Chapter 10
“The dragon Orvana raised her head to the full moon and let out a cry that made the mountains tremble, the winds howl mournfully and the sky weep. Her soul broke in two as the girl at her feet, whom still wore her broken crown, took her last breath – the first queen of the Dragonairs had died.”
Excerpt of The Legend of Inara, Vol 6
Wren was off running to her home, screaming for family, for anyone to be alive. Only the resounding roar of the fire filled the air. She stopped dead, staring up at the burning wreckage of her home. Half of it had already collapsed onto itself, the front door little more than a burning mess. A scream choked in her throat as anger rushed through her. She dropped down, grabbed the closest rock, hurling it with a scream into the fire, as if it might do something.
It only made her angrier. Rage welled up within her, a storm that shredded all calm and rational thought from her mind. She wanted to tear something apart with her bare hands, sink her teeth into someone and rip their throat out. Oh, if she got her hands on those slavers, she’d made them pay. She’d make them all pay, she thought scornfully.
Looking down she saw her hands were shaking – no, she was shaking. A fire surged up through her chest, bursting through her limbs. For a split second the pain almost tempered her; then, with a snarl, she spun around –
And two hands clasped around her.
She wrenched herself away with a snarl but they were there again, grabbing her, shaking hard. Lorca.
“Calm down before you do something stupid,” he hissed.
She lifted her stormy eyes to his. “Like what?”
“You’re not ready. Now, calm down and we’ll figure out our next move,” he argued, squeezing her arms.
She stared him down, angry she’d failed, angry that the slavers had come and hurt her people. Most of all, she was furious at the Elders, whom had naively believed the slavers wouldn’t find them. That the war of the lower land wouldn’t ever come close. Annoyingly, though, Lorca was right. She had to calm down. Her mind was too scrambled to think about what she’d do next.
With a deep breath she closed her eyes and then exhaled several times, willing the anger to bleed away, for Lorca’s calmness to fill her instead. Finally, she stopped shaking, her heart slowed and her mind sharpened. She opened her eyes and Lorca had released her, stepping back, watching with guarded eyes. He didn’t trust her not to get angry again, lash out somehow. After the fact, she wondered what he’d been so worried she’d do besides throw rocks?
“They can’t be too far away. We could catch them,” she said.
He shook his head. “I sensed portal magic – very strong stuff. They could be anywhere in the kingdom by now.”
“Dammit,” she spat. “Now what? I’ve never ventured beyond this damned village. I don’t know where to look. A big city, I suppose. We’ll have to find a village, see if we can find out where slaves are generally bought and sold. I’ll go to very slave market in the kingdom if I have to.”
“I’d say slavers would’ve hit a few of the villages. I remember a large town perhaps a day’s flight from here. It was a long time ago but I do remember it being a prominent trading point; for both grain and people,” he said. “It may be gone, though.”
“It’s a start. We should go,” she said, looking at him expectantly.
A shadow passed over his face. He looked beyond her to the burning homes, demons stirring in his eyes. It was like he was seeing something else.
It must remind him of his home, she thought sombrely.
“Are you sure you don’t want to search around?”
“There’s nothing left here,” she said softly.
He nodded and reluctantly followed her back into the town centre. She knew he wanted to say something, that he thought she needed to stay for a little longer, see if there was anything left behind. What she didn’t tell him she was afraid of what she would find. Bodies of people she knew, whom she’d spoken to only days ago, hours even. When she found her family and learnt who was gone, then she’d grieve.
Lorca moved away from her, readying to change back when he stopped suddenly, then knelt down, picking up something from the ground. He turned and held it out to her. A plain leather necklace, a polished stone heart suspended from it. Wren knew whose necklace it was. She gently took it from him and closed her hands around it, drawing it to her chest with closed eyes.
“I’m coming for you, sister,” she promised. When she opened her eyes, she undid the tie on the necklace and looked to Lorca. “Can you tie it for me? My hands…”
My hands are shaking, she wanted to say.
He nodded and carefully took the necklace, then move around behind her. She sensed his every movement, the warm brush of his breath on her neck that sent an involuntary shiver down her spine. Then, when his hand brushed away the few loose strands of hair that had fallen from her bound braid, she felt sparks dart through her body. It was over before she knew it and he was stepping away, clearing his throat.
“Done.”
She tried to muster a thank you but he’d already moved away and was doubling over, shifting before her eyes in a blinding burst of light. As it dimmed he dropped down to his belly and lowered one wing. Wren glanced back at the village as the fires slowly died, touching the second amulet on her neck, thinking of Elise.
“We’ll need money and I’d say anything of worth was stolen whilst they were here – don’t suppose you have some gold in your scales?” She asked, climbing on.
No but there are many ways to attain funds, replied Lorca.
She didn’t ask him what methods he had in mind.
They flew until the sun had fallen beyond the horizon, plunging the sweeping farm land, broken occasionally by undulating hills and rivers that divided them. Lorca had kept just above the clouds for most of the flight, hiding them, and dipped down as the sun fell, landing in a small clearing in the midst of a thick forest. On the descent Wren spied a nearby road, well-worn but otherwise empty.
When Lorca landed she scrambled off and stretched out her legs with a groan. Hours crouched on his back had left her sore and stiff, grumbling quietly as she tried to ease the knots out. To her surprise Lorca didn’t shift back; instead, he curled up on the ground, tucking his wings at his side. He opened his enormous jaw, flashing those sharpened teeth, in a long, howling yawn.
“I’ll go gather some firewood,” she said.
Her stomach growled furiously as she walked away. Heat flushed her cheeks, hurrying her on. She wasted no time and gathered up twigs for the fire, then returned, setting them up for a fire. As she stepped back Lorca flicked open his eyes lazily, then spat a small bolt of fire onto the pile. With some careful tending the fire slowly crackled to life. She sat back on her haunches, then realised that her pack she’d made for the mountain still had some dried meat, plus a bread roll. It wasn’t much but she ate it hungrily. It didn’t fill her completely but she was no longer starving, which was something.
Lorca didn’t eat but she didn’t know how often he needed food, so she figured he’d hunt if he got hungry. Though, the thought of him leaving her, left her restless, glancing uneasily over her shoulder. She’d rather face the perils of the cliffs, stare down Wyverns with her sword, than have to deal with people. She would, though, for her village.
We will find them, said Lorca.
In less than a day a Dragonair had gone from simply aiding her moving her village to a safer location, to joining her rescuing her people. He hadn’t explain why, just simply acted, as if it had been his intention the whole time. She didn’t know what to think about that.
“You didn’t have to come with me on this. You agreed to assist me finding a new home, not potentially take on an empire to rescue some commoners,” she argued softly. “Why?”
He fastened those darkened eyes on her, as if choosing his reply very carefully. You did as I asked. In truth, when this settle, I have a favour to ask but not now. It’s not time.
He elaborated no further and closed his eyes, as if drifting off to sleep. The conversation, it seemed, was over, and Wren was left with more questions than before, as well as a partner she barely knew.
She dreamt she was flying. Not from the back of a dragon; rather, as though it was her, gold wings outstretched over soft, cotton-like clouds. Warm sunlight rose, painting the clouds golden. She felt free, right where she was meant to be, and as she banked to one side, a shrill cry split the air. The dream around her changed in a flash. She watched as a lone golden dragon stood on the edge of a cliff, looking out towards the distant city of the Dragonairs as it was little more than smouldering ruins. Every so often the dragon let out a mournful cry, as if screaming for someone, crying out for a reply.
The dragon seemed to scream forever at the dead city.
A shadow rushed over the dragon. It looked up but it was too slow. A figure dropped down, a man, and then there was the glint of silver, the crunch of bone and flesh. The dragon’s head rolled to the ground and the rest of the body crumpled.
That’s when Wren began to scream.
She jolted – two worlds crashing into each other, dream and truth. Colour and darkness collided, blinding her. The scream choked in her throat as she sat up sharply, the real-world spiralling into nauseating focus. Her head was still lurching here and there when the forest around her solidified. A figure suddenly was in front of her. Her mind, still caught by the dream, yanked another scream from her as she frantically burst backwards, wildly scrambling away. Then hands were on her, clamping her still. Someone shouted at her.
Lorca.
He took focus before and she finally stilled, watching him with wild eyes and a heart that threatened to leap from her chest. She felt a bead of sweat snake down the side of her face. Sensing she was quiet he let go and she wiped her face, then slid back down to the ground.
“Hell of a dream,” he murmured.
She tried to speak but her tongue refused to obey. Mercifully, he seemed to sense she wasn’t in the mood to talk, so he didn’t argue. He returned to the fire where a rabbit was roasting away, skewered down the middle with a sharpened stick. He nudged the roasting meat with a stick but it seemed too soft, so he sat back and tilted his face to the sky where the first bands of dawn painted the sky.
It lit the sharp lines of his face and for a moment all Wren could do was stare. She’d shown careless interest in men before but her attention, much like the mountain’s weather, changed rapidly. She was fickle, easily bored, and found the climbing far more interesting. So, before, she’d never had a reason to stare, to study. With Lorca, she did. Not because of some immediate rush of love or some other childish notion. He wasn’t typically handsome and his nature was of the baffling sort, not like the moody heroes her sister told stories about, or the gentle nobles in fairy tales. He was something else entirely.
When he lowered his gaze, he found her staring but she didn’t look away. “What was it?”
“I saw a dragon die,” she said quietly. “It felt like I was next.”
It wasn’t the whole truth but it was near enough. She gathered her knees up and rested her chin, wrapping her arms around her legs. Suddenly, the fire seemed all the more interesting but she still felt his stare, which only seemed to burrow deeper. It was unsettling and she was about to snap at him when he looked down at the rabbit cooking away.
“Dragons often imprint their memories onto the land itself. Normally, they did it to pass on joyful memories, a way to leave something behind before death. The mountains are scattered with them and sometimes you pick them up. They’ll pass in time,” he said softly. “What did they look like? The dragon you saw?”
“It was gold, like a sunset, almost like amber,” she said.
Even in her waking moments all she heard was the dragon screaming, its grief choking the air. When she looked up, having heard nothing from Lorca, he was frozen, staring into the fire, though his mind seemed far away. Almost in another time entirely.
“Not a pale gold? Or even a dark colour, almost brown?”
“No,” she insisted.
He closed his eyes suddenly and tossed a small handful of dirt into the base of the fire. It spluttered angrily as he murmured what seemed to be a quick prayer under his breath.
“That would’ve been Inakara, the remaining sister of Vaska, one of my mother’s Avalon dragons. I didn’t even know she was still alive. No one had seen her for years after she retreated deep into the mountains, supposedly grieving over several hatchlings of hers that failed to hatch,” he murmured distractedly. “Vaska never spoke of it, nor did her mate, Idris.”
“Avalon dragons?”
“The royalty, I suppose, of the dragons. They were rare, though. I only ever saw Vaska and Idris, though I now know Inakara was alive too. At least, until that day, anyway,” he replied sombrely. “May the all-mother tend to her spirit.”
Wren still had a thousand more questions now that Lorca had let more slip of his past. She went to ask more but he suddenly grabbed the rabbit from the fire and set to carving it up. When he handed her half, she didn’t argue and took it gratefully, sinking her teeth into the hot, chewy meat. As she ate she looked up at him but his gaze was still on the fire, and his mind seemed further from her than before.
He only spoke when he was finished eating, declaring that he had to shift back and that his time in human form was limited. He seemed to pause at the end, like he wanted to say more. Only, he didn’t and she turned her back as he shifted. When she climbed onto his back he didn’t take to the sky, like she expected; instead, he set off on foot.
No clouds today. Flying isn’t wise, he sent to her.
“You’re a dragon, though.”
Something I suspect no one has seen in some time. I’d rather not have anyone know we're coming. I don’t like surprises; that, and I have known humans to hunt dragons and Dragonairs alike. He paused briefly and an easy feeling knotted in her gut. To them, we are a prize worth burning empires for.
ns 15.158.61.51da2
