The Frost Eater (The Magic Eaters Trilogy Book 1)

by Carol Beth Anderson

  As the man continued to the edge of town, the traffic in the streets became sparser. Krey took to the air. Nora and Ovrun couldn’t follow without being noticed, so they waited in a park.

  Krey returned half an hour later. “He left the road, and he’s riding through the middle of nowhere. I’ll lead you to him so I can refuel. It’s hilly out there, so you should be able to stay out of sight most of the time.”

  They continued their back-and-forth following pattern. Nora was chilly and tired, but she couldn’t stop grinning. This was the most excitement she’d had since the day she fled the palace.

  Mid-morning, Krey approached Nora and Ovrun. He’d just taken a break and was still chewing on a feather. His eyes were locked on the horizon. “I think we know where he’s going.”

  Ovrun nodded. “He’s headed straight for Deroga.”

  Krey ate as many feathers as he could tolerate, and then he choked down a few more. It would be impossible for two people on an orsa to follow the courier through the deserted streets of a ghost town without being seen. He’d have to finish this quest on his own. He stuffed his pockets with as many diced feathers as he could manage, strapped the bow and arrows to his pack, and took to the air.

  Nora and Ovrun headed back toward the warehouse, where Ovrun would drop off Nora before riding back to Cellerin City to return the orsa. They’d been tempted to abandon it, but Ovrun had paid a hefty deposit. They needed the money back so Krey could return to the store to buy more food and supplies. After returning the orsa, Ovrun would once again walk from Cellerin City to the suburbs.

  Krey performed a lazy loop in the sky, then glanced down at his belly, which was overly full of feathers. I look several months pregnant.

  As the mounted man made his way through the suburb, Krey positioned himself so the sun would be in the man’s eyes if he looked up to see what was flying above him. Then he took in the sight of the massive city stretching beneath him.

  The distant buildings were impressive, some of them rising dozens of stories into the sky. Even more incredible were the Skytrain tracks that crisscrossed the city skies, like a vast network of blood vessels. Many of the tracks stopped abruptly, where large sections had fallen to the streets below. A few Skytrain cars still sat on the tracks. One waited at a passenger tower, forever stalled at its final stop. I can’t believe any of it’s still standing. That’s good engineering.

  The courier had entered the suburbs several clommets away from where Krey, Ovrun, and Nora were staying, so Krey didn’t recognize the area. However, after following the man’s path through city streets for about half an hour, two things became clear: First, they were uncomfortably close to the actual city of Deroga—and the violent trogs who lived there. Second, despite all the fuel he’d taken in, Krey’s body was exhausted from using so much magic.

  He cursed and dropped to the roof of a building. In his recent extended trips, he’d gone as far as he could, then rested for as long as he needed. Today, he’d been experimenting with shorter flying shifts and shorter rests.

  Without Nora and Ovrun to take over the search, however, he couldn’t afford to rest for long. He threw several pieces of diced feathers into his mouth and swallowed. He coughed, nearly choking. You’ve got to chew, Krey. You know this. He drank some water and chewed the next batch of feathers.

  Time to try something new. He’d fuel on the go, keeping his belly full of feathers. Maybe he could compensate for his exhaustion by keeping his magic topped off.

  He ate more feathers and some dried fruit, then took to the air again, quickly finding the man he was following.

  Krey fell into a rhythm: Pull feathers out of pocket. Shove feathers in mouth. Chew. Swallow. Repeat. Meanwhile, he increased his altitude and kept a close eye on the mounted man below, who was still riding at a rapid clip.

  The first evidence of trogs that Krey noticed was a building with a green roof. He squinted and saw several more like it: rooftop farms, just as he’d read about. He shook his head and smiled. Incredible. All the green roofs were near the wide river that ran through Deroga. It made sense that the city’s populace would center itself around fresh water.

  When Krey drew closer, he saw his first trog. The man, who was wearing earth-toned clothes, exited a building and walked toward the courier. They engaged in a short conversation before the courier rode on.

  The encounter had gone a little too smoothly. The people behind the militia must have an agreement with the trogs. Maybe they’re even working together.

  Krey considered the possibility as he flew higher. It would make sense for the New Therroans to ally themselves with another group. More people meant more power. But what was in it for the trogs? Were they tired of living outside society?

  More trogs appeared in the city streets. Each time the courier encountered one, he stopped briefly, then continued.

  Despite his constant feather eating, strength slowly seeped from Krey. His thoughts shifted into a prayer. Please, God, if you’ve ever heard me, hear me now. I need to keep following this man. I have to find Zeisha.

  The man continued on for another half-hour. Krey was getting shaky and having a hard time controlling his altitude when he noticed the man had entered an area that, for a couple of blocks in every direction, appeared to contain no trogs.

  The courier stopped next to a huge, metal building in a street that was free of broken-down vehicles. The building looked like a warehouse. He dismounted and set to work hitching his orsa to a nearby light pole.

  Krey alighted on top of the three-story building across the street, lay on the roof, and examined the warehouse. Across the front of it were five bays. Four were covered by huge, metal doors, each one about seven or eight mets wide and at least six mets tall. They looked like the garage doors he’d seen at some preday houses and at the warehouse in the suburbs. These, however, were bigger, and they had skinny, horizontal windows set at eye level.

  The fifth bay was open, its door up. Krey squinted to see past the yawning entrance, but darkness shrouded the area. Next to the open bay was an ordinary-looking, metal door, sized for people rather than preday delivery vehicles.

  The man finished tying his orsa, then walked all the way to the other side of the street. He stopped right under Krey’s perch. Krey kept his breathing quiet and shallow as the man stepped into the street and picked up a rock. He threw it as hard as he could toward the single, small door. When it didn’t hit its mark, he sighed, then picked up another rock, stepped about a met closer, and tried again. He missed. Krey felt his brows knit together as he scrambled to decipher the man’s actions.

  For his third try, the man stood in the middle of the street. He brought his arm way back behind his head, stepping forward as he hurled one more rock toward the building. This time, the rock bounced off the metal door with a clang. Before the echoes died out, the man pivoted and sprinted back across the street. Once again, he halted below Krey.

  A deep, resonant growl emanated from the open bay. The source of the horrific sound came into view—first its snout, narrow at the end, broadening as it connected with a face as tall as a person. Small, rounded ears extended from the sides of the thing’s face. Its compound eyes were gleaming half-orbs of faceted gold. Krey’s pulse accelerated as he imagined the beast taking in every detail with those eyes—including the teenager lying on top of the building across the street.

  The creature continued to step forward, revealing a short neck and a massive, powerful chest. While its front legs were small compared to its overall size, they would nonetheless dwarf Krey. The beast was clearly reptid, with sleek skin that grew in a basket-weave pattern. It was iridescent grey, and where the sunlight hit it, little rainbows seemed to bounce off.

  The rest of the creature emerged. Its golden, translucent wings were folded against a long, sleek body reminiscent of a grotesquely overgrown shimshim. It had muscular, powerful back legs. Its tiny, nub-like tail would’ve been cute on a small animal. On this beast, it looked out of place.<
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  Krey absorbed all these details in the five seconds that it took for the gray monstrosity to exit its hiding place. As soon as it was out, it halted. Its head and chest strained forward, but it progressed no farther. That’s when Krey noticed the massive, black chains on the creature’s back legs.

  Krey’s befuddled mind formed a single thought: I’ve never seen a dragon before. Then the reptid unfolded its golden wings and opened its massive mouth. Its craggy, knife-edged teeth flashed in the sunlight. It roared, and a surge of red-and-orange flames accompanied the earth-shaking sound.

  Below Krey, the courier released a high-pitched moan. The dragon had clearly aimed at him, but its flames didn’t reach that far. Krey knew some dragons could belch streams of fire up to a quarter-clommet long. However, he’d also heard that, just like lysters, dragons needed fuel—in their case, a particular type of leaf. Whoever controlled this beast also controlled its fire-making competence.

  The building’s small door opened, and a bored-looking, bald man emerged. He pulled up his jacket hood and sauntered into the street, stopping right in front of the dragon. Hands on his hips, the man stood wordlessly for several seconds. The dragon then backed into its dark den.

  A dragon speaker. Krey had never encountered such a person before, though one had lived in Tirra before he was born. According to stories he’d heard, she hadn’t been a magic eater. One day, she’d been hanging laundry out to dry when a dragon had flown overhead and spoken directly into her mind. She’d communicated with that single dragon, who lived in a cave near Tirra, for the rest of her life.

  Dragon speaking was different than other talents. While magic eaters were more likely to parent talented children, the ability to communicate with dragons was a seemingly random gift. It was also the only talent that didn’t require any fuel.

  Krey held his breath as he continued to watch the street. He had no idea what telepathic message the man had given the dragon, but it had worked. As soon as the dragon was out of sight, the dragon speaker gave the courier a contemptuous look and beckoned him toward the warehouse. The courier followed him in.

  Krey was sweating profusely, and his heart felt like it would sprint out of his chest. I think I understand why the trogs leave this area alone.

  A soft whoosh reached Krey’s ears. He couldn’t quite place it, but he knew he’d heard the sound before. Recently, even.

  Another whoosh. This time, an arrow flew past his head, near enough for him to feel the tiny gust of wind it created.

  Krey stifled a scream.

  In the Dark: 7

  Once again, a memory-dream had Zeisha in its grasp. This time, however, she didn’t relive her daytime activities. And it certainly wasn’t a nightmare.

  In the dream, she and Krey stood on a lookout a half-hour’s hike up Cellerin Mountain. He’d promised to take her to a spot she’d never forget, and he’d delivered. Below them, the town of Tirra looked like a collection of carved miniatures. The smoke rising from chimneys was reduced to tiny, gray ribbons. People were barely more than specks, and for a moment, she imagined that she and Krey were the gods of Anyari, all their responsibilities gone. They could stay on this mountain forever, enjoying each other. No school, chores, or parents, just gorgeous him and beautiful her.

  That was one of the things she liked most about Krey. He made her feel beautiful. Sometimes it was his words, but more often, it was the way his dark eyes looked at her. The way his brown skin took on a bit of pink when she caught him staring. She might doubt her loveliness at other times, but not when she was with Krey.

  His arm snaked around her shoulder, and she brought hers around his waist, looking up at him, hoping. They hadn’t kissed yet, and she’d wanted it for weeks. He smiled but didn’t dip his head to her. Instead, he pointed at the sky.

  She’d been so busy watching the town below that she’d missed the start of the sunset. Flowing bands of gold, pink, and purple extended up from the horizon. As she and Krey watched, the colors deepened, multiplied, and spread—up, and up, and farther still across the orange sky. For a few blissful minutes, wisps of pink floated even in the east, like the sun’s paintbrush had slipped off its evening canvas, getting a head start on the morning sunrise.

  As the colors faded, Krey’s hand found her chin, and she met his gaze. His skin was flushed, his eyes hopeful. Movement caught her attention, and her eyes dropped to his mouth, just in time to see his pink tongue lick his perfect lips.

  She returned her eyes to his and whispered, “Now would be a good time.”

  Finally, he pulled her close and bent his head. She stood on her toes, and his lips pressed hers, just barely. It was his first kiss; she knew that. Hers too. So while she understood his hesitation, it didn’t fit with the strong, aggressive Krey she’d known all her life.

  She brought her hand to the back of his neck, pulled his head back down, and kissed him. A real kiss this time, sweet but urgent. She felt his lips smile under hers, and then his mouth opened, reducing her whole body to throbbing perfection—soft lips, eager tongue, trembling legs, racing heart.

  She’d had no idea it would be like this. If kissing was this amazing, how did people work, eat, and sleep? How did they not stand on mountainsides all day and all night, freezing or sweating or starving, lost in each other’s lips?

  With that delightful thought, Zeisha’s dream ended.

  Rather than wake Isla, she sat, huddled in a blanket, trying not to lose the thrill of the memory, fresh on her mind and her lips. Had their first kiss, up there on the side of the mountain, really been that incredible?

  Yes. Yes, it was. And more.

  “Krey,” she whispered, “please come.”

  24

  I was thirteen, and the boy down the street had finally noticed me. “He held my hand,” I told my mom.

  Mom smiled. “Was it magical?”

  “Totally,” I said with a happy giggle.

  “You know one of the reasons I love you?” She gave me a tight hug and whispered, “You remind me how much this world hasn’t changed.”

  -The First Generation: A Memoir by Liri Abrios

  Krey scrambled to his knees. Another arrow flew past him. He leapt into the air, cursing himself for not eating more feathers while on the roof. He was wobbly, but his magic hadn’t quite petered out.

  He scanned the rooftops and met the gaze of a slender girl holding a bow and reaching for an arrow. She was wearing loose tan pants and a black shirt, similar to clothes he’d seen on trogs in the streets. She looked about thirteen. Guess trogs start training young.

  The girl let the arrow fly. Another miss. Krey cursed under his breath. He urged himself to fly higher. Every cell in his body screamed that he didn’t have enough fuel. He dropped a dozen mets, leaving his stomach somewhere in the air above him. With a burst of stubborn will, he pushed himself higher. Again, he took an unplanned dive. He reached into his pocket as he flew upward again, into the mist of a low cloud.

  His magic gave out all at once, and he fell through the chilly air. Desperate, he pinched his fingers together and yanked his hand out of his pocket. He’d managed to grab one piece of diced feather, but too many additional pieces fluttered into the air, riding the wind with more grace than him.

  City roofs were rapidly approaching. Krey shoved the feather in his mouth and swallowed. Fear of death must be working to his benefit, because this time, he didn’t choke.

  The tiniest bit of magical lightness seeped into his body. Despite that slight lift, he landed hard on an ancient, pitched roof. His right shoulder and hip hit first. His breath shot out of his lungs. He rolled across the roof’s steep surface, into the sharp valley between two peaks.

  Unfortunately, the valley itself was steep too. Krey began to slide down. His fingers turned into claws, but the roof’s smooth surface provided no handholds. His feet slid off the roof first. The rest of him followed. Once again, he fell through the air—but only for a moment. He slammed into a metal railing and landed on a ba
lcony with a thud and a groan.

  He lay still, evaluating his body’s signals. They were loud, strong, and all of one sort: pain. He’d have more bruises than he could count if he got out of Deroga alive. He methodically tested each limb, finger, and toe. Nothing felt broken, which meant every bone in his body owed a debt of gratitude to that one, tiny piece of feather.

  Sleep. It wasn’t a desire; it was an urgent demand. Krey closed his eyes, then pried them back open. First—fuel. Just in case I have to get out of here fast.

  With a pained moan, he sat up, then rummaged in his pockets. If only he hadn’t lost those feathers while he was falling. He still had some, but it might not be enough to get him back to the suburbs.

  Well, he’d make the best of what he had. He put two pieces of feather in his mouth. Even chewing hurt. He didn’t think he’d bruised his jaw, but his exhausted body protested against any movement. Despite the pain, he forced himself to eat one feather after another.

  At last, it wasn’t a full belly or an empty pocket that made him stop. It was fatigue like no other, one that put an end to every movement except gravity’s pull on his torso. His head hit the balcony floor.

  Whispers interrupted a lovely dream in which Krey had been kissing Zeisha for the first time. With a quiet huff, he forced his eyes open. The still air was dark and cold. Krey peered through the balcony’s metal rails and saw two lanterns and the silhouettes of three people. Trogs. Did they somehow see me?

  The whispers below continued. Krey bit back the curses he wanted to hurl at the trogs, then pushed his hands against the balcony floor. His bruised body begged him to stay put, but he rose into the air. His foot caught the railing, making a hollow, metallic sound. The trogs cried out, but this time, they didn’t shoot any arrows.