by Alison Baird
At the sight of the huge Imperial dragon, one firedrake pulled out of its deadly stoop, fleeing toward the mountains. Auron did not pursue it, but turned on another that had flown right down to street level and begun to harry the people there to and fro. It could not be helped: Auron would have to be seen now, or else leave these innocents to their fate. Lorelyn and Jomar clung tighter as Auron dropped toward the street, flying between the buildings as if through a natural canyon. So wide were his wings that their tips nearly brushed the walls of brick and stone to either side. He skimmed low over the panicked crowd, raising another terrified clamor. The black shape of the firedrake wheeled around at the end of the street, an immense shadow against the burning buildings, and came hurtling back at the crowd. In the same instant its red eyes saw the approaching dragon, and a spurt of flame burst from its jaws. The two riders crouched low on Auron’s neck as the huge creature swept toward them. Finding that its flames could not pierce the Loänan’s quintessential shield, the firedrake roared in frustration and swerved away. Auron flew after it and pounced on its back, biting and clawing, and Lorelyn and Jomar recoiled as much from the brimstone stench of the monster as from its wildly beating wings and sprays of poisonous blood. The barbed tail lashed through the air, and Lorelyn ducked and shoved Jomar in the back, forcing him down, as it went sweeping over both their heads like a boom.
One of Auron’s claws tore the right wing of the firedrake. It shrieked and flapped awkwardly away, its rent wing trailing loose shreds of webbing. It strove to climb skyward, but the wing folded and the beast plummeted toward the harbor, where its fires were quickly quenched. Steam and foam rose up in a towering column where it went down, and it did not rise again.
Auron, his fighting blood now thoroughly roused, made as if to return to the main battle. And Lorelyn had drawn her sword. Her grief for her beloved monks had strengthened her: had given her a desire not so much for vengeance, as to make certain no other should die or suffer loss at the enemy’s hands. She rejoiced at the chance to thwart her foes of their prey. But Taleera flew down and lit on the dragon’s head, her feathers flattened in the wind of his great speed, and screeched in his ear. “No, Old Worm! You must go to ground—set the humans down safely, before you return to the fight. We will search for Ailia in the meantime, and help her if we can. Since the enemy is attacking the city, they must also suspect that she is here.”
The dragon heard and assented. Soaring high over Raimar, he headed for the dark and empty fields beyond its outskirts.
AILIA STOOD IN THE STREET looking on the charred shells of houses. Even now, hours after the fiery assault, the stench of smoke was heavy on the air. Fringes of icicles hung from exposed and blackened roof beams, and the burnt rubble of the collapsed stories beneath them had yet to be cleared away. When at last dawn had showed gray at the windows, Ailia and her family had gone out to survey the latest damage: the buildings that still burned, the golden dome of the temple wreathed in the gray smoke and steam rising from the ruins. They knew they had much to be thankful for. Uncle Nedman and Jemma’s husband and eldest son had turned up after the first night attack, covered in soot and bruises, but alive: they had fled the wharves as soon as the enemy appeared. But most of the Royal Navy ships had been burned beyond repair. The Valei’s flying vessels had done their work—and the firedrakes also.
Many people by now had seen the latter quite clearly, and though the ones who had not (Ailia’s foster family included) were inclined to think the witnesses had mistaken winged ships for flying monsters in their confusion and terror, Ailia knew better. Once again she was burdened with knowledge. When she had first arrived in Arainia, Mandrake had sought to deceive her with a carefully crafted illusion, making it seem that she had never left Mera and that the events in the Isle of Trynisia had merely been a dream. This time she had been the author of her own deception, albeit unconsciously: her fever-stricken mind had banished the more painful scenes of her immediate past to some dark concealed chamber, from which they had broken forth only with the threat of danger. With full memory all the fears and sorrows that had racked her mind came back to her. The bliss of forgetfulness had passed. Once more she was conscious of her sorcerous powers, and her dread of them. Once more she looked back on the bleak, black days in Zimboura, the grief of Damion’s loss still fresh and searing; the turmoil of hate and fury and desire for revenge that had filled her nights and days with misery. And all the time people speaking of her as if she were a goddess! Had they only known what sort of a goddess she might have become! She shuddered now to recall the things she had been capable of in that dark period. Mandrake had called her a monster, and he had not been far off the mark. With the powers at her disposal she could have wreaked such havoc on the rebels of northern Zimboura that future generations would look back on it and tremble. She could have used her weather-magic, withholding rain and then sending down lightning bolts to consume the parched land with fire. Or she could have sent rain—weeks of it, swelling rivers from their beds to turn plains into lakes. Or created cyclones that would strike at her command, tearing towns to matchwood. She could have taken draconic form, striking her foes with claws and jaws. She herself trembled at the thought of it. Had that in fact been Valdur’s intent? To take Damion from her in order to drive her to such savage acts of vengeance?
She gazed at the ruins now in silence. The air-ships had begun to appear months ago, according to her family: the first were sighted on the eve of Trynalia, the winter solstice festival. Her enemies must have chosen that date on purpose, as a provocation. For Trynalia was also the high festival of the Elei’s prophesied ruler. Dark curtains hung at every window until midnight, and then the door of each house was flung open wide to welcome the Tryna Lia, while the light shone out to be an aid to the Princess and her forces of Light as they fought the Darkness. In the villages a young girl dressed up as the Princess, with crown and scepter, and went from house to house expelling the demons of darkness. Thinking of these old rituals reminded her once more of what she was, and this was unwelcome; but it also gave her an idea. Slowly and thoughtfully she walked back to the house. There she found her family talking in hushed tones, so as not to be overheard by the two boys who were playing upstairs. Their worn, frightened faces filled her with pity and tenderness. Though she was grateful that her family had been spared, she wondered what dangers still faced them—dangers from which she might not be able to protect them. Mandrake and his fellow rebels had no doubt learned of her flight from Zimboura, and were attempting to find her before her own allies did. They knew there were but two places where she was likely to go in this world: the island where she had been raised, and the coast of Maurainia where Ana and her Nemerei dwelled.
“It’s a great blow to us,” Jaimon said to Uncle Nedman. “There’s no doubt about it. So many of our naval vessels were in the harbor when the attack came. There’s no point in my signing up now.”
His father replied, “Those ships were useless anyway. To fight these devils we would need ships that fly, like theirs. It’s almost as if they did it from spite.”
“Everything’s wrong,” said Jemma. “This is more than a war. It’s something bigger and stranger, and even more dreadful. Do you think those comets are a coincidence? They were a warning!”
She began to sob quietly, and her husband put his arm around her. “Steady on, lass,” Arran urged. But his face was as pale as hers.
Ailia could bear it no longer. “Don’t be afraid,” she said, stepping forward. “It’s true we have enemies, but we also have friends and allies.”
They all stared at her. “Who?” said Jaimon. “The Continent stands alone now. We’ve no allies left in the world.”
“Unless you mean some sort of divine intervention? Are cherubim and seraphim coming to our rescue?” her uncle asked, raising his grizzled brows.
“Cherubim, anyway,” said Ailia, and the merest trace of a smile flitted across her lips. Then she turned serious again. “The comets aren’t omens.
They were disturbed from their normal orbits long ago, by Azar and Azarah, and are just reaching us now—”
“Azar and what?” Nella asked, bewildered.
Oh, I forgot—the Maurainian astronomers haven’t discovered the seventh planet and its sun yet. “Never mind. It’s just as Jaim said: they are a natural phenomenon. I’m sure of it.”
They continued to gaze at her in puzzlement, and she said no more. I am a danger to them, and to everyone here, she realized. The enemy might have attacked anyway—they may not know I am in hiding here—but it doesn’t matter. I am the cause of the whole business—simply by being what I am. In any case, I must go—I have wasted enough time here. I must find Ana and the other Nemerei. Perhaps, she thought, the Valei had attacked in order to force her out in the open, rather than remain in hiding and see innocent people harmed. However that might be, her days of concealment and her brief respite of ordinary life were over. The thought tore at her heart. More than ever she hungered to return to that old life with her foster family, and not only for the illusion of safety it would bring. She felt a great love for them, and a fear of what might yet befall them. “Listen to me, all of you! I have had an idea. You must put out all the lights in the house tonight, or else hang thick cloths over the windows, just as though it were the Dark Days festival. And tell all the neighbors to do the same, and spread the word throughout the city.”
“But why?” asked Jemma, surprised.
“That way our enemies won’t see the houses so clearly, when they come again tonight. There will be no lights to guide them. But I must leave,” added Ailia. “It’s the enemies of my people that are waging this war.”
“Your people.” Nella gasped.
“I remember it all,” she replied. “Everything. Where I came from, who I really am. It has come back to me.”
Nella shot an agonized look at Dannor before turning back to Ailia. “Ailia. I’m so sorry, so very sorry not to have told you before—”
“That I am not your child? Don’t trouble yourself about it. You saved me from a very great danger.” She laid a hand on Nella’s shoulder and added, “Mamma.”
Nella looked relieved, then remorseful again. “You can’t go calling me that now. I’ve no right to it. We never did see your real mother, nor any of your folks. They must have drowned when the flying ship went down in the storm. Nothing could live long in such a sea.”
“I lived,” she replied. “And my mother did escape the wreck. I—know it.”
“But how do you know?” Jaimon asked, stepping forward. “Have you seen your other family? Is that where you went when you disappeared? Where is this land of yours?”
“Farther away than you can imagine, Jaim. My people have kept its location a secret for centuries.” She took a deep breath, and then continued. “They will be looking for me—but so will my enemies.”
“The Zimbourans?”
“The Valei, the Darklings. Not only Zimbourans worship Valdur. There are other races more powerful still, that have allied themselves with the last rebellious Zimbourans. It is they who attack the city. They may know, or suspect, that I am here, and that is why I cannot stay any longer. I must go back to my own folk. I can’t go home immediately though, since I have no way of getting there. I must find a place to hide until my friends find me. But not here.” Leaving them all gaping at her, she went to the front door and took her travel-grimed cloak from its peg on the wall.
Jemma, Nella, and Jaimon rose and followed her. “Ailia, you can’t leave us already, now that we’ve found you again!” said Jemma. “Where would you go, anyway?”
Ailia stood with cloak in hand, considering. There were the tunnels underneath the Academy that had given shelter to the Nemerei. But these were no longer secret or safe. If she went to Mount Selenna she might take refuge in Ana’s cave, and could search for the old woman as well. “I think I will go into the mountains. I can’t tell you exactly where, but I believe I can find those people who came to you—Ana and the others. They are friends, and can help me in ways you can’t. I’m so grateful to you for all that you have done for me—in these past few days, and before, when I was a child. You—you’ll always be family to me.” She slung the cloak about her shoulders. “But I can’t stay with you any longer, and there are things I must do, things that are terribly important.”
Nella said, “We can’t let you do this. If any harm came to you we’d never forgive ourselves!”
“And I would never forgive myself either, if harm came to you because of me,” Ailia replied.
“Then we will come with you into the countryside, to keep you safe,” offered Jemma.
“But you won’t, Jemma dear: you will only endanger yourselves. Think of Dani and Lem. It’s no use going on about it: so long as you are with me you will never be safe.”
“But you can’t just disappear again, and leave us all wondering what’s become of you!” Jemma wailed. There was a sound of running feet, and the two boys darted into the hall.
“Mum, what is it?” Lem cried. Then Dani noticed Ailia standing at the door, and gave a wail just like his mother’s.
“She’s going away again!”
Ailia looked at them all, her heart torn asunder. How could she explain the whole truth of the matter to them? Celestial dragons and gryphons, and sorcerers, and other worlds . . . They would think that she had gone mad. “I promise I will come back to you, or send word, as soon as ever I can,” she vowed, feeling wretched, knowing that the promise might never be kept. But their safety must be her first concern.
Jaimon sighed in resignation and joined her at the doorway, pulling on his boots. “All right, then. I can see there’s no point in arguing with you. You know more than you’re telling: I could always read your feelings in your face. But you’ll at least let me come part of the way. Come along—I’ll give you a lift to the Range in our cart.”
She wavered a moment, reluctant either to accept or to refuse. Without another word he pushed past his family and strode out the back door, heading for the stable.
Nella followed her nephew into the yard, watching as he led out the thin, tired-looking horse from its stall. “Jaimon,” she said. “You don’t hide things well either. I can see how it is with you and Ailia. You love her: you always did.”
“As my cousin, yes.” He began to put on the horse’s harness.
“But now that you know she’s not your own kin, your love for her has changed. Hasn’t it? Your mother has noticed too.” Nella took a step closer. “But Ailia’s not for you, lad. Wherever she may be from, she’s quality. That was real thread-of-gold on her little dress—and look at that white cloak she’s got, and the gown she had on when we found her in the hostel. They’re both of a finer weave than anything you’ll see in the city. And notice too how she carries herself, and how she talks: her speech is more refined now. She’s a lady, Jaimon, and not one of us anymore. You must accept that.”
He made no reply, though his hand paused in the act of tightening a strap. Backing the horse up, he made fast its harness to their small two-seated cart and then led it by the reins into the street. Ailia came out of the front door. She now carried a rolled-up blanket, and was followed by Jemma with a basket. The rest of the family came behind. Jaimon helped Ailia into the cart, then Jemma handed the basket up to her. There was a loaf of bread in it, and some dried meat and fruit, and a couple of eggs—for the hens had begun to lay regularly, granting them a stay of execution.
Jemma and Nella lingered by the side of the cart. “You’ll be careful to keep warm?” the latter urged. “Remember you’ve been ill.”
“Yes: I am used to warmer climates, so I expect I catch chills and fevers more easily. I will take care.”
Nella withdrew, and Jemma stepped forward. “I shall miss you, Ailia. Finding you again is the only good thing that has happened this past year. It has all been so dark, and so frightening; but I felt when you came back that things had begun to turn around, somehow. I do wish you’d stay!” she
said, tears starting in her eyes.
“I wish I could.” Ailia leaned down to kiss her. “Goodbye, Jemma dear. I hope we may meet again.”
Jaimon shook the reins, and they drove away.
In the streets people still clambered through the ruins of burned-out buildings, like wasps swarming around a damaged hive. Ailia averted her eyes from the sight. Then her cousin drove into the back roads, and on through the muddy and rutted paths of the countryside.
“Where to?” he asked presently.
“To Mount Selenna, please.”
“And you’ll find old Ana and her friends there?”
“I—don’t know. I hope so.”
Snow still covered the mountain’s higher slopes, so that the season seemed to reverse as they ascended. Presently the lightly winding track became too slippery for hooves and wheels. Jaimon stopped the cart and Ailia dismounted, clutching the basket and blanket. She turned and looked back up at him. “Thank you.”
“Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” said Ailia, “but at least it will be safer here. There is a cave in the mountainside where I can stay. And you will be safer too. Just remember to tell everyone to put their black curtains up tonight.”
He hesitated, and it seemed to her that he was about to say something more. For a long moment they contemplated each other’s face. Jaimon saw a woman at once familiar and mysterious, for whom he felt both the affection of their early youth and now something new and deeper. He yearned to protect her, to cling to her and prevent her from ever again disappearing out of his life. Ailia saw a man who had once been as close to her as a brother: but their long separation and the knowledge that he was no longer her true kin made her see him anew. Though he said nothing, she knew what he offered her: not only love but peace and security, the opportunity to vanish once and for all into the ordinary life she had once resisted, and now craved as a starving person craves food. But it could not be, even if circumstances allowed it. She did not truly love him, not in that sense; and to cleave to him merely for what he represented to her would be a betrayal of them both.
