Chapter 8
“And so, it was, the Avalon dragon queen, Iska, stepped forward and set a wreath of fire upon Evanya, crowning her queen. The room sang out in praise, two voices louder than all – her two children, Alfor and Yelena.” – Excerpt of the Dragonair Chronicles.
Before, she hadn’t been able to retrace the path Lorca had led her. It was as though a heavy mist hung in her mind, dispelling the path from memory. Yet, as her feet had carried her from the village, the darkness still heavy in the air, she felt something in her gut pulling her onwards. The dim whisper of a memory nudged at her mind, gingerly guiding her off the main road down a thinly trampled path. It led her to a low cliff climb, which she scrambled up with ease, and before she knew it, she’d arrived at the small valley Lorca had left her at twice. The snow still blanketed the area, dusting the trees. Flurries of white swirled eerily before her and she imagined, if only for a moment, Lorca emerging from a flurry, as mysteriously as he always seemed to vanish.
When he didn’t she strode onto the narrow path, retracing the winding journey through the cliffs, and up easy climbs. Where there had been confusion before she felt a rising confidence in her sense of direction. Somehow, she knew, like something was calling her. She didn’t want to think where the feeling was coming from, only on how she’d convince Lorca to help her. The path she’d just traversed might be easy for her, as well as Climbers, both new and old but there were old and young, frail and pregnant, whom would not be able to make the trip. She needed somewhere to hide them, a place in the mountains. The cliffs might be hers but the mountains belonged to ancient myths and beasts. Lorca might be her only chance to find a hidden path high up, one left by the ancient Dragonairs. A path carved into the heart of the mountains themselves.
The sun spilt over the ancient ruins as Wren emerged from the tunnel, warm against her cheeks. She pushed back her fur-lined hood and peered out, half expecting Lorca to be there, waiting for her. Yet only the bones of a dead empire stared back at her, unseen ghosts stirring. She felt a strange prickle of sadness rise in her chest, thickening in her throat. Swallowing it back down, hard, she pushed on.
“Lorca!” She called out, voice echoing eerily.
No reply came, not even as she traversed every inch of the ruins that she’d been in before. Even the clearing of bones, the cleaned off carcass of the wyvern she’d killed in the middle, didn’t hold him. She returned to the ruins and found her gaze drifting up. On and on the mountain rose, impossibly high, though just more houses clinging to the side of sheer rock. Any one of them might house him but which one?
She felt frustration twist in her gut like a blade. Biting back a curse she went into the house of before, then straight out to the ledge. She eyed off the cliff and saw sufficient nooks for her hand. Determined to find Lorca she latched her hands on, then started to climb. First, across several feet, then up, moving with haste. The ground tumbled away, leaving her higher than she’d climbed before, having passed dozens of houses. With each one she’d called his name and with no reply she moved on.
The thought of returning to her village without solutions surged her up the cliff, making her climb faster than she ever had before. The usual tug of exhaustion, that burn in her limbs, didn’t come. It was as though she had an endless supply of energy.
It made her distracted because her hand reached out but found air. She panicked, snapped back to reality. Looking up she saw the cliff above her ended, that it hadn’t continued on like she swore it had when she’d been looking. One moment there was rock, the next there wasn’t. Frowning, she hauled herself over the edge and onto flat ground.
She stood, dusting off herself, and slowly lifted her gaze. A dead city stared back at her. A long, wide street stretched out before her, flanked by homes and what might’ve been stores. It curved out of view, though from what she saw, it was as though the whole city was carved into the rock itself. In parts it rose up, streets carved into the rock, sometimes snaking into the mountain itself only to remerge several feet later onto another street. Advancing her gaze over the ruins she lifted it higher, glimpsing what seemed to be a long path snaking up an otherwise untouched section of rock. It curled right up to what looked like grand gates, guarding the entrance to the largest structure she’d seen before. A thousand houses blended into one, a hundred or more platforms jutting out from it, with twin spires that flanked it, rising up out of the rock. At the top of the structure itself, where the cliff ended, she spied a large dome-like structure – the kind she’d seen in books. The few her grandmother had treasured before she passed on.
It was the palace.
The palace of Dragonairs.
She’d never seen a palace before, only exaggerated pictures from books which didn’t do the palace justice. Though smaller than some of those pictures it was still colossal, even from a distance. It was, perhaps once, a dream come true to find it. In her childish dreams she’d imagined finding it a city full of legends, of dragons and life. Instead, she saw only ruins, a city abandoned – dead.
Was this where Lorca lived? Amongst the ghosts of the past? Why? He lived with a dragon, so it made sense to stay with them. Though why any creature or human would leave in such a lonely place was beyond her. Perhaps they were clinging to the past, unable to let go at the last fragments of a dead empire. That thought made Lorca far older than she’d ever thought. It meant he was probably over a couple hundred years old, whereas he scarcely looked older than her.
Shaking her head, she set off into the dead city, calling out his name, pausing only to listen as her voice echoed strangely against the ruins. A lone voice with no reply but hers.
She went into places that must’ve been homes, some of big families, others small. Every one was still furnished, many with murals on their walls and keepsakes that time had been unkind left out on shelves. Once, she might’ve felt inclined to take, sell off to the merchant whom came to their village. Now, in that city, she felt no desire. It was like disturbing a grave.
Back out in the street she found herself close to the path that wound to the palace. She stopped there and stared up, wondering if she might find Lorca there or if she was simply giving into a childish fantasy to see the palace. As she made her decision and walked up she realised it was both, selfish as that might be.
The city fell away beneath her as she neared the illustrious gates, which she imagined had been polished to a bright gleam once. Time had weathered them dull, rusted even in sections. She reached out, running a hand over the cold metal. It yielded beneath her touch, opening slowly with a screech, resounding chillingly through the city. For a moment she didn’t dare to cross the threshold, then she did and a strange warmth kindled in her chest. A slow flame flickering to life.
“Lorca?” She said, her voice softer, tentative.
She felt like an intruder as she pushed into a grand foyer, thick with shadows, pierced only with light that spilt in from behind her. As her eyes adjusted she perceived a grand staircase, ornate stone dragons perched at the ends, as if standing guard. Her feet carried her over, her hands tracing the details of those dragons. Their long, angular heads were slightly bowed, eyes downcast to the floor. Eyes that glowed red.
Rubies, she realised, drawing her hand away.
Turning from the staircase she found her feet drawing her off down a nearby hall, the darkness thickening around her. Just as it consumed her completely a light erupted on either side, followed by another and another, bursting to life in a long line before her. Lit torches guided her way. She froze, wondering what magic conjured them to life. Yet, as she walked they remained lit until she passed across a section with windows on one side, sunlight washing over her. She paused, peering out across the city, wondering what it might’ve actually looked like alive and vibrant.
A flash of her village, abandoned, just like the city, forgotten to time, burst in her mind. She hurried on. She’d do a quick search of the palace then head off, find somewhere else to look. Somewhere Lorca was in the mountains. She just had to find him.
The palace passed on in a labyrinth of rooms and halls, of tapestries that spun stories she’d never heard of. Statues of men and women stood guard at doors and in rooms, some even in what might’ve been private gardens. Their lifeless eyes kept watch and Wren swore she felt their gaze follow her as she moved on.
At a room of paintings, she paused. A thousand faces adorned the wall, most of which wearing finery bearing the same symbol. A dragon circling a fire. It was a room of the royal family and at the end of it, a painting of a dark-haired woman, looking barely thirty but eternally beautiful. Her dark olive skin made her jewel-green eyes glow, the sharp slope of her nose distinct, the proud jut of her chin. The bearing of a Queen. Wren’s gaze fell to the inscribing beneath and though she couldn’t read it she wondered if it said Evanya.
The last queen of the Dragonairs.
How must it have been for her to stand in her palace, to watch as her empire crumbled? Was she helpless or did she fight to the bitter end? No, in Wren’s mind she knew that whatever had happened Evanya must’ve stood strong, fighting to the end.
As Wren turned to leave another torch illuminated within the room, revealing a picture of man and woman. Their shared eyes, nose, mouth, complexion and proud expression spoke of shared blood. Yet it wasn’t that which held her gaze. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from his gaze and in her mind, she knew exactly who the pair was.
Prince Alfor and Princess Yelena.
The young prince whom bore an eerie resemblance to the stranger whom had saved her life.
“What are you doing here?” Thundered a rich voice from behind her.
She spun around with a sharp scream, hand on her racing heart. Before her, cast in the glow of a torch, Lorca. His jewel-green eyes, the eyes of a prince, stared back at her, unflinching, as if she hadn’t been staring at his portrait from hundreds of years ago.
“You…” The words died in her throat, swallowed by shock.
All the pleas she had in her mind to beg him for aid shattered as she tried to make the man she barely knew with the legend she’d heard hundreds of stories about. The prince whom had loved the Queen’s Seer, Litania, and whose love had not been returned. A prince who, before he could even run, had wandered into a dragon cave full of nests and slept a whole night in the dead of winter, curled at the side of a wild dragon. Someone whom had taken his dragon form on his fourteenth birthday, the youngest of any Dragonair.
“What are you doing here?” He repeated again, striding to her.
When he stopped before her she couldn’t tear her gaze away. Finally, the words came to her, the shock ebbing away. “I need your help. I need to save my village.”
Those immortal eyes searched hers. For what, she didn’t know, only that she felt them burrow into her soul, tearing back walls and layer, hunting. When he withdrew his face betrayed no decision. The whole time her breath seemed caught in her chest, her heart frozen.
“No.” He spun away but she caught his arm instinctively. Slowly, he looked at her again. “I said no. You shouldn’t even be here. You shouldn’t-“
He seemed to catch himself, pain flashing in his eyes. With a deep breath he yanked his arm out of her grasp and went to move but she stepped after him, not reaching but he stopped all the same.
“Please, I’ll-“
In a flash he was looking at her again intensely. “You’ll what? Offer yourself?” He raked his gaze over her, then found her eyes. “You’re a child.”
She recoiled angrily, venom coating her tongue. “I’m not offering that,” she spat. “I just need a safe place to hide my villagers from slavers. Not that you would know or care about that, given that this is where you live, far from the world below. How nice that must be.”
“Excuse me?” Fury, incredulity coated his words.
The same fury in his eyes had been in hers when she’d spoken to Elise. At the thought of her sister, then of her village, the fury rushed out of her. She turned away, tired.
“I’d do anything you ask, give my life even. I was hoping you’d help but I was wrong.” She quickly stepped around him, her cheeks flushed, her heart racing again. She just had to get away from him, from the palace, back to the village where she belonged. “I…I should go. I have to find somewhere where my village will be safe. I thought it might be here, in these mountains but I guess I was wrong.”
As she crossed the threshold of the room he called for her.
“How did you get into the palace? The gates…They don’t open for just anyone.”
She paused but didn’t speak or look back. For a moment, his question held her but it wasn’t what she wanted to hear. What she needed. Shaking her head, she hurried on and this time, he didn’t follow her.
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