“May the gods spare me for what I must do – and spare those whom I’m I call my people, if only from the terrible wrath that will soon descend upon them.”
- Excerpt from Litania’s diary.
Chapter 22
It was dusk when they left the clearing. Streaks of burnt orange with shards of violet and pink stretched across the sky for a brief moment, then yielding rapidly to a darkening sky. It was cloudless, so stars emerged with glittering resplendence and with only the natural world around them Wren felt almost like she was back home. There were no walls, nothing binding her. Despite how exhausted she was from the training she felt relaxed. For the moment, anyway. She knew that later in the night the questions of her blood and family would tug and gnaw at her mind. It would return to consuming her mind, devouring her confidence.
She shoved the dread coiling tightly in her mind away and let one hand rest on her thigh, the other holding the reins gently. The horse knew the way back the caravan, moving confidently through the forest.
“Do you think we’ll head off tomorrow?” Wren was anxious to be on the move again. She still felt too far from the city, the mission of saving her family too much of a distant goal to ease her.
“I imagine Sorcha should be recovered but it is for Inakara to ultimately decide.” He was silent again, pensive.
Whilst he had continued to advise her throughout the day and train her, he remained quiet. He wasn’t the same after his little outburst, which she hadn’t wanted to press on. Any attempt at normal conversation was short and uncomfortable, leaving Wren to ask questions only when needed about training. It felt like one step forward with him, two steps back.
They emerged from the tree line and onto a well-worn road, following that for another hour or so before they reached the caravan. Small fires glowed amongst the tents and wagons, with small families and groups already gathering for meals being dispersed. The air smelt of a rich meat stew, floating in tantalising waves over them as they walked to the temporary pens.
They dismounted and unsaddled the horses in silence. As Wren hauled her saddle over to the wagon where the gear was stored, she felt Lorca follow behind. Stepping back from the wagon she regarded him for a moment, watching with owlish eyes until he turned and his gaze met her.
“Is something wrong?” He asked innocuously, passive with his expression.
“Is there?” She pushed back. “You’ve been quiet since the little fire incident.”
He didn’t even flinch at her question. “Your training was the focus, not me.”
“Well, we’re going to be stuck together for some time so it’s not the worst idea to get to know each other,” she replied, keeping her voice calm. “I was glad you told me what you did. So, I’m thankful, for that.”
He nodded curtly but there was still a void between them, a gaping mile wide. It was hard to bridge it, especially when Lorca seemed little inclined to reach out. She regretted even pushing back, trying to look for a way out instead. An escape. She turned to leave but his hand shot out, grabbing her arm. Slowly, she looked up at him, cautious. The void reduced, his face softening.
“The worst thing about what happened to my people was that the exact cause was never determined. It all happened too quickly for anyone to be sure…but I saw things, had enough suspicions and a gut instinct saying something I didn’t want to accept. To even consider.” He released her arm and clasped the back of his neck, sighing. “It was Litania. I think she was the one whom murdered the spirit of the mountain.”
The caravan was already half packed when Wren went outside the tent, along with the other girls she’d staying with. Lida included. She’d been distant with Wren, taking care to be occupied or arriving later, just after everyone had fallen asleep. Even as they started unpacking the tent and bundling it up Lida couldn’t keep avoiding Wren. They were folding up the main sheet of canvas, drawing closer with each fold until they stood and stepped to each other.
Lida took possession of Wren’s end and stepped back, nodding curtly. “Thank you.”
“It’s okay. Have you seen Sorcha?”
Fire flashed in Lida’s eyes. “She’s okay. Just tired. She works herself too hard, especially when she gets a fixation on someone or something. Not that she’ll ever listen to anyone about that, though.”
“Want me to wack her over the head? A hard knock might give her some sense to listen to her friends,” said Wren.
She wanted friends, like having people around she could trust and know. If she was to be on the road for a little longer, she couldn’t be a stranger to these people, not when her presence with Lorca was a risk for them. After all, if the reaction to Lorca’s beastly nature was anything to go by, then they had to be careful.
Leda regarded her closely, then she smiled. “She has a hard head but I suppose climbing those cliffs for years has given you strength. You might just punch her hard enough.”
Wren stuck out her hand. “I swear it.”
“Leda!” A man yelled for her.
They both turned. It was Jed, from their escape in the city. A friend of Leda and Sorcha. He looked different in a pale green tunic and pants, cinched together with a leather belt. There was no cloak this time and his wavy brown hair blew in the wind. He was focused on Leda but as he neared, he saw Wren…and looked relieved.
“Oh good, you’re here. I was to ask if Leda had seen you,” he replied, slightly out of breath. “You have to come with me. It’s Lorca.”
She barely nodded before he was turning and off running, leaving her to take off after him. To her surprise, Lida followed as they took off through the caravan. It was a dodge and weave amongst the chaos until they reached the edge of the caravan; there, she froze. Inakara was striding towards them, her back to Lorca whom was hunched over with a pale face. He threw his head back suddenly, a primal roar tearing from his mouth. He hunched over again…and he exploded into dragon form.
There he was, magnificent in dragon form. His wings arched upwards, as if he was trying to ease a knot from them. She jogged the rest of the way, stopping before him. His black scales gleamed in the morning sun, defining the row of spikes from the tip of his snout all the way down to the end of his tail. He turned his enormous head to hers, those dark eyes watching her.
I’m sorry.
She frowned up at him. “Why are you sorry?”
I couldn’t hold my human form any longer. It was…too much, he replied, lowering his head so that his eyes were level with hers.
She set her hand on the side of his jaw, his scales cool beneath her touch. “You should’ve told me. You can’t hide this, especially as we get closer to the city.”
He lifted his head from her hand, looked skywards to the horizon where dark storm clouds gathered. His nostrils flared, his claws digging into the earth, as though something was making him uneasy.
A storm is coming, he murmured, then looked to Inakara, whom appeared beside Wren. Her gaze, too, was on the clouds, her brow dipping. She glanced to Lorca.
“It’s too risky for you to remain on the ground in form – can you manage that?”
His nostrils flared again, as if he was insulted, then he dipped his head. Wren didn’t hear him speak but she wondered if somehow, he spoke only to Inakara. Then again, perhaps nothing needed to be said between them, as he yielded to her. His gaze slid to hers.
Would you like to join me?
She looked to the distant storm, brewing ominously. It was idiocy to do any climbs during terrible weather, a death sentence. Yet as she looked back at him, she knew he wouldn’t ask if he felt there was any risk to her life, that he’d keep her safe up there, right in his element. There was something else to it, too. Hope. He wanted to show her, to take her into the sky…and as her gaze lifted upwards to the thin white clouds above, she felt it sing within her too. She wanted to fly.
With a nod she closed the distance between them. He lowered a wing, then slanted his shoulder down so she could climb on. It was a little awkward but wedged her legs between his spines, securing her as much as she could. She slanted forward, resting her belly on the thicker run of spines that curved up his neck, and held on firm to the smaller ones on either side. It was by no means totally secure but she’d climbed with less holding her to the sheer cliff faces, so she wasn’t worried. Besides, being high up was the most natural thing in the world.
Ready? He asked, lifting his wing up from the ground, readying both to take off.
She hunkered down, tightened her grip. “Ready when you are.”
He launched forward, wings snapping open – one flap, then another and another, the ground fell away. The cold air howled in her ears as they shot up into the sky, climbing at such a steep angle that she felt herself slide back a little. She tightened on, feeling her heart race faster, slamming against her ribs as he shot through a thin layer of cloud. Wisps of rain washed over her and then they levelled out, clear of the clouds, steadying off. His wings stretched out, catching the wind, as he glided effortlessly forward. The rush from the climb dimmed as she finally loosened off one hand and sat back more, resting her hand on her thigh. She let herself look out past his head to the approaching storm, feeling her gut twist a little. Old instinct warred, made her want to feel the ground beneath her; another rose up, calmed that fear and as she let go with both hands, feeling the wind rush over her arms, she imagined she was flying.
It feels good to fly – does it not? Lorca sounded at ease, even as they neared the storm.
She closed her eyes, feeling free. “I can see why you like it. Taking your human form must seem so boring and confining.”
It used to be.
Her eyes opened. “Used to be?”
I didn’t have a reason to even take human form before. Now I do, he replied.
She hunkered down again, smiling. Lorca lifted higher, rising above the gathering storm, cresting over the dark clouds. The air crackled around her, seemed alive, ready to explode. The hairs on her arm stood up, alive. She pressed her cheek into his cold scales, smooth like polished stone, and watched as the sky turned black.
Hold on. The wind will become dangerous, Lorca warned.
No sooner had his voice drifted through her mind did the wind take a sharp and bitter turn, whistling piercingly. She sat up but sooner did she try did the wind slam into her chest. With a curse she hunkered back down, holding on tight as Lorca suddenly flapped upwards, ascending through the dark clouds. Rain slammed in her, sharp as needles, slicing clean through her clothes. She let out a string of expletives, loathing as the icy cold sunk into her bones. Lorca pierced the top of the storm, levelling out. She drew in a deep breath of the thin, icy air and looked out across the top of the storm. Her heart still in her chest.
The sun burst across the clouds, resplendently golden, with streaks of amber stretching out towards her. There was no trace of the dark storm, a world apart. It felt like she was back on the cliffs again, hanging on by one hand, lost in the view. Her chest tightened. She shouldn’t be enjoying herself, be so damned happy when her whole village was enslaved. Even if her family might not be her blood family, they still raised her, cared and loved her.
We will find your family, Wren, said Lorca as he edged down so that his feet were nearly touching the top of the clouds. I swear it to you.
The memory of their deal sealed over a burning fire. She hunkered down, feeling her mind darken with turbulent thoughts. Not trusting herself to speak she leant down and pressed her cheek against his scales, uneasy.
You don’t believe me? He asked, his voice rumbling through her mind.
She swore she heard sadness in his voice.
“We swore a deal. You help me, I help in the favour you call in,” she said. “I just miss my family, that’s all. Don’t you miss yours?”
He drew in a deep breath, his chest expanding beneath her, then exhaled. Wreaths of smoke were expelled from his nostrils, rushing over his back and past her.
They’re gone. Many of them died a long time ago and I don’t even know if my sister still lives, he said. She would be long from here, if she listened to my mother’s request at all.
“If?”
There was a long pause before laughter rumbled through his chest and warmth flowed through their mind link. She had an image blossom within her minds eye, of a woman like Lorca, with striking eyes and confident expression. The world around her seemed out of focus, whereas she was sharp. There was warmth in the memory, a deep familial love. The image shifted again, the world sharpening around Yelena. It was a large stone room, rimmed with neatly formed windows. She was pacing it, her eyes on the floor, with both hands clasped firmly behind her back. She wasn’t wearing a dress, like she had been in the painting at the palace; no, here she wore a knee length tunic, pants and tall glossy black boots.
She stopped pacing suddenly, looked up, alarmed like she’d been caught out suddenly. Slowly, she straightened up.
“Brother, you’re here,” she blurted out. “Why are you here?”
“I know about the human and Litania,” he replied.
Yelena’s face softened. “I wished to tell you but I-“
“Feared it would break me? You think I am so weak?”
“No but we both know she is your weakness, always has been dearest brother. Just like mine is my cowardly nature and poor leadership, which is why you will lead after mother and I will never have to know the torture of heart break,” said Yelena, a smile lifting the corner of her mouth. “Why did you come to see me, though?”
“The prophecy – it has begun. Inakara has returned with the crown.”
The memory faded from her mind and she returned to the back of Lorca, high in the sky. The wind pressed against a sudden dampness on her cheeks. She pressed a finger to it, realising tears rolling down her cheeks…and a rush of grief flooding through her. Only, it wasn’t her grief.
It was his.
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