judgement, which he does not deserve, and besides… I cannot help hoping, secretly, that it is true.
It has never before occurred to me to imagine how other people see me, or even to imagine that their view of me might be different from my own. It is an intriguing exercise. I do not know how far Pense is correct, but… I was touched beyond words by his faith in me. I feel a glow of happiness even now, just thinking about it.
That’s what I mean about Pensould. He never blames me for my failings, and he has a way of reminding me that I am not all absurdity.
Which is not to say that this speech performed miracles. I wish I could say that I gathered my resolve, strode forth and proceeded to be decisive, forthright and generally amazing. I wish I could say that I resolved the argument on the spot, with all the wit and wisdom that Pense is ready to attribute to me, and that this heralded an era of perfect peace and harmony at Nuwelin.
None of that happened, of course. But I did concede to think that I must, indeed, intervene, and I probably would not be resented for doing so.
My own opinion coincided, generally, with Loret and Larion’s, though I was no more eager to find myself in Eterna’s company again than Sophronia. My heart still breaks when I remember the way those draykoni tore into my home, and the relish with which they destroyed the lives of too many of my people. It is hard to forgive, and I have yet to fully do so.
But I know that to nurse those resentments will only lead to more such wars in the future, and it is imperative that we avoid any further such clashes. It is my duty to do everything I can to ensure peace: between the draykoni and the humans of these worlds, yes, and also between the disparate groups of draykoni that are taking up residence across Iskyr and Ayrien.
A tall order.
And now we face a shared threat. Someone has killed a draykon, and could do so again. The others must be informed. Furthermore, I still hoped that Eterna, or one of her people, may have some light to shed on the force behind the unknown draykon’s strange demise.
Reluctantly, I disengaged myself from the blanket and Pense’s embrace and got to my feet. Everybody quieted as I did so, which unnerved me further, for I keenly felt the weight of their expectant gaze.
I took a deep breath. ‘They must be told,’ I said, quietly but firmly. ‘It is our responsibility to share news of this event. If they had discovered the grave, we would expect them to warn us.’
Ivi was having none of that. ‘All very true, but we were at war with these folk not long ago. They could attack our messenger on sight.’
Which was a possibility, but unlikely. ‘They are obviously aware of us. Nyden’s presence proves that. But they have made no effort to attack any of us thus far, and I think it unlikely that they will do so now.’
I waited, but to my relief, nobody wanted to argue with me on this point.
Before I could speak again, or decide on what else to say, Meriall finally weighed in. She was in her human form, like the rest of us (except for Nyden, who is too supremely comfortable in his own skin to bother with changing his shape). She waved a hand in the air. ‘I will go,’ she offered.
‘Are you sure?’
She grinned at me, swift and mischievous. ‘I am not afraid of the scary lady.’
‘You should be,’ Sophronia muttered.
Meriall ignored this with enviable grace. ‘Anybody coming with me?’
Larion raised his hand, as did Loret. Then, to my amazement, more hands went up. It ended with everybody except
Sophronia and Nyden volunteering to go.
Meriall smiled sunnily upon them all, and bowed with a flourish. ‘You are too kind! But I think we shouldn’t all go.’ She looked at me for confirmation, and I could only agree. ‘Nyden, if you would be a dear and bear me company, that will do nicely.’
Nyden fluffed his wings. All the willing volunteers you have and you pick on me? What did I do to deserve that?!
‘I can’t help that you are the most fearsome of us,’ said Meriall coaxingly, with a sweet smile. ‘Also the largest, with the shiniest claws—’
‘And the only person who knows where Eterna’s hiding,’ I put in.
Nyden shot me a filthy look. I left for a reason. I don’t want to see them again!
‘Pleeeaase?’ said Meriall, and fluttered her eyelashes.
Nyden sucked upon one fang, grumbling. You forgot handsomest.
‘Fine,’ said Meriall with a roll of her eyes. ‘There is no one half so handsome as you, Ny, and since I cannot bear to go an entire day without your glorious visage to feast mine eyes upon, I beg you will accompany me.’
The smile she received in response was smug, and regrettably toothy. So, so easy.
Meriall smacked him for that, which of course he deserved.
I sighed inwardly, for I knew that I could not shrink from this. ‘I will also go.’
‘And I,’ agreed Pensould.
Meriall nodded. ‘Four is a good, stout number.’
‘A respectable delegation, but not enough to appear as a threat,’ I agreed. ‘We will leave first thing in the morning.’
With which pronouncement, I gracefully withdrew. Or rather, I fled, and hoped that nobody realised that’s what I was doing. Considering the ironic twist to Meriall’s smile as I departed, though, I don’t think I fooled her.
We were all four suitably draykon-shaped and on the wing very early on the day of our quest to find Eterna. We followed Nyden, whose idea of explaining our travel plan consisted of: “We bear south, and keep going.” So we turned south, and we flew.
Llandry Page 3
