“She’s female, and no, I don’t believe she does, but that really doesn’t matter, because I think I’ve found the spot where he was slain.”
“Great. That ought to make things much easier,” she said with confidence that I found reassuring.
I pulled off the road at the entry point to the forest, deciding the time had come to do a little gentle probing on the issue of the ouroboros dragons. “So . . . how long have you been doing this?”
She followed me into the forest, pursing her lips as she thought. “About eighty years. Summoners are born, not made, so I really didn’t have much of a choice, if you know what I mean. Mom discovered that was where my talents lay, and sent me off to be trained properly.”
“Ah. You’re not involved with your father’s family at all?”
“No.” She slid me a curious glance. “As I said, he was killed by the wyvern after she kicked him out of the sept, so I don’t feel like I have to make overly nice to the red dragons.”
A telling statement, and yet one with which I could sympathize.
“You’re technically ouroboros, then. So are we. I don’t particularly like being separated from the weyr. It makes me feel . . . disjointed.”
“But Baltic has a new sept, doesn’t he?” she asked as we skirted a minute, murky black pond.
I wondered how she’d heard that if she didn’t stay in touch with dragons. “Yes, he does, but we’re not part of the weyr.”
“Well, it’s all the same thing, really, isn’t it?” She made a little gesture of dismissal. “You can’t pick your family, but you can your friends—that’s how I look at it. So I just make sure I pick good friends.”
“Other dragons, you mean?”
She slid me another curious look. “I’m ouroboros, as you just pointed out. Red dragons won’t have anything to do with me.”
“But other ouroboros dragons would,” I said with a complacence that I was far from feeling.
She stopped, eyeing me with a slight tinge of hostility. “I get the feeling you’re skating around a subject that you don’t want to come right out and say. What exactly is that, Ysolde?”
“I understand what it is to feel ostracized, and lost to everyone you love.” I chose my words with care. “I know how easy it is to be overwhelmed with the isolation, and how much it means when at last you find someone or a group of people to whom you feel you belong. I also know what it’s like to be in over your head, drowning with no sign of a life preserver in sight. I just want you to know that you’re not alone, Maura.”
She stood unmoving, her gaze searching mine, and then she suddenly made an exclamation of irritation. “It’s Emile, isn’t it?”
“Emile?”
“My grandfather.” She made another abrupt gesture, before hoisting her backpack higher on her shoulder and stepping out with a firm set to her jaw. “He’s been pestering me for the last decade to settle down, as he calls it, and now he’s obviously gotten you involved somehow. I can’t believe he’d do this! Why can’t he understand that I’m not going to live the life he wants me to live? I’m my own person, not an extension of him!”
I hurried to keep up with her, simultaneously alarmed and relieved that I didn’t have to couch my questions in obscurity any longer. “I’m sorry if you feel it’s overly invasive, but your mother and grandfather are very worried about you.”
“Is that why you brought me out here?” she asked, whirling around to face me, a scowl darkening her countenance. “You tricked me to come here just so you could try to talk me into going back home?”
“No, not at all.” I avoided the unpleasant thought that I had, in fact, done something very much like that. “I really do want Constantine’s spirit raised. I need to talk to him about something of great importance.”
She examined my face for a moment, then nodded abruptly. “All right. But the subject of my personal life is no longer open for discussion.”
I watched for a moment as she strode off into the woods, musing that I wasn’t so naïve as to be fooled by an obvious attempt at distraction, but feeling it would be best to let matters lie until after she’d raised Constantine’s spirit.
As we wended our way along the serpentine paths, I glanced at my watch, praying that Baltic would need the full two hours to get into the lair. “How long will the summoning take?”
“Depends on the spirit. Some are right there, ready to be summoned; others take a bit of coaxing. Let’s say an hour, to be generous.”
“Ah.” I pulled out my cell phone. “I’ll be just a second—I need to let . . . er . . . Thala know I’ll be a little late.”
Maura said nothing, just continued in the direction I indicated, making her way around the large ferns and dripping trees that isolated us from the game trail we’d followed. I walked slowly after her, allowing a bit of distance to grow between us.
“Yes?” Baltic’s voice was clipped as he answered my call.
“Hi, it’s me. How’s the opening of the lair going?”
“I assume it’s well. I am currently watching Kostya’s men be cut down by silver dragons.”
I stopped and frowned at an innocent baby linden tree. “That’s a little gruesome, don’t you think?”
“Not at all. I wish to see what it is that Constantine did to bring down Dauva, so I am remaining here, where the silver dragons are fighting Kostya’s force. Thala will alert me when the lair is opened. Where are you? You said you wished to see what remains of Dauva and the lair.”
“I know I did, and I do want to see it, but there’s a little bit of business that I have to take care of first,” I said softly. Maura showed no signs of listening to my side of the conversation, but I knew dragons had exceptionally good hearing.
“What business? That foolishness to do with Kostich?”
“Kind of. I told you that I wanted to find where Constantine died so I could have his spirit raised.”
“And I told you that was folly. Even if you could find the location, he can tell you nothing of any use. You will return to me, mate.”
“Yes, I will, just as soon as I’m done with this.”
“Ysolde—”
“I shouldn’t be longer than an hour, and then I’ll come back and see what progress you guys are making. Bye.”
Twenty minutes later, Maura and I arrived at the place where I’d seen Constantine fall. The snowy memory of the past still haunted the area, but it was less substantial, almost faded beyond the reach of vision. Maura squatted and pulled some items from her bag, arranging them in a tidy row before drawing a ward over her left hand and right eye. With some difficulty, she used a piece of chalk to draw a circle in the moist earth.
“Is that going to work?” I asked, watching with interest. “The chalk, I mean? You can’t really draw with chalk on dirt, and there are all those rocks and things in the way.”
“It won’t leave a mark on earth, no, but you don’t have to see the circle to know it’s there. So long as I draw it, it’s effective.” She sprinkled grey ash over the circle, closing her eyes and murmuring to herself. After a few minutes of that, she stopped, shook her head, and looked up at me. “Nothing. Are you sure this is it?”
“Very sure.”
“I can give it another shot, but I’m not getting even a little tremor.”
I looked at the memory of the snowy mound that had once held Constantine’s body. “I’d appreciate that.”
She rubbed the circle into the dirt and leaf detritus before drawing a new one with chalk and ash, saying as she did so, “Sacred be the circle, sacred be the place, enter here you who are not founded. Here do I draw the first circle of spirit; let it cast its light into you. Here do I draw the second circle of spirit; may it bind your being. Here do I draw the third circle of spirit; may it bring forth to my hand and heart and soul those who remain.”
I waited, but there was nothing.
“I’m sorry,” she said, rubbing out the circle again. “There’s just nothing. You know, I wonder i
f my ash isn’t the problem. This is an old bottle, over a year old, and perhaps it’s not as effective as it could be. I have a fresh batch back in the hotel room that I just made a week ago. We could pop back into town to get it and try again, if you like.”
A look at my watch warned me I had limited time before Baltic would want to know where I was. “Why don’t we give it another shot? Third time’s a charm, and all that.’
The look she gave me told me she didn’t think much of that, but all she murmured was, “You’re the boss,” before drawing another circle.
But this time I was watching closely, and I noticed that although the circle seemed complete, a couple of largish twigs made it difficult for her to draw correctly.
“Hang on, let me clear some of this away,” I said, kneeling to brush away a layer of leaf mold, hand-sized sticks, and small rocks. “I think the ground is sufficiently clumpy to keep your circle from closing properly. Try it now.”
She slid me a quick look from the corner of her eye, but obediently bent over the now cleared ground. As she had said, the dirt did not hold the chalk itself, but an outline of the circle was now visible as she drew it.
“It’s not quite closed,” I pointed out when she reached for the ash.
“I’m pretty sure it is,” she said, sprinkling ash.
I smiled and took the chalk up from where she had set it down, making a tiny little adjustment to her circle. “There. Now it’s closed.”
“Please do not handle my equipment,” she said sternly, snatching the chalk from my hand.
“Sorry. I just really want this to succeed.”
“I assure you that I do as well, which is why I suggested going back to the hotel to get the fresher ash.”
I gave her an encouraging smile. She heaved a tiny little sigh and spoke the words of summoning again.
This time there was an immediate difference. Hope rose within me as the air within the circle did an odd sort of shimmer, as if the individual atoms of light were forming together. The shimmer began to grow and elongate, coalescing into the figure of a man.
A familiar man.
I rose slowly, the hairs on my arms standing on end as Constantine Norka stared at me with shock and surprise chased by some emotion I couldn’t identify. He opened his mouth to speak, his hands gesticulating wildly as he did so, but his voice had no sound.
“You did it!” I gasped, staring with wonder at Constantine’s spirit. “That really is amazing. But why can’t we hear him?”
“He’s not grounded,” she said with an edge that had me wondering. With a little sigh, she made a few gestures that looked like backward wards, causing the translucent ghost to slowly solidify.
“Constantine?” I asked him.
“Ysolde!” He held up his hands, still clad in leather gauntlets, looking in wonder at them. “I was dead. I know I was dead. But now I’m not? You have had me resurrected? This woman does not look like a necromancer.”
“I’m not,” she told him, gathering up her things. “I’ve summoned your shade, not your physical self.”
“A shade?” He looked down at his chest, touching his stomach. “I feel real.”
“That’s because you’re in corporeal form right now. When you grow low on energy, you will fade into an insubstantial form.” Maura turned to me, her expression tight. I didn’t understand why she seemed so resigned when her mission had been a success. “I can’t bind him to you, I’m afraid. That’s the trouble with dragon spirits—they come back as shades, which can’t be bound without a whole lot of trouble. He’s more or less going to be able to do as he likes. I can release him, though, if he is willing.”
“I’m not dead?” He pulled out his sword, still strapped to his hip. He made a few jabs at a nearby fern. “I’m not. I’m alive.”
“No, you’re a shade,” Maura repeated. “Why don’t we go back to the hotel, and I can explain the ins and outs of shadedom to you both.”
He beheaded the fern, sliding the sword back into its sheath with a look of satisfaction. Constantine was a handsome man in his own right, a little taller than me, with a muscular build, golden brown hair, and eyes just a shade darker. “You saved me, my beloved one. You truly are my mate. The Summoner is wrong—I am bound to you, Ysolde. I am bound to you until the end of time.”
Chapter Seventeen
“ I have to ask you some questions, Constantine. Will you please stop doing that?”
He ceased kissing my hand, but retained hold of it. “You saved me,” he said again.
“Yes. About that . . .” I glanced at Maura.
“I have an idea,” she said brightly. “Why don’t we all go back to the hotel, and you two can sort everything out there, where it’s comfortable and there are no mosquitoes to eat you alive!”
“I always knew you would save me,” Constantine told me.
“You did? That’s . . . uh . . . OK.” I debated asking him why he killed me in the first place if he felt that way, but decided there were more important things to discuss. Baltic’s patience was pushed about as far as it would go without snapping, and I had to get to the bottom of restoring Constantine’s honor before I could convince him to go on to his reward. “So, about this sin against the innocent that you committed . . . What exactly do you need me to do to restore your honor?”
Constantine blinked at me. “What sin against the innocent?”
“My death. At least, I assume that was the sin. Do you need me to formally forgive you for my death in the presence of a witness? I’m sure Maura would be happy to act in that capacity.”
“I’d be delighted, but if we could do it back at the hotel—”
“You’re speaking in riddles, Ysolde. Why would you forgive me for your death?”
“The First Dragon told me I have to restore your honor to you.”
“He did?” Constantine looked startled. “Why—”
An explosion of words sounded behind me, a flurry of oaths as a large body burst through the dense wall of shrubs that had grown between two tall elms. “I knew it! I knew I would find you here with him!”
“Oh, this is all I need,” I said to myself as I grabbed Baltic’s arm. He was shirtless, his arms and one side of his chest smudged with dirt. I picked off a leaf and brushed a bit of soil from his shoulder. “Where’s your shirt? What on earth have you been doing?”
“Excavating my lair. Why is he alive? Why have you resurrected him? Why did you tell me you had no interest in him, and yet here you are skulking around with the man responsible for all the ills we have suffered?”
“Baltic!” Constantine’s eyes narrowed as he pulled out his sword. “Long have I wished I could end the suffering of the weyr, and now I shall do so!”
Baltic reached for his sword, but he was clad in a pair of jeans, completely sans lethal weapons, airport security being what it is these days. He swore profanely, then yanked a branch off the elm tree and wielded it like a leafy staff. “There is no suffering to compare with what you have already put me through!”
“Boys, really—”
Baltic lunged just as Constantine, with a battle yell that had the birds flying from nearby trees, leaped forward . . . only to melt into nothingness.
“What trickery is this?” Baltic bellowed, flinging his branch around with abandon.
“That is what I’d like to know!” Constantine’s voice answered. “What magic have you cast upon me?”
“It’s no magic—I told you, you’re only corporeal so long as you have the energy to maintain that state. You’ve obviously come to the end of that, and will have to recharge your spirit batteries, so to speak,” Maura said wearily. “I don’t suppose anyone would like a drink? I sure could use one. I noticed the hotel had a bar.”
“You didn’t resurrect him?” Baltic asked me, lowering his branch.
“Why would I do that?”
“Because you love me,” the disembodied voice said.
“I do not,” I told the air. “I never loved you, Cons
tantine. I was fond of you, yes, but my heart has always belonged to Baltic.”
“Bah. You were just confused,” he answered, his voice now on my far side.
“This is really disconcerting. Can you make some sort of an image so we can see where you are?”
“No.” He sounded surly.
“Fine. Pout if you like, but it’s not going to impress me. He’s not resurrected,” I said, turning back Baltic. “Maura is a Summoner. She raised his shade so I could talk to him about restoring his honor.”
Baltic rolled his eyes. “I told you that was a folly, mate.”
“A folly? A folly? Restoring my honor is not a folly, you ignorant coxcomb!”
We both ignored the unseen Constantine.
“It’s not foolish if it gets the First Dragon off my back.”
“Really, people, if I get any more mosquito bites, I’m going to be one giant welt,” Maura interrupted, slapping at her arm. “Ysolde, can you give me a lift back to town?”
“Talking to that monstrosity will not do anything but waste your time,” Baltic said, gesturing at nothing with his branch.
“You bastard!” Constantine snarled. “I am not the monstrous one here!”
“Right, if I have to separate you two, I will,” I said in my best mom voice. “Constantine, just tell me, please, what I have to do to restore your honor.”
“My honor has no need of your attention. That one who calls himself your mate is another matter, although he never had any honor to begin with.”
Baltic growled.
“Of course your honor needs help. Your father said you lost it.”
“Mate—”
“My father?” Constantine may have been invisible to our sight, but the incredulity in his voice was clearly audible. “What does my father have to do with anything?”
“He asked me to restore your honor.”
“My father is dead. He has been dead for . . . what century is this?”
“Twenty-first,” Maura said, tugging on my sleeve. “Shall we go?”
“He’s been dead for seven centuries. He could not have asked you to do anything, unless you raised his shade as well.”
The Unbearable Lightness of Dragons ld-2 Page 24
