To Dream of White & Gold (Death Dreamer Legacy Book 1)

by R. K. Hart

  ‘And the Myrae?’ she prompted.

  He rubbed his cheek on her hair. ‘Amivere ruled them with the support of an elected Assembly, taking the title of Queen after the women of the Isle voted it so. She travelled the coasts of Eilan and Brinnica and further, forging connections with the fledgling settlements on Erbide and with the nomadic peoples in Autere. She had two more daughters, and the youngest of them became Queen once Amivere ascended to join Eianna among the stars. The Myrae prospered, and continue to prosper to this day.’

  Lida finished the last of her coffee, mulling over the story. ‘Eilan has never warred across the sea, but we have fought Brinnica and Erbide, and I know you have fought each other. I don’t ever remember reading that the Myrae were at war, though,’ she said, frowning.

  ‘We don’t war without a Queen,’ Eve said.

  Lida stared at her. ‘Sorry?’

  Eve glanced at Lorcan, twisting her full lips, as if she was weighing something up. ‘We don’t go to war without a Queen to lead us,’ she said. ‘And we haven’t had a Queen for many lifetimes. We went to war at Amivere’s command; we took a fleet of ships north along the Eilin coast and harried the usurping star people while Andastra and her tribe escaped beyond the mountains. But Amivere’s daughter was long to accept her duty, and not inclined to risk her people in violence, so we have not warred again.’

  Lida blinked. ‘Do you mean you haven’t had a Queen since Amivere’s daughter?’

  Eve turned away; Lida evidently had all of the information she was willing to offer. Lida looked to Lorcan, to see if he would answer the question, but his face was set in a frown of confusion that Lida had never seen before. She enjoyed seeing his astonishment so much that she almost forgot the cause of it.

  He sniffed suddenly, twisting to look out to sea behind him.

  ‘Storm, Eve,’ he called. ‘Can you feel it? Nasty, but nothing we cannot handle.’ He looked up into the sky, at the single white cloud Lida could see, friendly and fluffy and shaped almost like a tiered festival cake. ‘It is an hour or so away, I think.’

  Eve nodded, unperturbed, and locked the helm in place so that she could undo the plaits of her two braids. Lida watched as she shook out her mass of brown curls and began to re-braid them more tightly to her head, in one braid this time, fixing the long plait firmly in a spiralling bunch over her right ear. Eve had an air of authority which had fooled Lida into giving her an age upward of thirty summers; with her hair down, softening her face, Lida realised that the First was only a year or so older than Maya.

  ‘Let Isla know, Blackbird,’ Eve said over her shoulder.

  Lorcan pulled Lida to her feet. She anxiously scanned the sky as they walked down to the deck. Her mind ran through all the tales she knew of shipwrecks and lost sailors, of waves bigger than buildings and masts torn apart by winds, of merrows waiting beneath the surface to pull terrified souls down to a watery death.

  ‘How bad will it be?’ she said worriedly, her eyes turning back to the waves. They seemed - as far as she could tell - to be normal. ‘What do we do?’

  She stopped short as she felt someone beginning to draw behind her. Turning with a frown, she took an involuntary step back, realising it was Lorcan. His eyes were bright with excitement. She could see the power dancing around him, and it was as if his body threw off the last remnants of its illness, bathed in a healthy glow of gold.

  He drew himself up to his full height and gave her a smile like a snow leopard might give its prey before it pounced, feral and dangerous. For a moment, Lida forgot how to breathe.

  ‘What do we do?’ he repeated, the warmth in his voice sending a shiver skittering down her spine. ‘Oh, Lida. We let it come.’

  ***

  Lida elected to sit out the storm with the horses, against the advice of Isla and Lorcan, who both agreed the cabin was the more sensible choice. Lida stubbornly insisted, so Lorcan piled her arms with blankets and found her water flask and muttered under his breath about Eilins as they walked across the deck.

  ‘You know I can understand you now,’ she said, when he’d delivered a sizeable litany of unfavourable characteristics, all in Brinnican.

  ‘It is unfortunate. I shall have to choose another language. Do you have a preference?’

  ‘Erbidan,’ she said tartly, knowing he was not allowed to speak it before her.

  There was activity everywhere: sails were taken down and put back up as the wind shifted. It whipped through Lida’s hair and clothes, seemingly sprung from nowhere.

  ‘And you doubted me,’ Lorcan said smugly, following her down the stairs to the horses’ stall.

  Midnight and Sacred looked at them curiously, perfectly calm, and Lida began to regret her stubbornness. The stalls were far colder than the cabin had been, the hay nowhere near as comfortable as the bed, and Lida still felt drained and tired. Pride made her dump the blankets gracelessly, scowling as she spread one out on the straw of an empty stall, as if it would afford much comfort.

  ‘It will be fine, Lida,’ Lorcan said, not bothering to hide his amusement. ‘There is still time to change your mind.’ She glared at him, so he caught her hand and drew her close, brushing his lips across her knuckles. ‘I will take that as a no. Secure anything loose in here now, before it begins. When the ship rolls, brace yourself in the corner of the stall. Do not go near the horses. And under no circumstances light a candle.’

  ‘I’m not stupid, Lorcan,’ she snapped. ‘Wait - what will you be doing?’

  He raised his chin arrogantly, his eyes glittering. ‘What do you think?’ He gave her another snow leopard grin, then strode from the stalls without looking back.

  ‘Fabulous,’ Lida said to the horses. ‘Cold and alone.’ Sacred flicked her ears.

  She did as Lorcan had suggested, walking around the stalls to make sure everything was tied down or braced. She removed the feed buckets, tying them securely in a corner after scattering the remaining oats on the straw in case the horses got hungry.

  By the time she was done, the Belle was rolling far more than she had before. Though they were sailing off the coast of Eilan, the wind was still fiercely cold, and Lida wrapped two blankets around her shoulders as rain began to fall. She could hear it hitting the deck and wondered whether it was hail, the sound was so loud. She closed the door on it, throwing the stalls into darkness.

  She put out a hand to feel her way back. Without warning, the ship lurched to the side and she was thrown against Midnight’s stall. It knocked the breath from her and she rubbed her back where she’d hit the wood. Neither horse had moved at all. Sacred whickered.

  ‘I know,’ Lida muttered. ‘Stupid.’

  The swell was increasing and Lida gripped the stall door, planting her feet firmly apart. There was a shout from the deck, though she couldn’t discern the words over the almost deafening crescendo of wind and rain. Slowly and carefully, her hands tight on the wood, she shuffled forward as the Belle rolled, moving forward inches at a time until she closed the stall door tight behind her and settled in the back corner, extending her legs to brace against the opposite wall. It was much better there; she barely moved the next time the ship crested a wave.

  Thunder boomed across the sky, so loud it sounded as if the ship was inside the sky. Lida cowered instinctively, her hands clapped against her ears, the blankets falling from her shoulders. The sound frightened Sacred, too; she let out a high-pitched whinny and half-reared in her stall.

  ‘It’s all right, beauty,’ Lida called to her. Sacred snorted, clearly disbelieving.

  Another roll of thunder growled across the sky, and the Belle hit a wave at the same time. The ship tilted so dramatically that Lida’s head swam and she lost her brace as it righted itself and went further. She was thrown forward, hitting the stall with her full weight behind her, landing on the same shoulder she’d injured on the ride to the Illarum and slamming the side of her head against the wood. She gave a shout of pain.

  Sacred let out a screeching sound and h
er hooves scrabbled. Lida dragged herself upright, her shoulder pulsing with pain. She peered into Sacred’s stall but could see nothing in the dim light. She murmured endearments as Sacred snorted, pawing at the straw. A flash of intense white light came through the cracks in the door.

  Brace! Lorcan’s wide-calling echoed outside her mindshield. Though it was not an illae-command, Lida dropped immediately to the floor. She closed her eyes and waited.

  She could almost feel the wave break over the Belle, feel the water as it smashed against the hull. The Belle was battered and pummelled and Lida’s head snapped back to hit the wall behind her with such force that she saw stars. She closed her eyes against the pain, and as she did, realised she could see what was happening on the deck. She could make out two figures, Lorcan and Eve; illae dragged at her skin as they drew, power rushing towards them - rushing towards Lorcan - with alarming speed. Lida put a hand over her eyes, but it didn’t help; he still hurt to look at, blazing so brightly. His head tipped back, his face towards the sky, and Lida cried out wordlessly as the world turned gold.

  ‘Lor,’ she whispered, trying to push herself to her feet as her skin burned. There was a trickling sound and she opened her eyes again in time to take in the water seeping through the stall. With a hiss, she moved backwards, but it was no use; her jodhpurs were soaked, the straw and her pile of blankets saturated. A roll of the ship brought a tiny wave of hay and sawdust and she found herself wet almost to the chest, covered in things that made her itch and shiver. She even had straw in her hair. She started to pick it out with a sigh, resigning herself to an even more uncomfortable wait.

  The rolling seemed to lessen after a while, and she sat shaking in the dark, trying to distract herself by plaiting pieces of straw together. A drumming rain started once more, bringing rumbles of thunder and the occasional flash of white, but the sounds of the sky were much further away than they had been.

  Lida hauled herself to her feet, using the side of the stall to keep from falling. Her head and shoulder ached and she could not stop her hands from tremoring. She waited patiently for a few minutes, listening to the rain, but as the Belle’s rolling returned to what she thought were near-normal levels, she decided she’d waited long enough. She wrung out the sodden blankets and hung them up, then let herself into the horses’ stalls to check their legs. Despite Sacred’s panic, both she and Midnight were perfectly fine, and Lida cursed her own stubbornness again. There was no hot water on the ship for a bath; the best she could hope for was a cup of tea. She hoped the water had not made its way to the guest cabins; she had left her pack - full of her clothes - on the floor.

  ‘Dylan would laugh himself hoarse,’ she muttered to Sacred.

  Lida slipped from the stalls and made her way back up to the deck. The rain was falling in a grey sheet, drops bouncing where they hit the wood. The sky was still thick with cloud and in the distance she could see the occasional flash of lightning. Though the storm seemed far away, there was something crackling in the air, so sharp she could almost taste it; the hairs on the back of her neck rose.

  The deck was deserted. Even the helm was still and empty, its giant toothed wheel locked into place. Lida shivered in the cold and began to draw, walking carefully on the slippery wood as she made her way towards the stern. Illae flickered over her skin, making her warmer, if not dry. She looked down to see the power covering her hands in gloves of gold; she hadn’t even realised that she’d channelled it there.

  As she walked under the mainmast, there was a crack of thunder. She started, but managed not to cower this time, pushing her hair back from her face as it started to drip into her eyes. She looked up at the low sky.

  There was a movement on the mast. She shook her head, thinking she was seeing things. She blinked rapidly, but nothing changed.

  ‘Lorcan,’ she called carefully. ‘What are you doing?’

  He was perched on the lower branch of the mainmast, which was - to Lida, at least - dizzyingly high, as high as their windows at the Yoss River tavern had been, and frighteningly open. All she could see of him were his long, bare feet, a flash of white shirt, and his dripping mop of black curls as he tilted his head back, looking at the sky.

  ‘I am waiting,’ he said.

  ‘Waiting,’ she repeated, shaking from the cold, her toes curling in her boots from the way he angled backwards into the empty air. ‘Waiting for what?’

  ‘For the storm to leave,’ he answered, as if it were obvious.

  Lida took in the horizon, where lightning still flashed, but very far away. ‘I think it’s gone, Lor.’

  Thunder growled, directly above them.

  ‘You think so?’ Lorcan said evenly.

  Lida bit the inside of her cheek. ‘Where is everyone?’

  ‘Inside. They are waiting for me to finish waiting.’ He kicked his feet. ‘You should be waiting inside, too.’

  She looked across to the stern, where the kitchen - and shelter from the rain - beckoned. ‘Do you want to come down?’

  His eyes flashed black as he glanced at her. ‘No, I do not think so.’

  ‘Do you …’ She swallowed. ‘Do you want me to come up?’

  There was a deafening crack from the sky. Lida’s hands flew to her ears and she threw herself against the mainmast, as if it might provide some shelter from the sound.

  ‘Best not, ais-la,’ Lorcan said, when Lida had regained her senses and it was quiet once more.

  The rain eased slightly, but Lida’s hair was streaming water down her back. She twisted it and wrung out as much water as she could. ‘Lor,’ she said, when it hung in wet ropes over her shoulders, ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘What exactly do they teach you in Eilan?’

  She took a deep breath and cracked her knuckles. ‘Just tell me what’s happening, Lorcan.’

  His face turned to the sky again. ‘Did you know a rhyme about the Lightning Mage when you were small?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The Lightning Mage. A rhyme.’

  Lida shook her head, entirely confused, and then stopped as she remembered a clapping game she’d played at school. ‘The clapping rhyme?’

  ‘Mmm. Do you remember the words?’

  She frowned. She almost didn’t, without someone to clap her hands against, but she recited it as best she could.

  ‘When clouds and eyes are black, black, black,

  When the sky goes clap, clap, clap,

  When the rain falls like a flood,

  Run, run, run - the Lightning Mage is here.

  When the air is cold, cold, cold,

  When the world goes gold, gold, gold,

  When the rain falls like a flood,

  Run, run, run - the Lightning Mage is here.’

  When Lida and Nala had played it together, they would stop clapping and all but scream the final line. In their imaginations, whichever boy happened to be closest suddenly sprouted lightning-white hair and gained night-black eyes, and they would shriek and sprint as fast as they could away from their confused Illarus, who had come to claim the city in his rebellion against the Eilin King.

  She saw Lorcan grin in a flash of white teeth. ‘Eilins,’ he said derisively. ‘You never get the words right. The last line is: Find your knives and arm your wives - the Lightning Mage is here. And there is an entire second verse.’

  ‘So?’ Lida said, annoyed.

  ‘So,’ he answered.

  She waited, wrapping her arms around her waist, partly for warmth and partly so she wouldn’t be tempted to climb the mast and shake the rest from him.

  ‘The Lightning Mage was a weatherworker,’ he said at last.

  ‘Even Eilins know that, Lorcan.’

  ‘A rare kind of weatherworker.’

  Lida growled under her breath. ‘I am freezing and soaked to the bone. Spit it out.’

  ‘He was a stom-ruith. A storm-chaser.’

  ‘A stom-ruith?’

  Even from a distance she could see him wince. ‘Gods, Lida, rruh-e
et, not ru-it. You sound like Jessa, and Wexians are barely comprehensible.’

  Lida muttered a handful of Brinnican expletives. ‘Rruh-eet, then. Why does that matter?’

  ‘Because stom-ruith do more than call clouds and divert the breeze. They link their minds with storms.’

  ‘What? How do you link your mind with a storm?’

  ‘Like this,’ he said, and showed her.

  She hadn’t thinned her mindshield, so what she felt was the barest echo of what it might have been. It was enough that she staggered back and almost fell, a wild shriek tearing from her throat as her mind suddenly stretched as wide as the heavens and began to pulse with currents and movements and unabating shiftings that were at once of a span she could not comprehend and infinitely small. She almost tore herself to pieces trying to follow them all, trying to track the multitude of large and small destinies racing through the forever sky. Clouds rolled across her, the roiling grey heavy with damp and ice - the cold was a cut down her spine - and they were not clouds of spun sugar and daylight; these were full of the crashing and churning tempest of the sea and home to lightning. And oh, Lida thought. The lightning. The beautiful blinding flash of it, illuminating in a slash of reckless reaching fire, the white striking power lacing through her body with such force that she fell to her knees. Her skin was alight and every hair was standing on end and it felt as if she was pulled apart and put back together all at the same time. It was at once agony and the most exquisite thing she had ever known; utterly unbearable yet she desperately desired it and wished it never to end. Her fingers clutched at the deck. Every inch of her skin rose in gooseflesh and flooded with heat. It wanted to be touched, to share the white-hot abandon of it, to feel the slide of fingertips and to set them on fire in return. It wanted to touch, it wanted to move, it wanted. The body - her body - was too still, she decided; it needed to run, to swim, to ride, to fight, to dance. She sprang to her feet, her hands blinding gold, and she saw that where they had touched the deck they had left blackened prints.

  Lorcan withdrew.

  Another sound escaped Lida’s throat, but this was a cry of despair. Everything had been within her reach, and suddenly it was not. The sky had wrapped around her mind and her mind had been the sky and now it was gone she was nothing, a smallness bound in fragile, finite human flesh, her skin aching with loss. Her mind scrabbled, seeking. If she could have, she would have sent her mind upwards, to try to reclaim what she now knew she was missing, the immense continuance of the sky and its wild power, the enveloping strike of lightning and the encompassing cold clash of the clouds.