by D. H. Dunn
She turned, kneeling beside him and rubbing his back, the same as her father used to do for her when she had been nauseous. After a few more heaves echoed through the hall, Reylor nodded, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his cloak.
She backed away as he stood, his face red with embarrassment. His dark hair was wet underneath his knit cap, the sweat condensing the center of his triangle scar.
“I am sorry,” he said after a moment. “I-I thought I was ready for that. The Line told me what to expect, but it was more unsettling than I thought.”
“It is all right,” Tanira said. “I felt the same way my first time though. You get used to it.”
He nodded again, taking a deep breath and exhaling it slowly. He then walked toward the large set of stone doors at the end of the hallway.
“Reylor, before we open that door. You are the Alms of the Line, and you are supposed to tell me how to use this.”
She reached into the satchel slung over her shoulder, the flap clipped open at her waist. Tanira removed a helm and held it aloft to Reylor, who had turned to look. “I do not want to approach the Dragon without knowing.”
She had not looked at the piece since taking it from Kater’s fortress where the Manad Vhan had left it in clear view, another weapon of his vanity. The helm was made of ordinary metal and contained no ornate carvings or inscriptions. There was little to signify its importance except for the single clear crystal embedded in the center of the forehead, between the eyes.
A vision flashed in her mind as she looked at the helm. Val’s hand reaching for her blades, her hands moving on instinct. Blood everywhere, he fell quickly, but not quick enough. He stayed in her vision long enough to etch the memory like it had been carved, his open throat and his shocked eyes.
The single crystal in his forehead, flickering. Dying.
The result of her choices, her instincts. Her crime, added to the other crimes. Each weight piled upon the other, all making her goal more critical, her success more necessary. When she was done, when her people were free, then she could answer for all she had done un the name of the Line.
Then maybe the visions would leave her. The terrified faces of Upala’s guards, Nima’s betrayed eyes, Val’s blood flying into the cold air.
She turned the front of the helm away, grateful the light in the hallway was too low for Reylor to see her hand trembling. Her other hand found its way to her forehead on instinct, rapidly tracing the symbol etched into her skin.
Guard the Line. Honor the Line. Trust the Line. The mantra was supposed to provide comfort, yet it did little to warm the cold in her mind.
“Tanira, did you not hear me?”
She blinked, shocked to find Reylor standing directly in front of her, staring at her as if she had gone mad. She shoved the helm back into her pack, forcing her other hand into her pocket. She shook her head at him, trying to push away the thoughts of the past.
“I-I am sorry,” she said, her voice sounding odd to her. “I am simply tired. Could you repeat?”
“I said I cannot tell you how to activate the helm, not yet.” Reylor turned, Tanira grateful he no longer looked at her. She took a deep breath, hoping to pull her focus back. “When we have reached the Dragon named the Voice, then I may reveal the knowledge I have been given. Not before. That is the will of the Line.”
She gritted her teeth, turning on her heels back toward the stone doors.
“The will of the Line?” she muttered under her breath. “Very well.”
The next step in the Line’s great plan lay beyond the doors, the first Dragon that will have been seen by a Rakhum in thousands of years. Just a few paces away.
She gave the huge stone slab on the right a push, unsurprised by its lack of movement.
“Perhaps this is the means of entry?” Reylor asked, staring at a thin vertical slot carved into the door on the left. She walked over and peered at the spot, a long flat hole about the size of her finger. Or the size of the Hero’s blade.
She drew the weapon from its scabbard on her belt, disliking its heavy weight compared to the lightness of her knives. Like the armor, it crackled against the thin air around it, the metal blade covered with a crimson energy field.
Reylor’s eyes were wide with amazement again as she pushed the blade into the slot. It fit perfectly.
The stone slabs moved away from Tanira, dust and ice falling from the ceiling as the doors swung open with a ponderous rumbling that shook the passage.
As a pair they walked through the doorway and into a massive, circular room, a fierce, yellow light glaring at them.
Tanira squinted and threw a hand over her eyes. Reylor did the same, blocking his face with his forearms against the intensity of the illumination.
They stood, frozen in the entry of the room as their eyes slowly adjusted to the new light level and details began to come clear. There was a crisscross of lines of yellow energy running through the center of the room, dividing it in half like a wall. The bands of light sparked where they contacted each other, though Tanira could not see their sources.
They reminded Tanira of the Pillar, the beam of light that had kept Sessgrenimath dormant on Sirapothi, though that beam had been much larger.
On the other side of the room, past the net of yellow energy, Tanira could see a depression in the floor, a round, flat circle inset into the stone, the surface clear as glass.
The clear circle was massive in its own right, even if the room dwarfed it. A dark shape moved beneath the circle of glass, a creature trapped under the floor behind the obstacle.
“The Thread?” Reylor asked.
She nodded, noting his voice was laced with fear and apprehension, his hands shaking visibly. Where before he had been stoic, now he seemed unsure of his purpose. Yet now all of her own previous trepidations slid off her like the snow that melted from the portal. Now that finally she was before her task, she was filled with the intensity of her accomplishment.
She stepped forward toward the net of energy.
“Wait!” Reylor shouted.
She turned, and the man was looking at her sheepishly.
“What do you need me to do?” he asked
“What can you do?” She shrugged her shoulders as she looked back at him.
Reylor likely had no training useful to the situation and seemed less knowledgeable about the Dragons than she was. He was a guide and a keeper of information, providing her with some support but also becoming an additional person for her to worry about.
“Stay there and I will tell you if I need you.”
He nodded, staying close to the doorway. She turned back to the yellow mesh of light before her, the hum of its energy in the room all around her.
A few steps closer and she could feel the power coursing through the grid, power enough to sear the flesh from her bones. Not, she wagered, powerful enough to pierce the armor of the Hero. If she were wrong, the mission of the Line would end here.
Two or three more steps would bring her into contact with the field. Beyond the golden bars of light, the dark shadow moved underneath the glass. Waiting for its chance to be free.
She stepped forward, raising her left arm so it made contact with one of the horizontal lines. The yellow energy struck the blue particles of the armor that floated just a fingertip’s width off her skin, the impact producing a green shower of sparks that dribbled to the stone floor like rain.
She felt no pain, the beam’s contact with the armor no more potent than a snowflake falling on her.
A small hole in the grid appeared, her arm halting the flow of this particular strand. Before her the rest of the net pulsed unchanged while the dark shape underneath the clear circle in the floor beyond seemed to grow agitated.
She stepped forward again, allowing the grid to come in contact with her entire body. She blinked against the new glare as dozens of golden lines impacted the armor, showering the room in green sparks. When the dots in front of her vision cleared, there was an enormous hole c
reated in the netting to her left, a hole big enough to allow their goal to be released.
If she moved, the grid would reform. She guessed her armor would produce the same results moving in the other direction, yet if she were wrong, she would be trapped inside along with the Thread.
“Reylor!” Her voice echoed in the massive sphere of the chamber, as she shouted over the noise caused by her disruption of the grid. “I need you to come here!”
He was by her right side in an instant. She was impressed, the worried look might still be on his face, but the man was ready to do what she needed.
“The hilt on my belt,” she said, watching as he took care to avoid the green sparks showering off her left side. “Pull out the sword.”
“The sword of the Hero?” He sounded awestruck again, and again with a hint of fear. “But I have no training in wielding-”
“I will not need you to fight with it, Reylor. Just grab the sword please.”
Over the sparking of the disrupted grid, she heard his nervous grunt. Then the crackle that was growing familiar to her as the sword of the Hero sprang to life.
He held the weapon awkwardly, stretched out with his right hand like it was a torch.
“Now,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm. This was the moment, the step that could not be called back. “Take the sword and break the glass floor inside the cage.”
Reylor looked back at her. He said nothing, taking one step forward while still keeping his eyes on her.
“It will be fine,” she said. “As you said, I am here for you. We are both here for the Line. I will keep the grid blocked, while you break the glass.”
“Which will release the Dragon.”
“Reylor,” she tried to summon a tone she had heard many times in her childhood. The voice of her father, somehow in one vocalization inspiring both the confidence to move forward and reminding her of the weight of expectations that depended on her success. “You are the Alms of the Line. I am the End of the Line. This is why we are here.”
She watched, a determined look crossing the man’s face. He approached the barrier, hands trembling. With a cry, he swung the weapon into the glass, shattering it completely.
The grid vanished from the air in front of her, dousing the room in a dim light as now only the Hero’s sword and armor illuminated the space.
There was a rustling from inside the pit, a long and twisted shadow rising from its depths. Tanira could hear the beating of its wings as it ascended, the whisper of its breath.
Coming into the light the Thread landed, uncoiling onto the floor, just paces away from Tanira and the rapidly retreating Reylor. Its body was long and thin, much longer than she had expected, covered in scales that ran from a deep-blue into purple. A thin layer of lavender fur ran from the top of its head, ending halfway down its spine.
It had two thin forearms that ended in fearsome claws, its back legs only slightly larger. Thin, web like wings shook and vibrated above the Dragon, barely contained even in the large chamber.
A long, narrow head capped the end of a body that seemed to be all neck, all tail. Long whisker-like protrusions came from its ears and ran down the length of its snout.
Reptilian eyes focused on her as the Thread shifted on the floor, coiling back up like a snake and laying its head upon the stone. She watched its respiration rise and fall rapidly, the Dragon’s body shuddering in subtle movements.
Reylor looked concerned, but she had been told to expect this temporary, sluggish reaction.
Tanira still felt frozen by the majesty and power of the beast, even weakened it was the most vibrant life she had ever witnessed.
“How?”
The Thread’s voice was like nothing she had expected or experienced. Having heard Nima’s description of Sessgrenimath, she had expected a massive creature such as this to shake the room with its words, yet this one utterance was quiet and smooth. The word seemed thin as it emerged from the Dragon’s mouth, like it had been pulled out over a long distance.
She and Reylor stared at the massive creature, its wings still drooping across its back.
“How long?”
“I-I cannot say,” Tanira said. She forced herself to stand a bit straighter, the action helping her feel safer in the presence of the mighty creature. Reylor came forward to stand beside her, his face white as the snow outside.
The Dragon’s head lifted from the stone, grunting with the effort. Its eyes, each larger than Tanira’s face, lit up as it gazed upon them. It then lowered its head back to the ground, a series of spasms running through its neck.
“You are not Manad Vhan,” he said. “Yet you wear their armor, wield their weapon.”
Tanira took a step forward. She reached up to her left shoulder, pressing the embedded crystal that released her armor. The blue distortions vanished like smoke, leaving her defenseless.
“You are correct. We are not your enemy,” she said. She spread her hands wide, remembering how many times she and her father had acted out this scenario. Trust the Line. The words and the confidence came to her easily.
“We are Rakhum, not the Manad Vhan who imprisoned you. We have released you because we need your help.”
She took another step, the Dragon raising its head off the ground to watch her. Its claws dug into the stone, raising deep gouges.
“If you assist us, I can help you free your brothers and sisters. I can do that, but I can do more.”
The dark eyes of the Thread stayed with her as she moved even closer. She was now close enough to sense the age and strength of the Dragon, it seemed more real somehow, more present in the world than the stone upon which it lay.
“More?”
The response she needed.
“I have the means to give you back what has been taken from you. Stolen from you.”
“The Machine?” The hunger in the Thread’s voice was clear, the breathing of its massive chest increasing.
“Yes,” Tanira said. “I have seen it. Once our task is complete, I can take you to it.”
The Thread coiled forward, moving so close to Tanira’s face she could count the lavender scales upon its snout. His two eyes locked onto hers, a gaze that was nearly physical in its push.
Tanira held her ground, using her exercises as she kept her breathing steady, her jaw set. She would not be intimidated, not after coming this far.
“Then, small Rakhum,” the Thread said. “Let us parley.”
2
Nima walked alongside Drew, the pair moving down the narrow corridor inside the Temple of the Hero. Her footsteps echoed into the dark depths that stretched out before her, mixing with the soft, lonely wind that ran through the mountain passageways.
Cradled in her left arm, Lhamu slept peacefully, as if there was not a thing to worry about in the world. The glowing white crystal in the Caenolan infant’s forehead illuminated the path in front of Nima. If not for her, they would be walking in complete darkness.
Lhamu’s tranquil expression aside, there was much Nima was concerned about. With no way out, each day their supply of food would diminish, and they had no source of heat. Not to mention Merin being possibly lost somewhere in the dark labyrinth of the ancient Manad Vhan temple and the idea that somewhere on another world, Tanira was using the opportunity Nima had given her to cause more harm.
Her mind flashed back to the moment she had found Tanira, one hand clinging to life over a drop from the mountain Varesta that would surely have been fatal. I could’ve left her there, she thought. She could have prevented all of this.
She knew that was a lie. Even if she had known all that would happen after, Nima still would have gone to Tanira’s aid. Like her grandfather had said to her on one of their many walks through the woods of Nepal, You see someone in need, you don’t walk away.
“You seem as lost in thought as that little baby does.”
Drew’s voice, from just behind her. The two of them had quickly tired of the arguing between Upala and Kater, a process
that started the moment the old man had revealed himself. After some stalling, Kater had finally revealed that Merin had restored him and was still alive in the temple. They quickly had run off in search of her.
Now she and Drew walked side by side down the narrow corridor. Troubles still followed them, but Nima felt safer than she had in a long time. She put her arm around Drew, reaching up to hold his shoulders. If nothing else had gone right, her big brother was here and that made things better.
“I am, I guess,” she said. Lhamu stirred for a moment, then nestled back in against her. “A lot has changed.”
Her dark hair fell back into her eyes. She blew it out of her vision, but it landed right back where it had been.
“So, Drew.” Her voice echoed down the hallway as they walked along. “Now that we’re finally alone, I have some questions for you.”
Beside her, she heard his sharp intake of breath. Typical Drew, she thought, a little warmth coming to her heart. Always worried. It was good to have him back.
“Sure,” he said. “That’s fair. Shoot.”
“Okay.” Nima stopped, turning to Drew and squinting at him in the dim light provided by Lhamu’s glowing head crystal. “So, how are you shaving?”
“What?” Drew’s face scrunched up in a funny way, like it always did when she confused him.
“Your face,” she nodded at his fairly smooth cheeks, only showing a hint of a day or two’s stubble. “It’s shaved. How are you doing that? Did you bring a razor through the portal?”
He shook his head at her, his laughter bouncing off the stone walls.
“That’s your question? All of … this. All that’s happened and you want to know how I am shaving?”
Nima smiled up at him. It was fun to tweak him like this, nearly as fun as teasing Pasang. There was a lot she wanted to know, but this was a good, safe place to start.
“Big brother, you climb a mountain from the bottom.”
“Fair enough,” he said, throwing up his hands in a mock surrender. He fished into a leather pouch he had tied to his belt and pulled out a small knife. Its sharp edge glinted in the light.
