Dragon’s Blood: A Dystopian Fantasy
Page 9
“Why them?” Zelli asked.
Bjorn hit the high points of our impromptu gathering in this very room with Arawn, Gwydion, Mother, Odin, Ysien, and Nidhogg.
“So that is how Ceridwen ended up in Fire Mountain,” Quade muttered. “Ysien wasna overly clear about where he found her. Or precisely why she’s sharing the Morrigan’s cell. And I dinna have time to question him.”
“Pfft. He would not have answered you,” Zelli growled. “This means Nidhogg will be at the meeting as well. Good. The Celts might be a wee bit on the slow side, but I’m certain they’ve figured things out.”
“I doubt they’ll be forthcoming with Odin and his nobles, though. ’Twould make them look bad,” Quade said. “Verra bad. She”—he pointed at me—“lived beneath their noses for years, yet no one bothered to look closely enough to figure out who she was.”
“What are we waiting for?” Magic bubbled around Zelli. I could almost see her rubbing her talons together as she anticipated confronting the Celts for their moral slippage.
“We have to stop by the caves beneath Ben Nevis,” I reminded her.
She rolled her whirling eyes. The net effect made me dizzy. Clearly, the witches might be my priority, but they weren’t hers. The dragon clacked her double rows of teeth together. The noise ratcheted through me. Damn, but my nerves were shot.
“We shall stop there first. Both of you. Get on. We teleport from here,” Zelli ordered.
“But it’s not very far,” I protested.
“I am in a hurry,” Zelli informed me. “Teleporting is quicker than flying. Now get on.”
Bjorn was already astride Quade. A blast of dragon magic moved me to Zelli’s back. There’d been a time when I would have protested, told the dragon I made my own decisions about where I went and with whom.
I was tired. Dejection beat a path through me. There had to be a way to remove me from the Nine Worlds. Surely, if that happened, the damaged lands would begin to recover. If I was some kind of magnet for evil, not having me here had to make a difference.
The council chamber’s walls turned liquid before they vanished. Almost immediately, the hard-packed dirt outside Ben Nevis’s cave system took their place.
“We shall find a path.” Zelli’s voice reverberated through my skull. “Ye will come to terms with the knowledge ye’ve been given.” After a pause, she started up again. “Only cowards flee. Ye are far from a craven. Stand tall, Dragon Heir. I am proud to be your bonded one.”
My eyes widened. “What? So I wasn’t just a temporary assignment to rehearse fighting skills?”
Soft laughter met my question. “Nay. Much as Ysien would have liked to characterize it as such. When I said I volunteered, ’twas for far more than a single practice session.”
I wasn’t sure how many more revelations I could absorb without my head bursting into a million pieces. Jumping down from Zelli’s back, I waited for Bjorn to join me. I’d bounded into Inverlochy by myself. This time, I’d be smarter about things.
A staunch mrowww rolled from the cave’s entrance, followed by Mort giving me nine kinds of shit for abandoning him. Got to hand it to that cat. He totally ignored the dragons as he sauntered to me and wove his furry body around my legs.
I hunkered next to him and scratched his ears. When I held out my arms, he jumped into them and thence to his favorite spot around my neck. Tansy raced outside.
“I knew it had to be you. Mort’s been in a funk ever since you left. Whoa!” Her eyes rounded until white showed all around the irises. “Dragons. In the sky is one thing, but—"
I scrambled upright and scooped her into my arms. She hugged me back. All the while, Mort purred like a little locomotive. My heart hurt. I loved the witches. I didn’t want to go anywhere. Not Asgard. Not Valhalla. Not Vanaheim. I wanted to stay right where I was.
Yeah. I longed for my life back. The old one where the biggest excitement in my day was checking on the Breaking spot.
It was never going to happen. Best case, I’d drop by long enough to make sure disaster hadn’t struck. Tansy and the witches might understand. Mort never would.
I untangled her arms from my neck and said, “I’d like you to meet the dragons.”
“Me! Nah. They don’t care who I am,” Tansy sputtered.
Zelli puffed steam and said, “We care for all who walk the good side of the road, little witch. I am Zelli.”
“And I am Quade.” He added more steam to settle around Tansy, Bjorn, and me.
She dropped an awkward curtsey. “Tansy Thorne. P-pleased to meet you.”
“I’m guessing if you and Mort are out here, everyone inside is doing all right?” I said.
She nodded, unable to stop staring at the dragons. “Yes. We’re all fine. Um, how is everyone at Inverlochy?”
I hesitated. She wasn’t paying close attention to me, so I could soft-pedal the truth. “Hilda had a small run-in with—”
My words dragged Tansy around. “She’s okay. Right? Not hurt or anything?”
“She will be fine,” Bjorn reassured her. “I treated her myself.”
Tansy’s green eyes narrowed. “You brought Ro back when she was sick and well past the scope of my healing. Thank you for your efforts on my aunt’s behalf.”
“You are most welcome.” Bjorn inclined his head.
“All appears to be well here,” Zelli said.
“Aye, we must be on our way,” Quade added.
The smile on Tansy’s face faded. “You’re leaving again? But you just got here.”
I shut my eyes for a moment. When I opened them, I stood so I faced her and placed my hands on her shoulders. “I would prefer things to be different. There’s nowhere I’d rather be than here, but Earth is in trouble.”
I left out the part about it being my fault. Maybe not directly, but consequences were all that mattered. My presence was the catalyst that had spawned…everything.
“I have to leverage my magic to try to undo the damage Mother created. The dragons are my allies. Mine and Bjorn’s.”
“Will you ever be back here for good?” Tansy asked in a small voice.
I feared not, but I refused to rob both her and me of hope. I tilted her chin upward with a grubby finger. “I want to be here. You wish me to be. Maybe our combined desires will catch the attention of the goddess, and—”
“It’s all right.” She grasped my hand in both of hers, lowering it. “Do what you have to. I understand. So will the rest of us.”
My throat was raw, scratchy, and unpleasantly thick. I refused to cry in front of Tansy. It would really worry her if I did. She might be young, but she was plenty smart enough to read between the lines. Reaching back, I untangled Mort from my neck and held him to my chest. Breathing into his matted fur, I told him how much I loved him.
He’d stopped purring. Almost as if he knew I was moments from deserting him once again.
“I’ll take him.” Tansy held out her arms.
I placed Mort into them. With the unerring instincts of the young, Tansy turned and walked back inside. Long goodbyes wouldn’t change the outcome. All they’d do would tear our hearts out.
Steam blanketed me and Bjorn.
“Onto my back, Dragon Heir.” Zelli’s tone wasn’t sharp, but neither could I ignore her command.
“We’re teleporting, right?” I asked her.
“In a manner of speaking. We shall enter Valhalla as befits a Dragon Heir. In all our combined glory with ye riding me.”
“Combined glory, huh?” I glanced at my blood-and-dirt-spattered clothing.
“Perhaps the Valkyries will have something for ye to wear,” Quade said.
“Ha! Not fucking likely since I killed one of them. Besides, armor isn’t very comfortable.” I shook myself. No reason to go inside the caves and change. I could give a shit less what Odin thought of me.
Bjorn wrapped a hand around my arm. After a quick squeeze, he headed for Quade but stopped shy of the black dragon. “Am I riding too?”
“It wouldna be Odin, but Nidhogg,” Zelli corrected him.
Quade shrugged. “I’ve had a bellyful of him too. If he hadn’t been so mired in dragons never looking beyond our own concerns, we wouldna be in this mess.”
“I suppose he assumes we can retire to Fire Mountain while the rest of the worlds disintegrate,” Zelli muttered.
While the two of them spread their wings, I vaulted onto Zelli’s back. I was starting to think of her as my dragon, which was probably a mistake. The safest path was still walking tall by myself.
No attachments meant I couldn’t get hurt. Leaving the witches behind while I battled for the future of Earth was about all the loss I could stand.
Chapter Eight, Bjorn
I sat astride Quade as his power soared around us. Somehow, we were teleporting and flying at the same time. At least, that’s how it appeared. Magic has a way of masking the obvious, sometimes. A fine, grayish mist surrounded us, different from my usual teleport spells where I floated in a black void. My soul ached for Rowan. I’d seen the pain and hurt and fury when the dragons told her about the prediction surrounding her birth.
I still couldn’t believe Ceridwen was as oblivious as it appeared. Even after she’d flaunted the dragons’ prohibition, and was faced with the results, she could have done so many things to prepare her daughter. Instead, she made things worse by instigating the rift that had broken Midgard. Was she caught up in the prophecy as well? Merely an instrument, albeit a powerful one, someone else had shaped to do their bidding?
I didn’t exactly view the Welsh sorceress in that light. She struck me as someone who’d come out with claws extended and guns blazing at the first hint anyone was manipulating her. My thoughts ranged to Rowan’s mysterious father. Why was he nowhere in the Nine Worlds? Had the other dragons banished him? Had he banished himself?
To put a finer point on it, was he wrapped up in a despicable plot to destroy the Nine Worlds? Men were obviously a weakness for Ceridwen. She’d have been flattered by a dragon’s attentions, particularly since the liaison was forbidden fruit.
I probably didn’t have much time, so I refocused on the upcoming council meeting. If I knew Odin at all—and I thought I did—he’d be so spun out at the Celts for both Rowan’s birth and Ceridwen’s misshapen spell, he’d be casting blame in a wide net.
The Celts wouldn’t remain defensive—or apologetic—for long. My best guess was the council meeting would have devolved into a shit-slinging contest. “We need to hurry,” I told Quade.
“Ye think so?” Sarcasm sharpened his tone.
I switched things up. Worrying about things I had no control over was a waste of energy and magic. “I understand why Rowan is astride Zelli, but why am I riding you?”
“So the four of us would arrive at the same time.”
Mmph. Meant he wasn’t going to tell me. I was fully capable of teleporting and showing up more or less along with them. I clamped my jaws shut. Damn Nidhogg to Faery. He was intent on keeping a very close eye on me. Clearly, the stone wasn’t enough. Not now that Rowan was in full discovery mode and figuring out who she was.
I’d been wrong about Zelli being Nidhogg’s latest spy to watch over me. It had to be Quade since it was the only explanation for his sudden presence.
Nidhogg’s lack of faith hurt my feelings. And my pride. Did he believe I was so petty I’d turn tail and run at the first hint of danger? I winced. The old me might not have exactly made a run for the gates, but neither did I welcome battle situations.
All that was changing. I was changing. Until Rowan told me to go away, I’d do my utmost to ensure her safety. I didn’t fully understand the reasons our magic was so attuned, but I’d bet my last spell book, there was a prophecy around us somewhere.
Ceridwen was a grand mistress of weaving lies with truth. She’d alluded to a divination from that blasted kettle of hers that foretold disaster for everyone else if Ro and I blended our power. I sat on a snort. That bit of foreseeing had boomeranged right back in her face.
Ro and I meeting and working together had indeed spelled her downfall. I considered it a major win—for everyone. Certainly for the witches doing everything they could to coax crops out of the rich soil around Inverlochy Castle.
“Get ready,” Quade turned his head and eyed me over one shoulder. Neither green nor silver, his eyes had shaded to many hues of gold.
“As in?” I prodded. “Ward myself?”
“Nay. Wards willna help. This next part will be unpleasant but verra brief,” he told me.
The warning was timely. Whatever we flew through turned from cold to hot enough to burn if it had been normal air. Concerned with searing my lungs, I cupped a hand over my mouth. Sweat poured down my body as I attempted to adapt. Quade bellowed as we flew through what felt like a phalanx of blades. I expected long rips in my garments, but they came through unscathed. They were also mostly dry, probably from the intense heat.
“What was that?” I shouted, but the dragon didn’t answer.
The mists we’d been transiting cleared, replaced by the golden streets of Asgard. Zelli and Rowan soared off to our right. Asgard is truly lovely. I always assumed Odin designed it, which is odd since I’ve never otherwise viewed him as having a shred of artistic ability or taste.
Unlike the river lands occupied by Vanaheim with mountains in the distance, Asgard is rough country. Built in the midst of mountainous terrain, only the rare byway is level. Valhalla’s golden walls soar above the crest of Asgard. An imposing structure with many floors, it’s been different every time I’ve looked at it. Today, its gates stood open. Flags flew from all the parapets. Each of the Nine Worlds has its own flag, but today the Celtic banner blazoned with a roaring lion flew as well.
I took it as a good sign. “Looks as if no one’s left yet,” I muttered.
“Aye, and a good thing,” Quade replied.
Rather than landing and walking through the gates as I’d assumed we’d do, the dragon circled. It gave me an unprecedented view of just how vast Valhalla is. I’d never been invited within, only stood in the front courtyard.
Sections extended up and down the bluff where the castle perched, some at such precarious angles magic shimmered to hold them in place. A central open area held wondrous beasts, along with Sleipnir, Odin’s eight-legged black destrier, and his ravens.
I started to ask Quade what we were doing—why we hadn’t landed—but it wasn’t my place to question him. Hell, it wasn’t actually my place to be astride his back, but it would be counterproductive to complain too loudly. Something about riding him sang to every fiber of my being. I wondered if I’d perhaps been a dragon rider in another life. That’s how right it felt, like a serious case of déja vu.
When I glanced at Rowan, she looked as comfortable as me, but she had reasons. I didn’t. A staunch bugle brought my head whipping around. Another dragon was somewhere close. It hadn’t sounded like Nidhogg, but I wasn’t exactly adept at recognizing his dragon noises.
“I wondered if she’d greet us,” Quade said. I noticed he’d switched to mind speech.
“She” didn’t refer to Nidhogg. I started to search with magic but changed my mind. It would only piss the dragon off. Not Quade, but the one who was close enough for us to hear her. I craned my head about. Quade’s neck was a big blind spot, but between him shifting course and my efforts I was able to see around it.
Blood-red scales flashed in the same sun that illuminated Valhalla. The effect was so surreal, it might have been a painting. I put two and two together. The dragon heading for us had to be Dewi, the Celts’ dragon goddess. All dragons are grace personified in the air, and she was no exception. Her long neck was held at a jaunty angle, and huge crimson wings cleaved the air. Her eyes were a mix of green and gold.
She bugled again. Quade and Zelli bugled back. I considered raising my ha
nd in greeting, but I was out of my league. Besides, the dragons had moved from trumpeting to steam as they greeted one another. Dewi made a point of flying near and bathing Rowan in billows of it.
I assumed it was as close to an apology as dragons ever got.
Puffy, white clouds thickened until I couldn’t see Ro, so I felt for her with magic.
“All is well.” Her silvery mind voice reassured me.
Words knocked against each other. So much I wanted to say, but the dragons would hear every word. We’d begun to circle lower. I assumed we were heading for the castle, but Dewi led the way through a steep draw with snow on both sides to a small, green meadow below.
The dragons touched down heavily on thick, wet grass dotted with tiny white flowers. The blossoms that ended up crushed beneath their feet gave off a heady odor. Rose mixed with evergreens is as close as I can come to describing it.
I fashioned a bit of magic into a cushion to soften my egress from Quade’s back and ran to Rowan’s side. Being next to her felt like my place as much as riding the dragon had. A chilly voice intruded and reminded me I’d do better if I kept my expectations within reason. I might be the master sorcerer for the Nine Worlds, but it scarcely put me in the same league with dragons. Or Dragon Heirs.
Rowan was half dragon. She was claiming her heritage, and I’d support her every step of the way. Even if it meant she moved beyond my star. She extended a hand, and I clasped it. Wonder sheeted from her. I guessed she was still as awestruck about dragon riding as I was.
Dewi lumbered to where we stood, stopping a short distance away and folding her wings across her back. As if by design, Quade flanked her on one side, Zelli on the other. They were beautiful—and deadly. I may have shared Vanaheim with dragons, but I’d never spent any time with them except from a distance.
Until Nidhogg singled me out to spy on Midgard.
“I wished a word in private afore we joined the others,” Dewi said. “First, I would offer my apologies to you, Dragon Heir.” Her gaze fell on Rowan.
Color rose to her cheeks, and she said, “No reason to apologize. You didn’t know. Neither did I.”