Spade of All Trades

The eclectic ramblings of a writer, artist, and cat lady (part-time chicken whisperer). I post mainly about my WIP, "Heart of Fire" & my artwork, but there will be pet foolery included, too.

[seracross]

Was going to only take one photo (#2), but no. No, I just “needed” more. Along the way, a dialogue started in my head and...well this happened. RIP my sleep schedule. Best part, the ending was NOT planned.

Full (larger) verion here: https://www.deviantart.com/seracross/art/Confession-P-LA-Comic-906658153

[seracross]

Blurb for “A Ring of Twilight”. Not sure if short story or more...

Once upon a time, in a world not so different from ours, there was a young lady. One day, this girl was to witness a flicker of magic. A tear in the veil that separated her world from many others. A ring of twilight. And through that ring she watched a war. A war headed by a young man, hellbent on overthrowing his country’s tyrannical emperor. As an oracle sees the future, she saw his sleepless nights, his zealous command, and his grief for fallen comrades. And in the end, when the seams of the tear shimmered in their closing, she saw his death. One of sacrifice. One that would collapse the walls of war, and stitch together the survivors.

The ring appeared from nothing, but took something with its leaving. A promise. A promise that would take a century to be fulfilled, and would take the girl far, far from home. “I will not let him die.” A fairytale by any measure, but fairytales are built on belief, and belief is the strongest magic.

World after world she went, decade after decade, her belief and power only growing stronger. She scoured every land, devoured every book and spell, to ensure that when his world appeared from behind the portal, she would be strong enough to save him.

It would become clear to her that her quest was unfounded--based on an idolized figure and pure fantasy. Still, she continued. For even if she wasn’t strong enough, even if--after becoming his trump card, his Queen piece on the chessboard--he didn’t return her affections, she would at least be able to confess her love, and retrieve the piece of her heart that he stole from behind the ring.

[seracross]

Gym Leader #2 for my future unnamed fan game. I really need to find a team of people to help with this... "The free-spirited Flying-type specialist with her head in the clouds." Name: Cirra Badge Given: Loft Badge TM Given: Roost This is Cirra (based on Cirrus clouds). She's a successful author and mediator that specializes in Flying-types, as air and birds have been attributed to communication for centuries. She's also teased about being flighty as she's often found daydreaming about her current/future work. She also loves sleep (gives you the Roost TM) and is a night owl, so you can only battle her between noon and 9PM when she's at the gym. Cirra became a trainer with her first partner Nanu the Natu--as a hatchling it couldn't say its name properly, but instead repeated "Nanu". She resides in a cabin on the side of the mountain overlooking the valley town below. The cabin itself is very open with tall ceilings and overhead beams that serves as roosts for her flying Pokemon. It is filled with books, scattered papers, and large windows that look over the valley. Her bed is a large, plush circular sofa (like a giant dog bed) filled with pillows in the center of the house. When not battling challengers, she binge writes under the glow of her Minior until late into the night. If you do run into her during the morning hours, she'll always be tired with dark circles. While Cirra's cabin is located at the peak of the mountain, the gym (a small bookstore and library) is stationed on a wide ledge lower down the mountainside. If you follow the road from the gym up the mountain you will find her house sitting on the highest ledge. Her house is locked between 3AM - 9PM, but come by between 9PM - 3AM and her Noctowl will invite you inside. The lights will be dim as the ceiling hums with sleeping birds, but she will be busily writing under the light of her Minior. Talk with her a second time and she will stop to "take a break" and escort you to the deck overlooking the glittering valley below. There she invites you for a rematch, but this time with her Night Team (those who are still awake). After her defeat, she will gift you five Chesto Berries and five Roost Balls (specialty balls she has custom made). As the lights blink out in the city she realizes how late it is and, being a long hike down, heals your team and offers her landing deck as a Fly stop. Cirra is available for a third final rematch to defend your Champion title using her gym team, but now with Mega Altaria and Z-Fly Gyarados. Gym Team: Altaria, Xatu, Minior (aqua), Togekiss, Noivern, Gyarados Rematch "Night" Team: Xatu, Minior, Noivern, Noctowl, Mothim, Honchkrow House Pokes (non-competitive): Rowlet, Archen, Murkrow, Tailow, Fletchling, Rufflet Quotes: * Accepting challenge: "Prepare yourself. I choose my moves as carefully as I choose my words." * Last Pokemon: "Words are powerful. At the speed of sound they can either create or destroy. Let's see how fast you are." * Defeated: "That's odd, I'm speechless. Ha! Guess I'll have to sleep this one off. And you!...Well, that was truly an excellent battle. Really got my pulse soaring. Here, take these, you've certainly earned them." * Champion rematch defeat: "Clouds are just 'coulds' that reached their goals: sometimes you have to change your state of mind to reach your heights. Perhaps it's time to do some re-evaluation of my own."

[melonberrystudios]

r/Pokemon had a neat thread going on last week where people would create their own pokeballs. Idk why but inspiration hit hard, so I had to draw up some of my favorites. Comment which one is your favorite. :3

Dawn Ball: Higher catch rate during the day and in brightly-lit buildings. /u/awesomesauce210

Sun Ball: Higher catch rate for Pokemon that evolve via Sun Stone (like Moon Ball). /u/DualSlash20 et al.

Insulation Ball: Higher catch rate on Fire, Ice, and Electric types. /u/Steveblob et al.

Money Ball: 10% more prize money from trainer battles if this Pokemon battled. /u/SilentlyFreezing

Storm Ball: Higher catch rate in rain. Sets Castform’s default/Refresh to Rainy. /u/LittleDinghy et al.

Sunny Ball: Higher catch rate in bright sunlight. Sets Castform’s default/Refresh to Sunny. /u/LittleDinghy et al.

Snow Ball: Higher catch rate in hail. Sets Castform’s default/Refresh to Snowy. /u/LittleDinghy et al.

Dust Ball: Higher catch rate in a sandstorm. Sets Castform’s default/Refresh to Normal. /u/LittleDinghy et al.

Relic Ball: A ball that imitates the environment of long ago. Higher catch rate on ancient Pokemon (Unown, Golurk, etc). Revived fossils will come in these. /u/DualSlash20 et al.

Trauma Ball: Higher catch rate on burned, frozen, paralyzed, or poisoned Pokemon. Heals status only. /u/SilentlyFreezing et al.

Thorn Ball: A pretty but uncomfortable ball lined with thorns. Only works on Grass and Poison types (2x catch rate). 4x on Ferroseed, Roselia, Cacnea, Mareanie, and Quilfish lines. /u/AtomicWalrus

Sugar Ball: Its sweet odor makes the ball more appealing (2x any Pokemon). Bug and Fairy type are particularly drawn to these (3.5x capture rate). /u/SamuraiDDD

Mystic Ball: A ball that balances the energy of the Pokemon inside. Higher catch rate on Psychic and Ghost types. /u/DualSlash20 et al.

Shadow Ball: A dimly lit ball for those that take comfort in shadow. Higher catch rate on Ghost and Dark types. /u/Hyperion-OMEGA

Harvest Ball: Cool soil and warm sun make this ball particularly inviting to more grounded Pokemon. Higher catch rate on Grass and Ground types

Roost Ball: Inside are large, down pillows perfect for Flying types or any Pokemon that just loves to sleep. Higher catch rate on Flying types, asleep or sleep-themed Pokemon (Snorlax, etc). /u/DualSlash20 et al.

/u/ad3z10 did have a kickass Kecleon Ball that changed color based on the poke inside. Unfortunately, my attempts only led to a not-so-pixely or derpy-looking Kecleon face. My sincerest apologies. *bows*

[seracross]

Last Day in the Chicken Yard Today was spent cuddling chickens as we are moving to the city tomorrow. While they will be well taken care of by their grandmother, it is still sad knowing you might not see them again. Some of these hens have been here as long as we have, so I know tomorrow will be teary. I knew I wanted a bird as a kid, but I never figured I'd have 40 at one time. XD Hopefully my new county will allow backyard chickens soon, so I can bring some of my girls home.

[seracross]

Heart of Fire - Chapter Eighteen: Firestones

Summary: “A dragon without fire is nothing but a liability.” Nine years ago, Syra was thrust into a war: a hide-and-seek battle for control of five powerful crystals, hidden by a secret organization 200 years prior. Taking human-form, Syra searches the dragon-hating city of Altaira for clues on their location. But when her secret is revealed, fickle hearts are quick to change. And when an old enemy raises his scaly head, who will be there to turn to? Her estranged siblings? An ex-fiancé? Or a temperamental pixie the size of a duckling? In a race against her father’s murderer, Syra must traverse the five kingdoms to halt his efforts to rebuild a powerful relic that should never have been created. Are the bonds of love and family strong enough to survive the horrors of secrets and betrayal? And how do you fight an elder dragon bent on revenge when you’re a wyrmling who can’t even breathe fire?

Genre: Fantasy, Adventure, Romance, Drama

Rating: PG-17 (Strong Language & Violence)

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The thick odor of dead fish gave way to the scent of salt and sea foam, and Syra nearly forgot about Fin when the breeze from the city's port hit her full force. She stretched her arms wide, catching the warm air in her flared fingers. Her chest filled with the sea mist and her back muscles ached to spread her wings and hover above the breaking waves.

“Alright, that's enough sight-seeing,” Aidan turned away from the boardwalk to continue down the street, “Weldon's shop should be down this way.”

Fish and tourism, that's what drew crowds to Dairos. The temperate waters offered a bounty of seafood, and the city-on-stilts buzzed with music and people from all over. Even now, Syra could see a ship unloading passengers from across the sea to revel in its warm beaches, eclectic food, and the lighthouse that stood proudly on the neighboring island.

The map led them down a channel lined with boutiques of food and fashion—all of the fanciful kind—and away from the horns and the dancing, and the call of vendors. Away from the creaking wood of the stilted tourist sector, and into the more solid part of town, where the streets were carved from the rocky bed. At the bottom of a small hill, where the cobbled street wound up to the main road, sat a brick cottage. Its shutters were drawn and no smoke graced its wide chimney, but the gold metal work above the door gleaned memories of a better time.

“Is this it?” Petra poked her nose over the map. “Looks abandoned.”

“Let’s hope not.” Aidan tucked the map back into its pocket and gave the door a hard rapping, “Excuse me? Is this where we can find a Mr. Weldon?”

There was no answer. So, he knocked again.

“Hello?”

“Please, pardon any interruption,” Syra chimed in, “perhaps we are a bit lost. We were told to find a smith named, Weldon. Would you happen to know—”

The door swung open and a square man with ruddy face scowled from under a protruding brow.

“It’s Weldon. Not Mr. Weldon, just Weldon will do. And you’ve come to the right place. Though you caught me napping, so beg pardon.”

“Oh.” He was well-spoken and a hair taller than her—quite normal for a halfling—but from his temple to his jaw was wrinkled and leathery, and she caught herself staring. “Well, that’s good to hear. Am I correct to assume you’re still in business?”

“Aye. What can I do you for?” He gave the party a look-about, noticing their weapons, “Needing some maintenance, are you?”

“Yes, and no,” Aidan said, stepping forward. “Could we talk inside?”

“By all means, come in. Mind the mess, though. I haven’t gotten to cleaning yet.”

They filed inside and Weldon threw open the shutters to let the light and breeze fill the roomy cabin.

“Oh, my,” Petra halted as the sunlight woke the hilts and blades and shields from their dim slumber, and the walls of display shone in every color of metal. There was even a cute window where delicate jewelry perched and waited for the next bare hand and lined pocket.

“Looks like you’ve been busy,” Aidan offered an impressed nod to the storefront before following Weldon back into his workshop.

“Yes, and no. If I were, those walls would be bare. But, Spring’s here, so folks’ll be drunk on warm weather and ale, and I’ll be right here waiting.”

He pulled up some chairs to a bench for them to sit and hopped up on his own stool, “So, what is it exactly you’d be needing?”

Aidan took the bundle from his back and laid it on the bench, throwing back his cloak to reveal the silver-blue pieces, “I need this fixed.”

The halfling was stunned a moment. “Well, would you look at that. Haven't seen that color in quite some time. Where'd you get your hands on these?”

“Does it matter?”

He chuckled. “No. Just being nosy, is all. But, how in the world did you manage to break it? 'Cause that took some ingenuity.”

“Got into a fight with a morakii. I lost.”

Weldon nodded with grin, “Yeah, that would do the trick.”

“Any more questions?” Aidan leaned on the benchtop. “We're kind of in a hurry.”

“Kind of in a hurry? Well, doesn't that sound a might suspicious? Coming in here with a rare metal saying you're kind of in a hurry?”

“Please, Weldon,” Syra looked over at him with big doe eyes, “Viivida said you could help. Was she wrong to send us here?”

At this he was truly surprised, “You know Viivida, do you?” He sighed and rubbed a temple as the years caught up with him. “Haven't seen her in many years. How's the kria doing?”

“It's Viilah, now,” Petra butted in.

“Oh, is it?” He laughed. “Well, send my congratulations next time you see her. Was wondering if that upstart would ever settle down.”

He gave his knees a hard pat and nodded to himself. “Yes. She was correct to send you here. Though, I have to tell you, as much as I would love to work with that sword of yours, I can't fix it.”

Aidan flared his nostrils, “What do you mean, you can’t fix it? Why not?”

“It’s austram.”

“And? Viilah said you knew how.”

“I do know how.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I no longer have the supplies.”

“Whatever you need, we’ll pay for.”

Weldon laughed. “You can’t just buy hot rocks. Not anymore.”

Aidan deflated like a sad balloon. He had never worked with hot rocks personally, but his alchemists were always complaining about how rare they had become in last years. Even if they could find a seller, they couldn’t afford them.

“Then we’ll have to go find some,” Petra said, standing.

“You can’t find them, either,” Weldon corrected her. “They’re made. Hot rocks—or firestones as you mages call them—require dragonfire to be activated. And they’re the only kindling that burns hot enough to melt austram. And with no more treaty...”

“There’re no more firestones.” Syra, too, drooped.

The group sat in silence as they wracking theirs brains for another solution.

“We’ll get back to you.” Aidan stood and dragged everyone back into the storefront.

“You have an idea?” Syra's face brightened at the far-off look in his eyes that meant he was onto something.

“Yeah, but we’ll need to get away from all these people. There’s an abandoned mine on the far side of Lighthaven.” He pointed on the map to the island with the lighthouse. “We'll have to take a boat, though.”

“And how are we supposed to pay for a boat?” asked Petra. “It's not like we can dance for money.”

Syra did consider that for a moment. She could put on a magic show—people would certainly love it. But they couldn't risk the exposure, and she was now a known face thanks to her banishment.

“Wait here.”

Syra returned to Weldon with a grave face, “If we bring you some firestones, can you promise you'll fix his sword?”

Weldon raised a brow and studied her, “Aye. But how are you going to get them?”

“Never you mind that. Just give us some blanks and we'll take care of it.”

“Alright.” He got up and filled a small pouch with small, clear crystals, and handed them to her.

“Oh, and one last thing,” she fiddled with her ear then held out her hand, her gold earring glinting up at him. “How much can I get for this?”

The ferry to Lighthaven was particularly crowded this time of day. Perfect for hiding in plain sight. Syra made sure to remain seated in the busiest section while the others stood around her. She was already shorter than most, so she felt secure in her invisibility. An hour and a near vomit later, they followed the crowd onto the pier and snuck away down the rocky shoreline.

“Okay, so what’s this plan of yours?” Petra asked once they had slipped into the mine.

“Shift,” he commanded Syra.

Syra stopped and blinked. She had to have heard him wrong. “What?”

“Shift,” he repeated. “You’re a dragon. Blast the stones with fire and we’ll be set.”

Cassius and Petra burst out in bittersweet laughter and Syra stiffened. You've got to be kidding me.

Confusion washed over Aidan and Syra just sat with her face in her hands.

“What? It’s a good plan.”

“It would be,” Petra said through snorts, “if she could actually breathe fire.”

Aidan paused for a replay, “What do you mean, if she could?”

“Why didn't you just tell us your plan before we got on the boat?” Syra muffled behind her palms. I sold my earring for nothing. This is great.

“W-wait. You're saying you can't breathe fire?” Aidan stared down at her drooped form with wagging mouth.

“Not. One. Spark.” Petra threw her head back and breathed a groan. “This is just delicious.”

“But...but you're a dragon.”

“I am well aware of that, thank you.” Syra glared up at him, but her anger was more at herself than him.

“Now what do we do?” asked Cassius.

“You could always change me back,” Petra prodded Syra, a little too happy at their situation.

Syra went to wave her away, but stopped, “Maybe.”

“Wait, really?” Her face become serious.

“I said, maybe.” Syra slipped off her pack and rummaged through it. “I know how to make a shapechange spell, but I'm not so sure how to break one.”

She had neared the bottom of her pack when she squealed and threw the bag.

“What? What is it?” Petra grabbed up the bag and immediately put it back down. “Nope. Not touching it.”

“Give me that,” Aidan went to grab it, but Syra shooed him away.

“It's okay, it just startled me, is all.”

She reached into the bag and pulled out the little blue bookworm, “How in the world did you make it all this way?” She cooed to the worm that wiggled its pincers up at her.

“What the hell is that thing?” Aidan scrunched his face at the grub.

“A bookworm. It—”

Pain shot through Syra's arms and her body jolted.

“Whathehe...” Her speech slurred and her vision went fuzzy. A warm tingling flowed from her arm down her body and she looked down to see the worm's pincers dung into the meat of her forearm.

“I thought you said they didn't bite,” Petra held a laugh at Syra's drunken expression.

“Iwushrong.”

All feeling was gone and she couldn't tell if she was sitting or standing. Light and colors blurred together until her vision was nothing but a gray fog.

“Petra? Cassius?” She called out, but her voice was faint and echoed into the mist.

The light dimmed and she was left in a sea of dark blues and grays. Then there came the sound of waves, and wind through grass, then pale light reflecting of the mist. Beyond the mist she could pick out a shoreline. And, if she squinted, she could see two figures standing some ways from the waterline.

“Hello?”

Her voice was swallowed by the waves and mist, so she walked closer.

Caught in the moonlight, she made the figures out to be a man and a serpent having what looked to be an argument.

“Here's where I make the deal.”

Syra jumped at the voice so close beside her. She looked all around but saw no one.

“Big mistake, I found out.”

Then she looked down. Sitting comfortable on her arm was the bookworm, its big eyes watching the scene play out like an old man watching re-runs.

“W-what?”

The worm looked up at her, “That's me—the serpent about to get his tail beat. Can't you tell? Come, let's get closer.”

Syra moved further ashore and she could hear them boast and challenge each other.

“Are you sure you're up to this?” The man, Talian from what Syra could see, stood nose-to-snout with a long, frilled serpent on short legs. “I won't go easy on you.”

“This is my territory. I will not be frightened off by you or your fancy books.”

“It is not the books themselves that make me strong,” the Tal warned, “but what is inside them. You'd be wise not to dismiss them.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

The serpent hissed and flared its fins, and the Tal's hands began to glow. Back and forth the battle went: brute strength and fire meeting barriers and calculated spells, until the serpent lied gasping and bloodied on the beach.

“Do you admit defeat?”

The serpent hissed and puffed its throat in protest, but could not rise.

“I should have just swam off and left him,” the worm said, “but I was too proud.”

The serpent turned its head to the Tal's bag of books and supplies farther inland and craned its head. Its jaws gaped open and flames shot from its mouth, igniting the pile.

“So powerful, your books, yet so frail,” it sneered.

The Tal fumed, but remained still, “As you wish.” He held out two glowing hands and swept them through the air. Lines of all colors followed his fingers and wrapped around the serpent.

“He's a weaver.” Syra watched wide-eyed as the Tal bound the serpent like a spider with its prey. As the threads tightened, light enveloped the serpent until it lost all definition. Then it shrank, wiggled, and shrank more. When the light faded, Syra stood over a tiny blue worm that writhed angrily.

“To live off the books you so detest, that shall be your punishment,” said the bookworm from Syra's arm. “That's what he said before he stuffed me in his bag and dumped me in that library.”

“Why are you showing me this?” Syra asked as the visage faded.

“You're a mage, correct? You made that locator spell with my...” he cleaned his mandibles from awkwardness, “with my help. I only ask that you repay the favor by changing me back.”

“Changing you back? I can't even change my own sister back, and I've seen that spell before. I'm clueless as to yours.”

“That's fine. I'll show you.”

“You'll show me?”

“I didn't spend my imprisonment sleeping under rugs. If you provide the power, I'll guide you. I'll even activate those firestones of yours as a thank you. Deal?”

The worm stretched itself upwards and waved its pincers, as if asking for a hand shake. I don’t have much of a choice. She tapped it with a fingertip and the mist evaporated, leaving her to stare up into Cassius nostrils.

“She's up!” Cassius helped her to sit up and Syra winced from the ache in her arm.

“Did you really have to bite me?” she asked the grub now curled up in her lap.

Consider it pay back for making me vomit, Its voice echoed in her head. Now can we get to work? I'd hate to be eaten by one of the damned sea birds after all this time.

“Alright, alright. Let me get my supplies.”

“Who are you talking to?” Petra asked as Syra grabbed parchment and quill from her bag.

“Him.” She pointed at the worm.

Hello. The worm waved its hindend.

“He says, hi.”

“He says...what?”

“Don't ask. Just bear with me.”

Syra laid out the parchment and readied her quill, “Alright, so how do I do this?”

You're going to have to reveal the spell before you can unravel it. So, it should look something like this.

The worm wriggled in the dirt and sand, using his body and pincers to draw out the correct symbols—as best a worm could do anyways—and Syra followed along with her quill. She held the tag above the worm, preparing to activate it, but voices made her stop.

From outside the cave mouth, boots scuffed and two men's voices grew louder as they argued.

“Are you sure they went this way? I sure didn't see anybody.”

“That's what the ferryman said: the woman in a blue cloak went this way.”

“That could be anyone. Do you know how popular a color that is?”

“Yeah, but Fin said she had other people with her. And so did the ferryman.”

“Shit.” Aidan waved frantic arms at Syra as the men's shadows crept into the cave. “Go. Hide.”

Syra grabbed her pack and the bookworm, “What about you?”

“I'll take care of it. Just stay quiet.”

She dashed on light feet further down the mine and hid behind a large boulder. From her shelter, she heard shuffling and then Petra's muffled yelp. She peeked between the boulder and the wall to see Cassius' shirt undone and hanging, with Aidan laying on top of Petra, his face in her neck.

“What the hell are you doing?” Petra hushed, her face flushing.

“Just go with it.”

“Is that them?” One man whispered as they entered and spotted the three teenagers.

“We're gonna find out.”

Sure-footed and huffing from their hike, the men strode into the mine. Men garbed in brown capes and silver banners. Guards. And both wore bronze coins.

“Hey!” One called, “What do you folks think you're doing? This place is private property.”

Aidan lifted his head from Petra's neck and turned a glare to them, “Not private enough, apparently. Ever hear of knocking?”

Good thinking, Aidan. Though Syra wasn't too delighted to see him in such a position with her sister, it was quick thinking on his part.

Hey! Now's your chance, said the worm, bobbing in her hands, Break the spell while they're distracted. Hurry.

She could hear Petra snapping back at the men, now, too. Good. It'll be a while before she shuts up.

Pricking her thumb on her blade, Syra pressed it to the paper she had wrapped around the worm. Let's hope this works. The writing shimmered and the parchment glowed, tightening around the worm. Tears frayed from the paper's edges and it began to crinkle and twist.

This…doesn't not feel so good.

“Just hold on. Almost got it.” Syra pinched at the glowing script as the letters wriggled and lifted off the page. As she pulled them from the paper, threads came with them. String after string, they hovered in the air and the paper twisted into tube, until they looked like filaments from some deep-sea cnidarian.

Any day, now. The worm squeaked, losing breath from the paper's grip.

“Last one,” Syra searched the paper for the final rune and plucked it.

The paper unfurled and broke apart, as if dissolving in water. Left behind, the threads waved, twisted, and wove together, until a tapestry of light hovered above the worm.

“Hey, what's that?” One guard looked to the back of the cave where light reflected off the walls.

“What?” Aidan feigned ignorance.

“That light over there.”

Aidan scoffed, “The ocean's right there, dumbass. It's a reflection.”

But the man would not be fooled that easy, “Oh, no. That's no reflection. I know weaving when I see it.”

“Worth a shot.” Aidan dropped the act and jumped to his feet.

The twins drew their weapons and Aidan slid two daggers from his vest, all three blocking the men from continuing down the mine.

“Well, if that's how you want it.”

The guards took up their own arms and the sound of clanging metal echoed down into the cave.

Syra itched to run and fight, but her fingers were busy plucking and untangling the knot of threads from around the worm.

“This thing is huge.” She bit into her cheek and cursed the strings waving in her face.

Keep going. You're halfway done.

The clanging grew louder, panting heavier, and the shuffling more erratic. Even without looking, Syra could tell the fight wasn't easy. With each thread loosened, the closer the fight drew inwards. They're losing.

Focus! It's working.

The skirmish was on the other side of the boulder now and Syra could smell the dust and blood in the air. She heard Petra's huffs and Aidan's grunts, and felt the thud of heavy feet on the ground. She tasted metal at her cheek, but she plucked on, and the glow from the worm expanded and brightened.

“There she is!” A guard shoved Aidan past the boulder and lunged for her. But Petra's hand was quick and it sliced upward, cutting at his cheek and making him flinch away.

Syra forced her eyes downward and her hands shook. One. Last—

The final knot slipped apart and a rush of wind knocked everyone on their asses.

“What the hell was that?” A guard coughed and picked himself up. “Where's the girl?”

“She's right here.”

A deep rumble filled the cave. But what faced them was not a girl, but a glowering serpent with bared teeth mere feet from their faces.

“But you cannot have her.” The fins at the serpents head and neck flared and quivered, creating a hissing noise. A warning. “I, on the other hand, am famished.”

Swords fell from shaking hands and the guards were quick to make an exit. But not quick enough for a hungry Moruleis—particularly one that had not eaten a meal in decades. The flames caught them first. Then the snapping jaws that cut their screams short and filled the cavity with the sound of crunching bone and the smell of a fresh kill.

Pale horror slithered over Aidan's face as he watched the serpent's throat and belly bulge as the men were swallowed in whole chunks, “T-taste good?”

“Not really,” the serpent fastened his jaw back in place, “had better. But beggars can't be choosers.” He paused at their shocked stares, “You did want them gone, correct? Or did I jump to conclusions?”

“No, no,” Aidan waved him away, “That was...that was an appropriate action. I suppose.”

“Good. Now, bring me those firestones. As grateful as I am for your help, I am eager to return home.”

Syra poured the clear crystals from the pouch out onto the cave floor, “A few breaths should be enough.”

They watched from a safe distance as the jet of flames washed over the pile of stones. They glowed with heat at first. Then shone white, and tiny vortexes swirled and sucked the flames into the depths of their cores, turning them a deep orange. When the stones could store no more, the serpent closed his mouth.

“Satisfied?”

Syra knelt by the pile, their warmth radiating like hot coals, “Yes, this should do. Thank you...”

“Pel,” the serpent finished before turning away from the cave.

“Those guards were after you,” Aidan said to Syra as they watched Pel wade into the surf and disappear below the waves, the flick of his tail his final parting. “We have to be more careful. More careful who sees us, and who we help.” He gave her a stern eye and she looked down at the sand.

“You mean who I help.”

He nodded without a word.

“Understood.”

By the time they were rested, the stones had cooled enough to be gathered into their pouch, and they made the uphill hike back towards the ferry, and back to Weldon's shop.

Pleasant surprise sprung from the grin on Weldon's face as he peered into the pouch, “Heh-heh, well alright then.”

He stood, grabbed his apron from its hook, and shuffled over to the wide-mouthed furnace without another word.

“You’re not going to ask where we got them?” Aidan asked.

“Should I?”

Their mouths clamped shut.

“Now,” Weldon continued, “before I get started, I will need payment upfront.”

“Payment?”

“This is my job.”

Aidan sighed, “Of course.” He paused, then unlatched the silver chain from his neck, letting the diamond ring fall into his hand.

Syra’s eyes bulged. He still has it? This whole time? And that sentimental little git had the nerve to call me mopey.

“Is this enough?”

Weldon glanced between the ring and Syra’s shocked face, “You sure about that?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “Now, can you fix it?”

So much for sentimental.

Weldon took the ring and stuffed it into a pocket, “Have a seat.”

Weldon lifted the sword halves from a drawer and set them on a bench. With painstaking accuracy, he measured each side, each curve, going as far as to trace the original design down to the small, round hole near the hilt.

“Can’t you just forge the pieces back together?” asked Syra from her perch atop a stool.

Weldon paused, her question like a bird pecking his ear, “What exactly did you ask me to do?”

“Um, reforge the sword?”

“Yes! Re-forge. As in re-make. Unless you want it to break again the next time you use it, of course.”

“Oh. Well, then continue…please.” Syra grew small on her pedestal. Way to embarrass yourself, dumbass.

Syra tried to keep from squirming as Weldon stacked the pieces into a brick, then fired and folded the metal again and again. But the room grew hot and the sky dark, and her tailbone lost its feeling to the hard seat.

Weldon let his hammer fall with a heavy thud before he groaned back at them, “You know, you don’t have to stay and watch. I prefer you not, actually. You might as well get yourselves a room next door and come back in the morning. I should have it ready by then. Just tell them I sent you, and they’ll take care of you.”

Aidan could have waiting there silently all night, but the siblings were quick to leave their seats.

“Oi, boy with the necklace!” Weldon called Aidan over as they went to leave. “I can’t be taking this,” he handed the ring back over to him, “my old lady would beat me silly.”

“But you need some sort of payment.”

“That would be preferable, but if that’s all you got—”

“Here,” Aidan took the daggers from his vest and set them on the bench, “how about these?”

“Ooh, I like those,” Weldon’s eyes lit from the daggers’ intricate hilts and fine engravings, “I’ll take those.”

Aidan gave him a pat on the shoulder and gripped the ring, “Thank you.”

“Don’t be thanking me, you just take care of her, you hear? No sense in wasting a good thing. Or you’ll end up like me, alone, in a…barn, somewhere—I don’t know, just don’t be stupid. And get out. Go to bed. I’m busy.”

Aidan stifled a laugh and left the old halfling to his hammer and his rods, and his grumblings of youngins today. But he kept the ring tight in his hand, and Weldon’s words—however misspoken—tight in his chest.

"Here you go! Just like new." Weldon spun the hilt in his hand before handing it over to Aidan. "Hope you don't mind that I shined it up a bit. Such a beauty deserves the extra care."

"Not at all." Aidan's flat face crinkled from the excitement he reigned in, but it fooled no one. The boy was absolutely giddy.

"Now, you take better care of that, sir. Can't have your crazy antics giving my work a bad rep."

"Yes, sir." Aidan took some practice swings then dipped his head low, "Thank you, again. I won't forget it."

"So, now that you've got your trusty sword back, where're you heading off to? If you don't mind more questions, of course."

"North," Aidan said, sheathing the blade, "we're heading north."

"Still vague, I see," he smirked. "No, that's good. That's careful—heavens know you can't afford not to be these days." He puffed his chest and stretched his back which had tightened over the hours tending the bench, "Best be off with you, then. The Manarail leaves at sunhigh, so you better scurry if you don't want to walk the whole way."

They turned to exit but Weldon waved Syra back over, "Oi, magical girl."

"Yes?" she muffled through her last bite of her second muffin.

He drew close and turned a serious eye to her, "You best be careful out there, you hear? I don't know where you got them hot rocks, but there are some shady people around here that I wouldn't be messing around with."

"Shady people?" Is he talking about...

He pointed to the scar on his face, "People who will burn your face for disagreeing with them."

"People did that to you?" She had thought it an accidental wound—a fight lost to hot metal due to a loose grip or unsteady footing.  Now standing closer, she noticed the imprint of a coin at his jaw. "The Black Thorn?"

"Aye, you heard of them?"

"Unfortunately."

"In that case I advise you keep a low head. Some of them have a peculiar interest in you magic folk, and they are not to be trifled with. Got their hands in many pockets and birds in every ear. And if you're heading north, then you're only going to find more of them."

"I see." They had just entered into human territory, and already they were being hunted. Just wonderful. "Well, thank you. I'll certainly keep it in mind."

Along Dairos’ northern border was the city’s business district—with its narrow roads, sky bridges, and people whose mouths were as fast as their feet—and at its heart lied the Manarail. A gleaming beauty of engineering and alchemical ingenuity, the train hovered above its austram railing, humming and waiting amidst the exchange of boxes and bodies.

“There’s so many,” Cassius scanned the crowded station of passengers filing into the cars. “How are we going to get by unnoticed?”

“We don’t. Not up here.” Aidan turned away from the crowd and motioned for them to follow.

They drew away from the lines of impatient passengers and followed the train further down the line. While paying passengers enjoyed the luxury of the front cabins, cargo—and the occasional hitchhiker—found their seats in the tail cars at the back. Luckily, the buzzing patrons were too preoccupied with themselves and their pressing timetables to even notice the figures ducking behind stacks of crates and through back alleys.

"This way." Aidan scampered around the rear of the train when the loading crews had retreated back to their docks.

Keeping to the brush and treeline, they crept car by car until they found one with open bay doors. Standing outside the crate-filled car was a guard with his nose to a tally sheet.

"I'll distract him while you climb on." Aidan slunk from the bushes and padded up behind the guard. When he was close, he made a loud dash for the car.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing?" The guard dropped his tally sheet and grabbed Aidan by the cloak, dragging him off the car. "No stowaways!"

He threw Aidan to the ground where he rolled to his feet and drew his sword.

"I'm getting on that train." Aidan smirked and taunted the guard to close in on him, giving the others space to sneak past.

"Like hell you are." The guard drew a small, shiny object from the chord under his shirt. A whistle.

"Shit." Aidan dashed for it, but the whistle met his lips first.

A whisper of air made the whistle chirp, but it soon whined and died as the guard's eyes rolled back and his body sagged.

Aidan stopped dead, then laughed. Smirking up at him from behind the guard, Syra stood with shimmering fingers wrapped around his head. She released him and let him fall with a thud.

"Sleeps like a rock, that one."

The Manarail blew a loud, long warning whistle, making them all jump.

"We need to get on quick. Let's put him over there." Aidan helped Syra drag the guard to a tree.

"His officer isn't going to be happy about this." Syra propped him up with his head back and mouth open.

"His fault for sleeping on the job."

They left the guard to his slumber and hopped into the car, closed the door and hid in a small nook behind stacked crates that smelled like dirt and onions. There was another whistle and the humming grew louder as faint vibrations ran through the floor. With a slight jerk, the image outside the window began to change as they pulled away from the station.

Their muscles relaxed as the trees outside became blurred, and Syra rested her head back against the wooden pallets, "Well, we made it."

"Now, where are we going?" Petra asked as she slid to a seat.

"To Koth."

"Obviously," Petra stretched out her legs, claiming her section of the nook. "But Koth is even further north than our territory. I doubt this human machine goes that far."

"It won’t," Aidan said, "But it will get us close. Close enough to walk, at least. If we ride it all the way up, it’ll take us to Crescent Bay, which is right on the border of the Nordlands. Until then," he plopped his pack into his lap, "we wait."

Petra let out a long sigh and squirmed, "My rump is going to be so sore after this."

The Manarail made short stops at the towns of Tryst and Stone Grove, but only to exchange passengers it seemed. The gentle rocking and whir beneath them settled their nerves, and a ration later—or two in Petra’s case—sent them all nodding.

It was the low rumble and hard braking that jolted them awake as the Manarail slowed.

"Are we there?" asked Petra.

"No," Aidan rose to peek out the window. "No, it’s too soon. We must be stopping again."

But they did not stop. There was a clacking of gears and the shift of weight as the train changed course to the right. To the left, past rolling hills in the distance, the city of Cree sat by its wide river, and burned.

Aidan and Syra sprung to the window to see the plumes of smoke paint the skyline a sick gray.

"So much for going north." Syra whimpered as the smoking city and their track north disappeared behind hill and forest.

"They're probably just taking a detour." Aidan sat back down. "I can't imagine it being safe for passengers right now." 

"What could've happened? Cree's a big city. How can it just catch on fire like that?"

"I'll give you one guess."

Syra huddled into her spot in the corner and they went quiet. Cree's a big city, she repeated to herself. Next to Dairos, it's the largest on the whole west coast. Yet, it was taken out like a Flameweaver to a hay stack. Her hands began to shake in her lap. Marrak really is that strong. He took out Altaira, now Cree. Not even Rozenfall could stand up to him. Her hands froze.

"Aidan," Syra spoke upon a realization, "you said they were taking a detour, right?"

"Most likely, yes. Why?"

"Remind me, what city is east of Cree?"

Aidan's jaw tensed and his shoulders drooped, "Rozenfall."

[seracross]

Finally learned how to make my own fonts. Figured I'd translate Syra's lullaby and see what it looks like written out.

[seracross]

All Grown Up Our newest flock is now big and fluffy--just look at those big fluffy butts! Here we have our guardian sentry Major Blue and his sister, Plum. Both are huge puff balls. The barred pullet is, Pudding, the result of our White Orp x Buff Orp cross; she does have the silver gene as her beak and legs are white. But she's surprisingly petite. We also have some B/B/S Ameracaunas as you can see in the bg. I took these pics because, unfortunately, we will be moving states this week and cannot take them with us. They will be staying here on the farm with their grandmother, though, so will be taken care of. Hopefully our new county will allow backyard chickens soon.

[seracross]

Heart of Fire - Chapter Seventeen: Rising Mountain, Setting Sun

Summary: “A dragon without fire is nothing but a liability.” Nine years ago, Syra was thrust into a war: a hide-and-seek battle for control of five powerful crystals, hidden by a secret organization 200 years prior. Taking human-form, Syra searches the dragon-hating city of Altaira for clues on their location. But when her secret is revealed, fickle hearts are quick to change. And when an old enemy raises his scaly head, who will be there to turn to? Her estranged siblings? An ex-fiancé? Or a temperamental pixie the size of a duckling? In a race against her father’s murderer, Syra must traverse the five kingdoms to halt his efforts to rebuild a powerful relic that should never have been created. Are the bonds of love and family strong enough to survive the horrors of secrets and betrayal? And how do you fight an elder dragon bent on revenge when you’re a wyrmling who can’t even breathe fire?

Genre: Fantasy, Adventure, Romance, Drama

Rating: PG-17 (Strong Language & Violence)

Read All | Read Next

“Syra! Syra!” Aidan called to the unconscious body Namir had laid in front of him.

“What happened?” Cassius went to touch her face, but drew back from the charred flesh that looked up at him.

“An explosion. Namir managed to catch her, but...” Aidan cringed at sight below him. At the red, melted skin that spread across her face. At the bubbling blisters slick with blood. He fought to push them away, but image after image of his brother came flooding back. And they brought the pain and nausea with them.

“Aidan?” Surprised concern came from Cassius as he watched tears flood the usually stoic prince's eyes.

“I'm sorry,” as whimper barely escaped Aidan's lips, “I'm sorry I couldn't...couldn't help...couldn't protect you. I tried...but—”

He choked back a sob, and the twins stared in astonishment.

“Why isn't she healing?!” Aidan spat, making them jump.

“I-I don't know,” said Petra, “maybe she's hurt too badly?”

“How?” he glared at her, pain contorting his reddened face. “She's a bloody dragon! You guys are remarkably hard to kill!”

Petra puffed up, “You would know, wouldn't you?!”

Aidan winced. He did it again.

“Sorry, I'm just...I'm trying. But, I don't know what to do.”

“We know,” Cassius said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It's hard to unlearn things, and Fear is a strict teacher.”

Aidan shot a grateful look up at Cassius, and he gave Aidan a pat before reaching down to lift Syra up.

“We need to get her to Moremi. She might know something.”

“Moremi's probably busy with Dürgah. We have to—”

“Dürgah's dead,” Petra said flatly, causing Aidan to choke. “That rahg stabbed him and he bled out before Moremi had a chance to bandage him.”

“And now, so will Syra,” his voice cracked as he gripped her petite hand.

“She will not!” Petra spat, standing. “She can't.”

“Let's get her to Moremi, in any case,” said Cassius. “She helped Syra once, she can do it again.”

The entire village seemed to be crowded around Moremi's hut when they delivered Syra to the front door. Kiithran huddled with snouts pressed to every window, and many weeped off to the side.

“There you are!” Suri said, hurrying out the door. “Come! You should be with us, too. Raz would—”

Suri froze when she saw Syra's limp body in Aidan's arms, “What happened?”

“No time,” Aidan said, pushing past her, “We need Moremi's help.”

“W-wait, you can't! She's—”

But Aidan was already through the door.

“Moremi! We need your—”

Sorrowful eyes looked up at him from Dürgah's lifeless body, and he froze.

“I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to int—”

“Syra?” Razira stood from father's side to inspect her friend's injuries. “Not you, too,” she whimpered at Syra's shallow breathing and the burns that covered half her body.

“Moremi?” She looked over to the grieving healer with pleading eyes, “Please?”

“Of course, bring her here, quick.” Moremi left her chief's side and examined the damage, “This,” she said with a nod, “this I can fix.”

She hurried about her supplies, chopping, grinding, and mixing until she brought over a bowl of brown-green salve.

“Help me put it on the burns,” she said, slathering the goo over the red, blistered skin. “We'll have to keep it covered, but it will protect the wound and relieve the pain while she heals.”

“Thank you, Moremi,” Cassius said, tearing up, “for helping even though you're in pain, too.”

She swallowed a knot and glanced forlorn at her chief's body. But, then returned to applying the salve with a weak smile, “It's what Dürgah would have wanted.”

A vigil was held that night. After Dürgah's family had grieved over his body, the Aerie followed Viilah, Razira, and Namir up the island's slope to a clearing on the highest ledge. There, it was placed on a pyre. One after the other, each member paid their respects until Viilah was left holding a torch in shaking talons.

“You never gave me choice, you know,” she whispered to her mate. “I could have had my pick of mates, but you stole my heart before I even went looking. But I never once regretted it. To Morai, you were Gahirem: their strong but compassionate leader. To our rima, you were teacher and giver of warm nuzzles and sloppy kisses. And to me,” her voice broke, “you were my partner, my best friend, my 'rising mountain'...my Dürgah.”

She clenched the torch in her hand and looked out over the mourning crowd, “The rising sun has now set! And though the night will be long and lonely, we know it will rise again.” She glanced over to Razira with a sad but proud smile, “It will be a different sun, but one that is bright and beautiful, and full of new possibilities! So tonight, we send our brother back to the skies, where the sun is warm and the winds soft. May he soar forever!”

“Forever may he soar!” cried the gathering.

“Goodbye, mikhan” Viilah hushed and tossed the torch onto the pyre.

“Syra should've been here,” said Petra to Cassius as they watched the pyre blaze.

“She would be if she wasn't—”

“Burned?”

Cassius opened his mouth, but had no rebuttal.

“Marrak is an Ignis—just standing next to one will burn you. She's only on her third molt, Cas. If Father's hide couldn't stand up to him, how can she? Or us, for that matter?”

For the first time since meeting Syra, Petra looked worried. Not angry-worried, like she had been over Tilly, but panicked-worried. She looked, scared.

Cassius clenched a fist and watched the fire turn Dürgah's feathers into ash, “I don't know. But we have to try. We've come too far to just give up and run.”

“No running, huh?” Petra scoffed.

“Never thought that'd be aimed at you?”

“I don't run,” Petra snarled with a glare.

“I know you don't.”

Silent words passed between the twins and Petra finally backed down, “We just have to destroy those shards. Maybe Marrak will give up without them.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“Shut up, Cas. Let me have hope in something.”

Cassius was quiet, but a smile played at the corner of his mouth as they stood there, in the chilly night air, where the moon and stars greeted Dürgah's ashes sent on the wind.

Moremi had insisted on keeping Syra overnight, so the party decided to spend the late night hours comforting Razira in her room.

They told of their own stories of loss and grief—albeit briefly—and watched her walls slowly crumble. There, Razira allowed herself to break: to laugh and cry at the good and bad times that swarmed her mind, to curse herself for all the grief she had caused him and for taking their time for granted, and eventually—after her wails had quieted—to fall asleep by Petra’s lap.

“We should go,” Cassius said, standing. “Let her sleep.”

They stood to leave, but Petra refused to budge.

“I’m staying right here.”

Aidan went to argue, but Cassius caught him by the shoulder and they left Petra to keep watch over the grieving kria.

“You don’t have to stay,” Razira said when all was still.

“Yes, I do.”

They sat in the quiet, with Petra leaving Razira to mull around in the endless thoughts she knew plagued her mind.

“I’d like to tell you it goes away—the pain,” Petra finally said, “but it doesn’t.” Her voice was dry and flat, but Razira could hear the silenced wails behind it. “You will hear him, smell him, see him just out of your sight. I’ve been told it dulls over time—that the ache for something missing becomes a reminder that they’re always with you. But, I haven’t gotten there yet.”

“I doubt that.”

Petra scoffed, “You say this after knowing me for two days?”

“That’s all I need.” Razira didn’t look up, but she knew Petra’s gaze was on her, “You’re strong, Petra, anyone can see that. You’ve known sorrow, yet you still push forward. I don’t know if I can do that.”

“You can’t. Not alone.” She sighed, “I’m not proud of it—and don’t you dare repeat this—but, after my father was killed, when the humans put bounties on our heads, if it weren’t for Cassius, I’d probably be a stain on the mountainside right now. You still have your mother, and Namir, even little Suri. Don’t take them for granted.”

Razira nodded and there was more silence.

“You think the Aerie will execute him?” asked Petra, “Namek?”

“I don’t know. We’ve only ever grounded trespassers—never killed them. But, then again, we’ve never had…this happen.”

Petra kept her mouth shut. She would have clawed Marrak’s throat out had she been given the chance. But this was not her clan. She had no say in policy. No matter how backwards she thought some of their traditions were.

“Have you forgiven them yet?” Razira asked after some reflection. “The ones who took your family?”

This caught her off guard and memories of her father, Marrak, and Altaira flooded past Petra’s eyes. She caught a snarl behind her teeth, “No.”

It was the image of a broken Aidan clutching her sister—the frustration and sincerity in his apologies—that made her pause. “Not all of them, anyway. But…I’m trying.”

Everyone was happy to see Syra fully recovered the next morning. But Petra could see the bitter wish hiding behind Razira’s eyes. The wish that her father had also recovered, perhaps even in Syra’s place. She hid it well, as was expected of the next Lahirem, but Petra knew that look and Cassius tried to keep her mood from infecting his own.

“You healed right up!” Razira gave Syra a playful nudge with her snout.

“Thanks to Moremi.” Syra patted the bandage Moremi left on her cheek just as a precaution.

“I hope you took notes,” said Petra.

Syra held up a small jar filled with the brown-green gel, “Packed and ready.”

“Speaking of ready,” Viilah turned to her daughter, “are you?”

Razira took in a long, deep breath and looked out the window at the gathering that flooded the clearing below the hill.

“Guess I have to be.”

“You’ll do just fine,” Viilah pressed her forehead to Razira’s, “we believe in you. Dürgah believes in you.”

Razira’s eyes glistened.

“Plus, I’ll be there when you mess up.” Namir puffed his chest in jest and Razira smacked his shoulder.

“Me, too! Me, too!” Suri bounced and wagged her furry tail.

Razira beamed and laughed, and shot Petra a grateful nod, “I know.”

Viilah led the procession down the winding path to the ceremonial platform, the Kiirem held between gentle jaws. It felt more crowded this time. Aerie members huddled close together for support—some still wore tear stains down their muzzles. Even Aidan seemed to stand closer to her.

“The night has lifted!” Viilah stood over the crowd, Kiirem in hand, and Razira sitting somber behind her. “And with it, our sorrow.”

Turning her back to the crowd, Viilah handed the Kiirem to Namir who fluttered up to the arching wooden banner that topped the stage. There, he hung the headdress where a sun was painted to both rise and set.

“For the dawn has brought us a new sun to comfort and lead us.”

Stepping aside, Viilah and the pounding of drums welcomed Razira to the front. Her legs shook but she kept her chest up and face forward. Forward to her people, to the greenery that merged with the blue sky she swore to protect, to the possibilities that burned in her chest.

Syra watched from below, finding herself in awe. I wish I could be that confident. She glanced over to Petra who looked on with a giant grin, cheeks flushed with pride for her new friend. Does Petra look like that? Does the clan look at her like they did Papa? A faint smile flickered on her face. I hope they do.

“Razira-kaal!” Viilah confronted her daughter, removing her own headdress, “Daughter of Dürgah and Viilah, Kaalira of Morai, the sky beckons you to lead its people. Will you accept its charge and treat every family as your own? To teach and lead each member with your best conscience until you choose a mate worthy of your brilliance?”

Razira met her mother’s gaze with no falter, “Until I choose a mate, I will lead with my best conscience.”

Syra could see the silent words pass between them, but pride never left Viilah’s face.

“Then shine bright, Razilah of Morai!” She lifted her headdress into the air, “As the setting sun guides us home and invites the evening mist, we pray you give us strength for the day and comfort in the night.”

Bittersweet bugles erupted from the gathering and drums sounded from all around the clearing as the Lahirem’s headdress was lowered onto Razilah’s head.

“Razilah! Razilah!” chanted the Aerie.

“Razilah! Razilah!” chanted Syra along with the others. She was happy for her, but concern nagged at her mind. How are we going to get the shard now?

It was like Razilah could read her mind, and the new Lahirem gave her a quick nod when the cheers quieted and the drums died.

“I know this is sudden.” Her voice was steady and commanded the crowd better than Syra had expected, “Like all of you, I wish Pach—Dürgah, had left us old and gray. But he also said that life is as tempestuous as the wind—you adjust what you can, and brace for the worst. That’s why I need you! All of you. A leader is nothing without their people, that’s what he always said. And right now, I need your support more than ever!”

Confused mutters sprung from the gathering as the council members wove through the crowd and onto the platform. Syra wasn’t surprised Karima was not one of them, but her presence wasn’t necessary. Each councilor stood tall beside their Lahirem, their chests puffed with pride.

“War is coming!” The oldest councilor, a graying rahg with a thin scar down his muzzle, addressed the crowd with a stern face that gripped any who heard him. It was this face, and the dark tone edged with fear in the word ‘war’, that made the blood pool in the Kiithrans’ feet. “We have tried our best to ignore it, believing that ground affairs cannot reach us. But we were foolish.”

He dropped his head, ashamed, and motioned for Razilah to continue.

“War is coming.” Razilah repeated, but then stopped. “No…war is already here!”

She lifted Namek’s necklace into the air with a shaking hand.

“Dürgah, my father, and you’re beloved Gahirem, was murdered by a traitor! A traitor that aligned himself with people who wish to tear down our cities and take them for themselves—to destroy and upheave any peace we have managed to create. People who call themselves, the Black Thorn.”

Murmurs buzzes about, and she waited for the quiet to return.

“We’ve known about them for a while, now. We thought we were safe. We thought, because we were a peaceful realm, peace would always last. But we are not safe. And the threat will only grow the longer we choose to ignore it.”

“So, what would you have us do?” came a voice from the crowd, “Hide?”

“Fight! I…we need you, to fight.”

“Are you fog-headed?” A kria huffed up at her, “Kiithran don’t go to war! We don’t fight! You’ll be sending us to our deaths!”

“What about those left here on Morai?” Another kria called, “What about the rima left when their father’s don’t return?”

“We’ll be sending you to protect those rima,” said the elder kria next to Razilah, “and only those who volunteer.”

“And who in their right mind would volunteer for that?”

“Dahmia of Morai,” Namir stepped forward, challenging his squadrons, “for years you have trained. From the smallest rima to the strongest rahg, I have seen you fight and bleed, preparing yourselves for when the Aerie needed you. We need you now. You pledged your wings and your loyalty to protect our home, and now we ask you honor that pledge.”

There was hushed talk among the dahmia, but none were completely sold.

“If you are strong, then you shall be free,” Namir quoted the dahmia’s mantra. “But, how can we remain free if we do not fight back?”

“They’ve already taken our Gahirem!” Razilah joined her brother. “Should we let them have the rest of us, too? Because they will come, and they will take us—either as food for the table, or a beast for the field. Now who’s with me?”

The hands came slowly. But one by one, they filled the gathering, and Syra filled with relief.

“Thank the stars.” She breathed out a long breath and let her shoulders relax. I don’t know how Valen plans to use them, but we’ll take all the help we can get.

“Thank you, all of you,” Razilah said with great pride and relief. “The council and I will discuss what steps must be taken. But for now, eat and rest. The celebration was cut short yesterday, and Sendur and Ekahlu deserve to have their bellies filled.”

With that, the council departed, but Razilah was not yet finished with Syra and her party.

The crowd dispersed and food was prepared. The tension settled to the back of everyone’s mind as music and belly-bloat softened the nerves. After some debate, the council had decided to call for Valen the next morning, as Razilah had insisted that everyone enjoy themselves that night.

With that, the council departed, but Razilah was not yet finished with Syra and her party.

“Namir.” Razilah gave him a curt nod when she was alone with them.

He disappeared into a back room, later returning with the Kiirem held tightly in one hand.

“Take it.” Razilah took the stone from her brother and held it out to Syra.

“W-wait. But, you were supposed to vote on it. What if your people find out? Won’t they be mad?”

“Maybe, if they even notice.” She passed Petra a quick smirk. “At the end of the day, a rock is a rock. It is the people who determine its value. And right now, it’s more valuable to you.”

She grabbed Syra’s hand and slid the green-and-red crystal into her palm.

“But, you won’t be able to read your people anymore.”

Razilah let her eyelids droop, “Perhaps we were never meant to. Perhaps, it is better to trust and listen to your people rather than…invading their heads. Plus, it didn’t work too well for Pacha in the end. We need something better than false security.”

Syra clutched the shard and joyous relief flooded her face as warmth flooded her hand, “Thank you.”

“Put it somewhere safe. If things are as bad as Valen says, the Black Thorn could have eyes anywhere, and Koth is a long ways off.”

“Koth? Is that where the next shard is?” asked Aidan.

Razilah nodded, “Pacha always spoke fondly of Stahdler, the Nord's chief. But that was before the border disputes, so I can't guarantee they'll be that welcoming. Make sure to contact Valen before you attempt to cross the border—Stahdler might be aware of the Kesh Raza, but his guards won't.”

“Perfect. Right when I have no sword and no rali.” Aidan grumbled to himself. Not to mention he now had no way of fighting Marrak.

“Not true,” Namir said, “not completely.” Again, he left the room, but this time returned with a long wooden box.

“My dahmia scoured for hours looking for this, just so you know.” Namir set the box in front of Aidan and lifted the lid.

Aidan's excitement evaporated as the blade gleamed up at him in two ragged pieces.

“Unfortunately, we didn't find it whole.”

Aidan's shoulders drooped and he let his head fall into his hands, “Now what?”

“Can't we just reforge it?” Syra turned to Razira, “You have blacksmiths, right? How much trouble could that be?”

“Near impossible,” Aidan muffled through his hands. “You forget what it's made of. Austram may be called blue steel, but it requires a precise technique to smelt and an even more precise smith. And with the supply of austram at nill, most of those smiths have changed vocation or relocated.”

“Most, but not all.”

Aidan's head shot up at Viilah's correction, “You know of one?”

“One. And I'm not even sure if he still meddles in austram.”

“It's still worth a shot.” His eyes pleaded with the siblings, “I know it might be a detour, but that sword is the only way I can help you fight Marrak.”

Petra grumbled to herself, but nodded her approval.

“Where is this smith?” asked Syra.

“Dairos.”

Syra flinched. Dairos was one of the cities Valen said harbored the Black Thorn.

“He's a halfling named, Weldon. I used to buy jewelry from him when I was Kaalira. He should help you if you mention that Viivida sent you.”

“We can take you as far as Shrye, but you'll have to ride to Dairos from there,” offered Razilah.

“But we have nothing to trade.”

“Then take a moraki as a parting gift. One should be enough to rent you some auna.”

“Thank you, Razilah.” Aidan took the two halves of metal and bound them up with his cloak.

“Just promise me you'll stab that monster Marrak if you get the chance.”

A dark smile split his face and he linked a finger around Razilah's talon, “Happily.”

The morakii Razilah left them fetched a good price. Not only did it pay for their rides, but they left the small settlement of Shrye with extra rations.

Between Shrye and Dairos laid a sprawling saltmarsh. With its shallow waterways and soggy soil, horses gave way to the use of auna for transportation. The flightless birds were reliable carriers—though Petra’s seemed to think her hair was a berry to be plucked—and their long legs and wide feet skitted the water-logged ground with ease.

There was a small outpost halfway to Dairos, and Syra urged them to stop as the sun was getting low.

“We can’t afford a room,” Aidan reminded her. “We can take a break to eat, but we can’t be too long if we want to reach Dairos before it’s too dark to ride. We’ll camp if we have to.” Aidan tied his auna to a railing and dug a ration out of his sack, “Stretch and stuff your face. Then we’re gone.”

“Sir, yes sir,” Petra mocked through a full mouth of bread and meat.

Syra stretched and pump her legs, hoping for better circulation in her hindquarters. It was the heavy, acidic stench that drifted on the wind that made her stop.

“What is that?” She glanced about the green-and-brown plain with nose in the air. “Smells like something’s rotting.”

There were no carcasses as far as she could see, and they were the only people around, save maybe the innkeeper. And as much as she enjoyed the constant breeze, the smell made her stomach turn.

“I take it this is your first time out this way?” The burly innkeeper leaned against the doorway with an amused grin on his face, his scraggly beard hiding a handsome face.

“Is it that obvious?”

He chuckled, “It’s the smell—gets newcomers every time. But you get used to it, I promise.”

“Did something die? Is it the trees or—”

“You’re near the sea, miss. And it’s low tide, so everything’s going to smell like rotting muck. But, that’s a good thing, too. You’ll make better time without all the flooding.”

“Have you been to Dairos before?” Aidan eyed the man from his bench.

“Been there? I lived there. At least until a storm took out my house. I’m not one to tempt the sea, so I sold everything and moved here.” He gave the doorframe of the stilted A-frame a hard pat. “Three storms and still standing.”

“In that case, would you happen to know a smith by the name of Weldon?”

“You mean the Halfling fella?”

“That’s right.”

“I’ve heard of him. Before I left, that is. Don’t know if he’s still around, but he’s a damn good smith from what’s been told. Why? You needing a smith?”

“I…managed to break my sword, and a customer of his recommended him.”

“Oi, that’s too bad about your sword. I do have a selection in the back if you’d like some other options, though.”

A twinkle lit in the man’s eye, but Aidan waved him off.

“Thank you, but I’d rather have this one. Sentimental value and whatnot.”

“Aye, I understand. Figured it was worth a shot.”

“I am interested to know where this Weldon is located. Dairos is a big city, and I’d hate to get us lost.”

“Well, first you have to get through the gates—they’re a might picky. You all traders? Travelers? Probably soldiers from the look of you.” He pointed to the scabbards at their waists.

“We’re escorting her.” Aidan nodded to Syra who looked over with raised brows and meat dangling from her mouth.

“What’d I do?”

“She’s a mage,” Aidan pointed to his ear and Syra flashed her earring, “and is traveling for her Magus exam.”

“Well, would you look at that!” The innkeeper beamed, wide-mouthed. “Pardon my staring. We don’t see many of you around here.”

“It’s quite alright.” Syra gave her cute, polite smile.

“Actually, I could use some of your help, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh? With what?”

Warning glares snapped from Aidan and the twins, and Syra caught her words behind her teeth. Careful, now, Aidan’s eyes seemed to say.

“It’s alright, you don’t have to.” The innkeeper caught on to their hesitation and waved the idea away.

“I’d like to,” her voice was honesty and sad, “but we’ve had some rough dealings the last couple times we’ve stopped to help people.”

“I see. I’m sorry for that. People…people shouldn’t take advantage of kindness like that.”

They stood in awkward silence as the lines on his face and the setting sun strung at Syra heartstrings.

“Could you spare a room for the night? In exchange for our help?” Syra met Aidan’s gaze with a raised brow. You did say we couldn’t afford one.

A smile spread across the man’s face and he cracked a laugh, “If you can help, I’ll give you room, board, and send you to the gates with a sealed Letter of Travel.”

“That’s quite a fair deal,” Cassius whispered to Aidan.

Aidan studied the man. He appeared honest and unassuming, but so did Radstrom and Tilly. But he wore no necklace and there was no sign of branding on his bare arms.

“What was it you needed help with?”

The man led them inside the small shanty of an inn, into an area that appeared to be his own quarters. Lying on layers of blankets by a window was a gray ball of fur with large ears that struggled to breathe shallow, raspy breaths.

“Aw, it’s a kila!” Syra hurried to its side and knelt down to examine the poor thing, restraining herself from petting it. “What happened to it?”

“That’s the thing, I don’t know.” The lines on the man’s brow deepened at the sight of his pet’s condition. “I was hoping you might.”

“I’ve never treated a kila before,” she bit down on her lip, “but I think I can at least see what’s wrong.”

She rested her hands atop the kila’s fur and ran them down its body in slow, gentle strokes, feeling for anything that seemed abnormal.

“Find anything?”

Syra shook her head, “Everything feels fine, so far. Maybe if I check its throat…perhaps there’s a blockage.”

She slid a hand under the sleeping creature and ran her fingers along its small neck. But instead of her finding a lump, the kila’s needle-like teeth found her hand.

“Ow!” Syra winced as the rudely awakened furball latched onto the meat of her thumb. She went to pull her hand away, but tiny claws were quick to seize her forearm.

It growled and spit and raked its hind feet against her arm in repeated bunny-kicks. Blood trickled from multiple lines by the time the innkeeper snatched his pet away.

“I am so sorry! Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine. I’ll heal.”

He plopped the kila onto his bed and grabbed a rag for her arm, “Come, you can rinse off over here.”

Syra followed him to a small wash basin where she let him wipe the blood away.

The man paused abruptly, “Hold on.”

He took a light hold of her wrist for a closer look at the scratch marks. His eyes widened as light seemed to shimmer around the edges of the bloody lines, “You’re not just a mage, you’re a Lightblood.”

Syra retracted away, confused and startled by his grip.

“Will that be a problem?” Aidan stepped closer to the man and narrowed his eyes.

“What? Oh, no.” He released Syra’s wrist and handed her the cloth for her to clean herself. “I’m just…surprised, that’s all. It’s my first time ever meeting one.” He gave a short laugh and returned to calming his pet who eyed Syra with a death glare.

“I didn’t feel any lumps,” Syra reported once she had scabbed over, “so I think she might just be sick. I can try to treat it, if you’d like.”

“I’d be most grateful, thank you.”

Syra approached the kila a second time, keeping ample distance. She knelt by the bed, hands in her lap. Her eyes closed and she forced her breaths to come long and deep. She focused on her heartbeat, on the thumping in her neck, on the sound of air leaving her nose. She cupped her hands together, and warmth began to build inside her palms. Warm. Like her breath. Warm. Like the mana-rich air that tingled her arm hairs. Warm. Like the growing ball of energy that spread from her gut to her chest, then down her arms. Her body hummed and tingled.

The air became thick, like water, with each breath of the room's occupants sending ripples to wash over her. Some were harsh, and hot, like a large campfire. There's Petra... Others tepid and calming, like Spring's high noon. And Cassius. And others more that soothed like an evening breeze on a sweaty brow—her favorite. And there's Aidan.

She blew a light breath out, as if to separate leaves atop a pond. There you are. She let the larger ripples fade into the background and focused on the fainter hum that came from the kila's strained breath and quick heartbeat.

She raised her hands inches above the kila, feeling the ebb and flow of the waves radiating from its body. Let's see what ailing you. Her lids slid open like one who was half-asleep. Light was what she saw: a shimmering wash of colors blending one into the other in waves. Yellows, oranges, even blues and white danced together in a halo around the animal. But it was the patch of navy that Syra's eyes locked onto.

At the risk of facial scarring, she lowered her nose to the dark spot at its throat and mouth. Its breath was rancid. She had been correct. Sickness had lodged itself in the creature’s throat and was festering.

“What is it?” The innkeeper shoved his hands into his pockets to keep from wringing them. “Will she be okay?”

The sudden sound jarred Syra and she raised a hand for quiet, “I'll do what I can.”

Sitting up straight, she took a deep breath and stretched out her hands over the creature with splayed fingers. Her fingertips buzzed. With her right thumb and index finger, she pinched at the cold, dark spot and pulled. The kila shivered as a navy line followed Syra's fingers like needle-and-thread.

“What is that?” Aidan stared wide-eyed at the thin string of light Syra had pulled from the kila's neck.

“A Thread.” Her voice was distant from concentration, “Why do you think we're called Weavers?”

While her right hand kept the thread taught, her left pinched at the deep carmine at its chest, pulling a red thread to meet the blue. With sweeping movements, her hands wove them like a fingerpainter over a canvas, mixing colors as the threads hung in the air.

When the mosaic was finished, Syra pressed it down until it merged with the halo and disappeared.

“Will she get better, now?” The innkeeper petted the sleeping creature's head with a light hand.

“That's up to her.” Syra leaned back with a heavy sigh. “Disease is more difficult than cuts and scrapes. I can't simply speed up recovery, I can only tell her body how to fight it and give her strength.”

The man cuddled his pet in his lap and remained silent for a long while.

“Thank you.” He coughed at the knot in his throat. “After the storm took my wife and boy, this little one is all I have left. Even if she's not strong enough to make it, thank you for trying.”

Morning brought sore butts, hot breakfast, and an affectionate kila that hopped after Syra wherever she went.

“Looks like she knows who saved her.” The innkeeper laughed as it tried to follow Syra out the front door.

“No, no. I'm sorry, little one. Your home is here.” Syra picked up the squeaking furball and handed it back to its owner. “Makes sure she gets plenty of rest. She might look chipper, but she's still recovering.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

He stashed the kila in the bedroom and returned with a letter and a map, “Weldon's shop is here.” He pointed to a building near the port that he had circled in ink. “Again, I'm not sure if it's still there, but I'm sure you can find it if you ask around.”

“Thank you,” Aidan folded the map and tucked it into his vest.

“Let's go!” Petra called from the road—she and Cassius had already mounted their auna and were pacing.

“Be patient, we're coming!” Syra waved them away and brought Aidan his ride.

“Give this to the guards at the gate,” the innkeeper handed the sealed letter up to Aidan, “it'll give you passage.”

Aidan and Syra dipped their heads and trotted off after the twins.

“Oh!” The man called, making them stop and turn, “If anyone gives you trouble, just look for someone wearing a bronze coin. Tell them Fin sent you, and everything will be taken care of.”

They froze. This was Fin? The man who callously abandoned Tilly? Who made deals with honor-less men and attacked innocent travelers? Fin, the Black Thorn member?

Syra's stomach lurched. Not again. Again, she had judged poorly. Again, her compassion had put them in danger. She thought she was being smart by finding them shelter, but she had only walked them into a lion's den. It was pure luck that it was four against one. But who knew what Fin planned on doing after they left? When they were alone on an open trail?

She felt the urge to vomit. He had seen her weave—seen her blood. He now knew there was a Lightblood on the way to Dairos, and one raven could set a bounty on her head.

Syra gulped and prayed he couldn't see the shock on their faces. Even more, she hoped Petra hadn't heard him. Like we need anymore attention from them.

But Aidan raised a casual hand and waved, then continued on like nothing was amiss.

Syra's hands were trembling, “That's...I can't believe—”

“I know.” He kept his voice down as they neared the twins.

“What do we do?”

“We find Weldon, and leave. Soon.”

She bit hard on her lip, “We can't tell Petra.”

“Wasn't planning on it.”

[seracross]

Was writing a bit on Ch. 21 and this happened

“His words soothed the knot in Syra’s gut, but not the tickling of doubt in the back of her mind. To kill for food or protection was one thing, but the burning urge to see another suffer made her stomach sick. Not just because it felt wrong or because it broke dragon code, but because for a moment—when true fear enveloped Morin’s eyes right before they rolled back into his head—she enjoyed it.“

#come to the dark side we have cookies

[seracross]

Heart of Fire - Chapter Sixteen: Heart of the Sky

Summary: “A dragon without fire is nothing but a liability.” Nine years ago, Syra was thrust into a war: a hide-and-seek battle for control of five powerful crystals, hidden by a secret organization 200 years prior. Taking human-form, Syra searches the dragon-hating city of Altaira for clues on their location. But when her secret is revealed, fickle hearts are quick to change. And when an old enemy raises his scaly head, who will be there to turn to? Her estranged siblings? An ex-fiancé? Or a temperamental pixie the size of a duckling? In a race against her father’s murderer, Syra must traverse the five kingdoms to halt his efforts to rebuild a powerful relic that should never have been created. Are the bonds of love and family strong enough to survive the horrors of secrets and betrayal? And how do you fight an elder dragon bent on revenge when you’re a wyrmling who can’t even breathe fire?

Genre: Fantasy, Adventure, Romance, Drama

Rating: PG-17 (Strong Language & Violence)

Read All | Read Next

“I do hope you will excuse my poor manners earlier,” Dürgah said when they had reached the chief’s hut. “We keep strict borders and don’t often have any visitors, so to see you there like little rima caught snout-first in the berry basket…well, it was a bit startling.”

“It's quite alright,” Aidan said from his seat at the short, wide table that squatted in the hut's center room. “I'm sure we looked rather suspicious.”

“I certainly wasn't expecting a dragon in any case,” Dürgah chuckled, his orange eyes glinting over at Syra.

“I thought Valen told you we were coming,” she said, her cheeks a tad warm from embarrassment.

“He said to expect visitors, but failed to say what kind.”

The chief's hut was by far the largest on the island, and housed multiple families in its winding halls. As Razira had said, every wall held a painting or carving of the previous inhabitants, and Syra could see the entire village from its perch atop the hillside's upper terrace. Despite the altitude, it was warm. From the window, she watched the mist of clouds roll across the hills, but the layers of large, thick leaves on the outer walls kept them dry.

“I hope we're not imposing too badly,” Syra said, looking around the table. She and the others sat on woven mats on the far side of the wooden table. And though they had been invited, she couldn't ignore the cold stares from the other Kiithran sitting on either side of Dürgah. They spoke not one word, but seemed to analyze the guests with their colorful, reserved faces.

“Not at all,” said a blue-and-white mare carrying in bowls of fruit and nuts to set on the table. “You've come a long way to see us. It wouldn't be right to just leave you to the winds.”

“Viilah's right,” said Dürgah, giving his mate a grin and popping a berry into his mouth. “Razira said she found you miles down the Elder River. I've trekked that stretch before, and it's not an easy hike. You're welcome to stay as long as you need.”

Viilah's assistant, a young kria of salt-and-pepper pattern, gave a whine of approval. “I think it's exciting to finally meet people from Below,” she said, laying her platter of cooked leaf rolls in front of the party. Her big doe eyes shone and her ears quivered in restrained delight, “I hope you will share your stories with us tonight.”

Dürgah chuffed a chuckle and waved her away, “There will be plenty of time for that later, Suri. For now, let them eat.”

She dipped her head and took her place at Viilah's side.

Aidan and Syra dug right in, but Petra looked down her nose at the steaming bundles of green and purple leaves, hesitant to pick one in fear of spitting it right back out. She wanted meat. Be it red or white, baked or seared. She wanted it hot and juicy, not limp and leathery and smelling of Aidan's sweaty duds.

“Better pick something,” Cassius whispered, glancing over to Karima, an elder mare with red horns who eyed Petra with a disapproving scowl.

“I don't see why they couldn't eat their own food,” Karima grumbled to Viilah.

“Be nice, mahna,” Viilah hushed her mother, “they're our guests.”

“But for how long? Winter just left and the gardens are sparse at best. We can't afford to spoil these people.”

Petra looked from Karima back to the tray of smelly rolls, “I'll take the nuts,” she said, holding out a hand for the bowl to be passed. She poured some into her dish and leaned over to Cassius, “At least they don't stink.”

“How long do you intend to stay?” Viilah asked out of curiosity.

The party looked to each other, then to Dürgah.

“We’re not sure, actually,” said Syra. She could feel her skin burn under Karima’s glare. It was rude, she knew this, but Valen had not once given them an actual time frame—it was always just rush-rush, go here, now there.

“We’ll know a lot more tomorrow,” Dürgah said, relieving the tension, “after the meeting. Tonight is for rest and sharing stories,” he glanced over to Suri with a sparkle in his eye, “and there is a star shower tonight. You all really must stay up to see it. The view from up here has no comparison.”

“A star shower?” asked Aidan.

“It’s what Morai is most known for—other than the floating islands,” Razira said.

“Several times a year, stars will fall from the sky,” explained Dürgah, “and every time they find their way to the Land Below, just inside our territory—the fields and grasslands to the north are pocketed from them.”

“The ancients said the lake calls to them,” Suri said, unable to forego the tale, “that they are gifts from the sky—bits of sun and moon searching for their final resting place.”

“That stone in your ring,” Dürgah continued, “it’s the same as mine and Viilah’s.” He pointed to the silver band on his horn, then to the stone set into Viilah’s headdress, “They’re all morakii—star hearts. They can be mined from earth in some places, but most come from our northern plains. They’re the main reason humans trade with us.”

“So, that’s why your borders are so tight,” said Aidan.

Dürgah nodded, “They’re a finite resource. If we lose them, we lose our bargaining power. Luckily, there’s a demand surge right now, particularly for the smaller ones. Don’t know why, but I can’t complain. Winter was harsh this year, so we’re happy to have the extra food stores.”

Syra looked out the window at the reddened sky that sent the village ashimmer as gold sunlight hit the mist. But then, movement in a street caught her attention.

“What’s that?” she asked, pointing at the line of Kiithran weaving through the streets below.

“That would be Ekahlu’s procession,” said Viilah. “She’s taking a mate tomorrow, so her family is leading her to Moremi for Vaasah.”

“Vaasah?” asked Petra, confused by their terminology.

“The giving of oneself,” said Karima, craning her neck to watch from her seat, “or The Clipping.”

Neither of the siblings liked the sound of that.

“When a kria takes a mate, she removes her flight feathers as a testament to her devotion to her new family and the Earie.”

“Wait, what do you mean removes?” Petra asked.

Karima looked over at Petra, gaze steady on her furrowed brow, “They’re clipped. Cut off.”

“Meaning she can’t fly.” Petra’s ears began to flush red.

“She’ll still be able to glide. But, she will remain here, on Morai, where she belongs: with her family.”

Syra and Cassius listened on in silence, their stomachs tight from imagining having their own wings cut off. But, Petra—as usual—was not silent. And she was not having any of it.

“What kind of sick shit have you been taught?!”

“Petra!” Cassius snapped at her. “I’m so sorry,” he said to Karima and the others, “please excuse her.” He went to pull her away, but she snatched her arm away from him.

“Excuse my ass! Did you not hear what they’re about to do?”

“Yes, we were right th—”

“They’re going to cut her wings off!”

“Feathers, Petra, not the entire wing,” Syra corrected, though it did not make the idea any more palpable. “I agree, it’s a bit brutal, but it’s their custom, not ours.”

“A bit? She’s being mutilated.”

“And we have no say in it. No matter how much we may disagree.”

Petra seethed and shot Karima a searing glare. “Excuse me,” she hissed before storming away down the hallway to their guest room.

After several minutes of apologizing and feeble explanations of their sister’s rude display, Syra, Cassius and Aidan found Petra sitting cross-legged and fuming in their room.

“You could try to be more amicable, you know,” Cassius said, pulling the curtain across the doorway.

“I’m trying to avoid snapping that old graga’s neck.”

Cassius let out a sigh and Syra sat down on her sleeping mat, not in complete disagreement with the sentiment. She was sickened by the idea of losing a part of herself over a brutish, ancient commandment, and loathed having no choice about it. But, this was their land. This was their way. And it would be just as wrong for her to command them to do otherwise, simply because she didn’t like it.

But, while Syra took the more diplomatic approach, Petra reeled.

“What’s wrong with these folks?” Petra asked, her tone more hurt than angry. “Thinking it’s perfectly fine to cut their limbs off just because some elders told them to. It’s a bunch of bashta, if you ask me.”

“It’s also tradition,” said Razira, sticking her head in through the doorway.

“Of course, it is,” Petra hissed.

Razira sat herself by Petra, moved by her sympathies, “As far as our records go—and further still, I’m sure—Kiithran have always placed high value on family. On honor, humility, and respect. The other races call us pacifists, but we have yet to have one war, while you have many. It is this love of community, the placing others before yourself, that has made us progress and kept us safe.”

“You sure that’s not just your grandmaw talking?”

“Dragons value all of those things, too,” Syra said, though a hair softer than her enraged sister, “but we also understand to importance of communication and keeping an open mind. Surely they are open to reason.”

“The elders are held in high regard for a reason: with age comes wisdom, wisdom to make the right choices given hard decisions.”

“Knowledge comes from age, not wisdom,” Aidan corrected.

Razira stared down at the thatched floor, “You’re probably right. But that doesn’t change anything. Just as you stand by your own convictions, so too do they. They believe a physical show of devotion—like the Vaasah—will hold one more accountable and better benefit the Earie.”

“Belief in something doesn’t make it right,” Petra growled. “I can believe Aidan’s a good singer ‘til I’m blue in the face, but that doesn’t mean he can carry a tune.”

“Very funny,” Aidan mocked.

Syra turned a grave face to Razira, “So, if one day you do take a mate, then—”

“Then I will be clipped.”

“But, what about the Dahmia?” Petra raged, “I thought you wanted to lead them.”

“My mate will ascend to become Gahirem, as I will become Lahirem,” Razira said, as if recited, her eyes sad. “And I will stay here, on these islands, caring for the sick, the old, and the newborn. Just like all the Lahirem before me.” She paused, her eyes narrowed, and she looked up at Petra with steeled determination, “And that’s why I will never take a mate.”

The falling stars came and went that night, as did the tales of their travels and Syra’s long-winded explanation of the Talian cure—most of which soared over poor Suri’s head. But Petra’s anger burned on, shoved deep into her gut and covered by a flat face that refused to turn one inch towards Karima. Not even sleep—nor the kind offering of meat at breakfast—could quench it, and the meeting of the Kesh Raza began with her skipping salutations all together.

“So, where is the next shard, and what do we have to do to get it?” she asked when Valen appeared in Dürgah’s mirror.

“Well, good morning to you, too,” Valen said, her bluntness shaking him from his mind fog brought on by another sleepless night. “Glad to see you’re finally interested in our little campaign.”

“I’m interested in going home. Now, where is it?”

“In regards to the shard,” Dürgah said with some hesitation, “it’s more complicated than that. It can’t simply be given.”

“Of course, not.” Petra scoffed and leaned back away from the table with a huff.

“But before we get to that,” Valen said, his hand asking for patience, “there are matters I need to discuss. Dürgah-saf, have you reached your decision?”

The chief glanced to Karima and the other Kiithran in the room, and his ears pulled back in concern, “I have, but the council is still split.”

“I see.” Valen took a hard look at those gathered around their leader, noting how a small majority were beginning to gray around the snout.

“You know I understand the Kiithran way of diplomacy,” he continued humbly, “but I cannot stress enough our need for your support.”

At this, the elders snorted, huffed, or flared their ears in annoyed protest. But Valen pushed on.

“There is talk of a small resistance building in Landelle, but if the Black Thorn continues to grow at this rate, we will no longer have the upper hand. Air support could be exactly what we need to stop this before innocent people end up hurt. Your dahmia could easily—”

“My dahmia protect Morai,” Dürgah snapped, surprising Syra with his firmness. “They always have.”

“And they always will.”

“Not if I send them to die in a war we have no business being in.”

“No business, you say?” said Aidan, earning him shocked looks from the Kiithran around them. “With all due respect, Dürgah-saf, just because you live miles above them, does not mean you are safe.”

“Who are you to say what we are or are not?” Karima spat, the feathers at her neck bristling.

Aidan flinched at her sudden zeal, but Dürgah showed no surprise at the growing nods of agreement from her comrades.

“You come into our home, complete outsiders, eat our food, make us cook meat—with utter disregard for our beliefs—then lecture us on our own wellbeing! You have no place on Morai, and frankly, I don’t know why you’re still here.”

Syra could feel the tension in the room split down the middle, with the elders turning dirty looks on Aidan while the remaining council members bristled at Karima’s rude and tactless comments.

“You judge too quickly,” Dürgah said, shutting her up just enough to leave her mouth wagging.

“First off, I invented them, and they will leave when I say. Second, that meat was bought and cooked this morning in Shrye, outside our territory. Lastly, this outsider is the eldest prince of Altaira, our largest trading partner. You would be wise to treat him with respect.” He paused to let the possible consequences of her words sink in, “He also happens to be correct.”

“We’ve remained isolated for too long,” Dürgah said, when calm had returned to the table. “We turned our heads away from the ugly and the uncomfortable, happy to stay in our bubble away from the ground and its threats. We thought we could stay like that, if we just focused on maintaining ourselves and keeping to the traditions that founded us.”

He turned a sad, but honest eye to his council members, “But we can’t. Not anymore. The world is changing, with or without us.”

“Our cities are growing,” Aidan added, “and so are our machines. We might be grounded right now, but give us time. If you do not stand your ground, they will destroy you.”

“Is that a threat?” asked Namir, his head lowered. He was not keen on the idea of fighting a human war, but he respected the council and would not tolerate insolence.

“A warning,” Aidan looked him dead in the eyes. “These people we’re fighting, they won’t stop after capturing Altaira—I know their leader won’t. So, you can either lend a hand in stopping them now, or you can lose countless lives after they’ve burned your crop fields and marked you as game to be hunted.”

Reality hit the council like a bad landing. They began to mutter amongst themselves, but Karima still sat there fuming. Her feathers puffed and her rump was pressed as tight to the floor as her mind was on defiance.

“I will not—”

“We can’t lend you a hand,” an old rahg said to Aidan, ignoring the fact that he had cut her off, “but, we can lend you our wings.”

Karima balked and Dürgah and Razira’s faces alit.

“So, you will join us?” asked Valen, his lightened mood bringing more color to his face.

“We will send those who volunteer,” Dürgah clarified. He gave the council a questioning glance, but they nodded in agreement.

All but Karima, that is. She snorted loudly and sprung from her seat, nearly tipping on her shaking legs.

“You are sending them to die!”

“We all die, Karima,” said the old rahg, having accepted the grave situation himself. “Death is no stranger, even up here. We are sending them to stop the unnecessary ones.”

Karima would hear no more. Her pride was shattered and her nerves shot, and the front door couldn’t have been any louder when it slammed shut behind her.

“And to think she’s my grandmother,” Razira said softly, causing Petra to snicker.

“And what of the shard?” Syra asked as the rest of the council took their leave from the hut. “Aren’t you going to ask about giving it away?”

“They don’t know what the shard really is,” Dürgah admitted when he was certain there were no more lingering ears. “They think it some magical stone we can simply trade away.”

“It isn’t?” asked Petra, half-joking.

Dürgah and Valen leered at her, and Razira prodded her in the side.

“They don’t know that it’s the most sacred relic we have.”

Dürgah pointed to the crystal lodged into the headdress at his forehead, “The Kiirem, the Heart of the Sky, is the mark of Morai’s Gahirem. It has been for the last 200 years.”

“So, the Kiithran used it, too?” asked Aidan, disappointed.

“We did. Not to better ourselves, like the Tal, but to better our society—how it’s managed. The enchantment place on it allows the wearer to know the feelings of others—to know their intentions.”

Cassius perked an ear, “It makes you an Empath?”

“Effectively, yes. That’s how we’re able to keep crime to a minimum here, buy stopping it before it starts.”

“That’s…kind of invasive, isn’t it?” asked Syra.

“So is having a horn shoved into your side.”

Syra acknowledged his point and he let his eyelids droop, “We’ve been trying to think of ways to govern without it, but have yet to discover anything better.”

“There isn’t anything better,” Aidan chimed, “but just-as-good is better than nothing.”

“The Kiirem is also a relic, a symbol. The elders would never hear of it.”

“Then don’t tell them,” Petra said. “Replace the shard with a normal one. I doubt they’ll even notice.”

“Perhaps not, but I cannot out rightly lie to my people. It would go against everything we stand for and I would lose any faith they have in me.”

“Then let them decide for themselves.” Syra’s words brought looks of surprise and confusion from the Kiithran.

“All of them,” she continued, “not just the council. This decision affects every Kiithran on every island. They should have a say, too. Explain the situation, and let them vote. I’m sure they’ll appreciate your honesty, and your concern.”

“That’s a lot of Kiithran to ask at one time, though,” Dürgah said in his consideration.

“Today,” Razira said, leaning over the table, “ask them today, at Ekhalu’s Ati-kii. The whole Earie will be there. After the ceremony, you can address everyone.”

“But that’s so sudden, and I’d hate to ruin the good mood.”

“Too sudden to save your people from an amassing army?” asked Aidan with a raised brow.

“The boy has a point,” Viilah said.

Dürgah was quiet a moment. His ears twitched and his eyes darted as his mind ran the pros and cons of such a decision.

“I will make the announcement at the ceremony,” he said after a long sigh, “but only after everyone has eaten. Perhaps a full belly will make the news more palpable.”

Despite their humble furnishings, the Kiithran spared no exuberance when it came to ceremony. Every hut and every street had been set aglitter with stones, feathers, and even shells. Strings of flowers draped hut-to-hut down the procession line, and each earie member was freshly preened and donned their best adornments. Razira and Viilah had loaned the party their extra fineries for the occasion, but they fit awkwardly and Syra still felt underdressed in her dusty vest and britches.

She and the others stood just off the platform where Dürgah, Viilah, Razira, and Namir sat in full headdresses to oversee the ceremony. In front of them, a young rahg restrained himself from pacing as everyone awaited the arrival of his mate-to-be.

Not one sound was muttered when the blue-gray kria entered into the round. Syra was surprised at how solemn the gathering had turned in the silence, but even more surprised at the headdress the kria wore. Trailing from her head and down her back, a train of long feathers dragged several feet behind her in a rainbow of colors.

“Those are the flight feathers from Ekhalu's maternal line,” Suri whispered to Syra from her spot by the platform. “Ekhalu's were added this morning.”

As the kria ascended onto the platform, Syra saw the deep blue feathers gleaming from the train's tail end. She craned her head for a better view of the couple that stood snout-to-snout above them.

“Thank you, all,” Dürgah began, standing to address the gathering in Kiithrani, “for joining us in this momentous and wonderful moment in the lives of these two young Kiithran.”

Syra's mind stumbled as his words filled the clearing. They came out in throaty huffs instead of hisses, but she understood them. With the exception of a word or two, this Kiithran was speaking Draconic. She looked to Suri for an explanation, but the anukaal was too enthralled with her mentor to pay her any mind. She glanced over to Petra and Cassius and they exchanged agreeing looks. So, it isn't just me.

“Even as an anukaal,” he continued with a warm glance to the rahg, “Sendur was always eager to learn and has proven himself a strong and dependable dahmia. I, Dürgah, Gahirem of Morai and mate to Viilah, am pleased and honored to present him as a worthy mate to she who will have him.”

Dürgah turned to Viilah, who rose to take her place at his side.

“I, Viilah, Lahirem of Morai and mate to Dürgah, am pleased and honored to present Ekhalu as a mate worthy of his name and affection. Moremi has confirmed with me that Ekhalu has completed her Vaasah with ready heart and sound mind. Throughout her apprenticeship, she demonstrated an open heart and a strong sense of duty to her Earie members regardless of age. Even as she stands here, she comes with numerous recommendations and no qualm against her. With the Earie's permission, I ask these two be bonded in Ati-Kii: as one heart below the sky.”

The silence over the crowd broke and cheers erupted into a chorus of applause for the new couple. Dürgah and Viilah turned from the crowd to Razira and Namir, who stood and presented two metal rings to the couple. With shaking hands, the two placed their rings on their mate's left horn, the colored banks matching their mate's plumage.

“It's the same,” Petra whispered in confusion, “the speech, the rings, all of it is the same as ours. Why are Kiithran mimicking a dragon ceremony?”

Cassius shushed her, but Syra had the same question and she made a mental noted to ask Razira after it was all over. But for now, she took in the glowing faces and flapping wings of the village as the couple finalized the ceremony with outspread wings and entwining horns.

Drums beat, horns sounded, and voices sang. But seeing the rings glint on their horns and the joy behind their eyes made her chest seize. It was a scene she had wanted to share with Aidan, but one that would never play. It's not like you could stay with him, Petra's words echoed in her head. It was true. Such a union could never work in the long term. He was a human after all, and if she were to take up the title of Vayguard, she would be expected to provide an heir. And that was something no magic could ever give.

“So, what did you think?” Razira's excited trill snapped Syra out of her trance. The ceremony had ended and she had completely missed the part where the couple had glided off together into the sunset.

“Oh, it was...heart-wrenching.” She wasn't lying.

“Wasn't it?” Razira said with a bittersweet chuckle. She stared off into the sky where they had departed, her eyes fighting the sadness that threatened to make them water. “I've always thought it was a beautiful sight, to see them soar away together—as one heart under the sky.”

“Yet it's something you'll never have for yourself?” Syra's words escaped her filter and caught Razira off guard.

“I'm sorry! I shouldn't have—”

“No, you're exactly right,” said Razira with a wry grin. “Until I can change everyone's mind about Vaasah, it will only be a dream.”

Syra paused a moment, then placed a gentle hand on Razira's snout and smiled, “Somethings are worth changing.”

“Hey, Raz!” Petra called, walking over. “Why was that ceremony spoken in Draconic?”

“Draconic?” asked Razira.

“That's right,” Syra said, remembering her question, “your ceremony was very similar to ours. Almost word for word.”

“Word for word?” Razira tilted her head in confusion, “But, that was all in Kiithrani.”

“It was both, in a way,” Dürgah said as he left the platform to join them. “I'm not sure how much history your elders teach you,” he said to the sibligns, “but Morai wasn't founded by the Kiithrani—not originally. But by dragons. The Sylvani, specifically.”

The siblings went wide-eyed. Syra had noticed small similarities, but attributed it to the growing trade between them.

“Then why are there only Kiithran in Morai?” asked a skeptical Petra.

“According to record, the Kiithran are a relatively new race. When the dragons came from beyond the sea, they marked us as prey. But, apparently we showed promise and they decided to foster our potential and began to teach us. Our language and customs are similar because they were the first we ever learned. And why we regard dragons so highly.”

He gave the siblings a stern look, “It was also a reason why I agreed to allow your visit in the first place—out of respect for your kind.”

“We certainly appreciate that,” Cassius said, dipping his head.

“Glad to hear it. Now, if you'd excuse me, it appears I'm needed elsewhere,” Dürgah said before trotting off to join a dahmia who wore a look of concern.

“Well, now that we've all had a history lesson, how about we check out the buffet? I'm starving.” Petra rounded the platform and made a b-line to the spread of platters piled high with tasty treasures.

Syra was just about to bite into a juicy melon when a bugled shriek came from behind the platform. All heads turned and dahmia leapt from their seats.

In a mad dash past the feasting gathering, a rahg bounded down the street with a mass of jewels and feathers caught in his mouth.

“That's the Kiirem!” shouted Namir, racing off after him.

Syra and Razira went to follow, but were stopped short by Dürgah's raspy voice.

“Razira, wait!”

Syra's gut dropped at the sight of the chief limping around the platform, blood dripping from his side and dribbling down his legs.

“Pacha!” Razira screamed and ran to his side.

Syra went after her, but Petra held her back.

“I'll go to her. You go get that bastard.”

Syra hesitated and bit her lip as Dürgah collapsed, but Petra pushed her away.

“Go!”

“Stop the bleeding,” Syra commanded before bolting off behind Aidan after the rahg.

 Syra was relieved to see that Namir had cornered the rahg just before he had reached the landing platform.

“Stay back!” Namir yelled at them.

But the rahg used the distraction to buck his head up under Namir's snout, knocking him back and allowing him room to leap away.

“Shit,” Aidan hissed and picked up his pace.

Syra sprinted after them, but the rahg's figure continued to shrink away. At this point, neither of them could reach him and she watched in horror as his wings unfurled and flapped in the wind blowing in from the ledge. I can't let him fly. If he takes off, we'll never get it back.

Stretching her hands in front of her, she focused on the wide masses of feathers. She breathed in sync with their beating, and felt resistance against her palms as light glowered around the rahg's wings. And then she pulled. Hard.

The snap of bone echoed off the trees and the rahg screamed and fell with his snout digging up dirt. Namir threw himself over the rahg's neck, holding him down, but he continued to shriek under his weight. Both wings were bent at a disgusting angle and blood had begun to leak onto the ground from the exposed bone.

“Get the Kiirem!” Namir commanded Aidan, who snatched the headdress from the rahg's gaping mouth.

Holding his head against the ground, Namir saw the blood that glistened and stained his horns red.

“Why did you do this?” Namir snarled down at the rahg.

But he gritted his teeth and refused to give Namir an answer.

“Answer me, Namek! Of all my dahmia, I thought I could at least trust you.” Pain mingled with the anger on Namir's face, “You were my friend, so why—”

“Because we need it!” Namek hissed. He got his feet under him and tried to shove Namir off, but Namir slammed his weight down and back against a wing, inciting another scream.

“Who's we?”

Again, Namek clamped his mouth shut despite the pain. But Syra already had a good idea of who he was talking about.

“The Black Thorn, right?” she asked, standing over Namek who stared up at her in shock—he had a horrible Poker face. “I thought so. Lift up his head,” she told Namir.

Hidden among his neck feathers, a bronze coin hung from a leather strand.

“So, they are coming after them,” said Aidan. “We'll have to tell Valen when we get back.”

“You're not going back,” said Namek, “I won't let you.” He thrust his head back, digging the tips of his horns into Namir's meaty shoulder. Not deep, but enough to make him lose his grip.

Namek bucked, flinging Namir away and charged at Syra. She grabbed for her sword, only to remember she had left it in the room for the ceremony.

“Here!” Aidan threw his sword over Namek and Syra dodged to the side to catch it.

She tossed the sheath to the side and held the shining blade at Namek's face. It was long and heavy, and her hands shook. Namek reared and she ducked under his swiping talons. She heaved the blade upwards, slashing across his jaw. He screamed and raked his horns up against the air, their prongs seeking her soft belly as he pushed her back towards the ledge.

Syra faltered as she felt wind whip against her back from below. The fear in her eyes spurred Namek on, and he lowered his head for the last strike.

“Run!” Aidan called from behind Namek and he leapt on top of the rahg, grabbing him by the horns and steering him away from Syra.

Syra's feet pushed her sideways, away from the incoming horns. But as Namek's head spun around, so did his feet.

Oof! Syra felt all the air leave her lungs as a hind foot collided into her chest. Her feet left the ground and she watched in slow motion as the ledge pulled away from her and the wall of stone rushed upwards as she fell.

The blow had knocked her senses for a loop, but she still felt the hilt in her hand. Without any thought, she shoved the blade into the clifface. It shook and jostled and scraped against the rocks, but she clung on with both hands, her muscles screaming under her weight and momentum.

“Syra!”

She opened her eyes to see Aidan's face poking over the ledge. The sword had stopped her descent, but she was left hanging with a weakening grip.

“Just hold on! Namir's coming to get you!”

She ground her teeth against the pain in her hands, but breathed a sigh of relief, “It's okay, I got it!”

If I can get the sword out, I can just shift and fly back up, she thought, wiggling the blade back and forth. It gave easily and she felt herself slip. But it was the glow that peeked out from the stones by her face that made her freeze. Lodged under the blade, a morakii smiled up at her as cracks shimmered and split from the blade's edge.

“Bashta—”

Her vision went white then black as the explosion sent her soaring.

[seracross]

Heart of Fire - Chapter Fifteen: Thick Skinned

Summary: “A dragon without fire is nothing but a liability.” Nine years ago, Syra was thrust into a war: a hide-and-seek battle for control of five powerful crystals, hidden by a secret organization 200 years prior. Taking human-form, Syra searches the dragon-hating city of Altaira for clues on their location. But when her secret is revealed, fickle hearts are quick to change. And when an old enemy raises his scaly head, who will be there to turn to? Her estranged siblings? An ex-fiancé? Or a temperamental pixie the size of a duckling? In a race against her father’s murderer, Syra must traverse the five kingdoms to halt his efforts to rebuild a powerful relic that should never have been created. Are the bonds of love and family strong enough to survive the horrors of secrets and betrayal? And how do you fight an elder dragon bent on revenge when you’re a wyrmling who can’t even breathe fire?

Genre: Fantasy, Adventure, Romance, Drama

Rating: PG-17 (Strong Language & Violence)

Read All | Read Next

“We mean no harm!” Aidan called from the raft as they drifted towards the bow of branches.

Perched atop them, a patrol of Kiithran glared down at the human intruders. They huffed and scratched at the bark, their feathered manes bristling out like cocks ready to fight.

“This is Kiithran territory, human!” called the largest one, his headdress marking him as the patrol's leader. He stepped out from the foliage with his head bent low, showing off his long horns framed by the disk of black-and-gold feathers around his head, “State your business, then leave.”

“Please,” said Cassius, raising his hands, “our friend is sick and needs to be looked at.”

“Then take them to a human healer. We do not tend to your kind.”

Cassius looked to Aidan with concern, “He's serious.”

“We were just on our way to Morai to see Dürgah when she fell ill,” Aidan replied. “He should be expecting us.”

“Dürgah?” The patrol members whispered amongst themselves at the mention of their chief's name.

“Who sent you?” asked the leader, still weary.

“A man named Valen.”

“We do not know this Valen.” The leader raised his tail to signal an attack.

“Wait,” said the kria beside him, lowering his tail with hers, “Dürgah did say he was expecting visitors. These could be them.”

“How can you know for sure?” He leered down at her from the corner of his eye, refusing to drop his guard.

“Show us your hands!” she called down as they passed under the branches.

It took a second, but Aidan lifted up Syra’s hand to show them the silver band about her finger.

“Very well.” He turned to his patrol, “Tahneth, Drakar, you’re with me.”

He led his group over the river and down onto the bank.

“Over here,” the kria pawed at the ground for them to paddle ashore, “we'll take you there.”

The patrol helped them pull the raft from the water, their thick, scaly talons surprisingly nimble.

“I’m Razira,” the kria said once they were on steady ground, “and that’s my brother, Namir.” She seemed friendly enough—young and eager, with her colorful chest feathers puffed up.

“It's a pleasure,” Aidan said, dipping his head towards Namir. But Namir simply huffed and twitched one of his four ears.

“Dürgah’s our father,” Razira said, ignoring her brother's sour attitude, “so we’ll be escorting you to him.”

“Escorting?” Aidan paused, not liking the image that popped into his head.

“Of course,” Razira ruffled the wings that laid snug against her back and Aidan paled. “How else did you expect to get to floating mountains?”

Razira insisted on carrying Syra as they followed Namir down a narrow trail, while Drakar and Tahneth guarded the others.

“I’ll let you know up front, I’m not too keen on bringing humans back to Morai, let alone being ridden,” Namir said from the head of the pack, “So, if you try anything, I will not hesitate to drop you. Understood?”

Aidan gave him a calm nod, but his knuckles were turning white under his cloak.

“Sorry for the scare earlier,” Razira said as they trekked through forest, “Namir trains his anukaal to be fearless, but he can be blind sometimes.”

“I heard that,” Namir called from the front.

“Well, at least your hearing works.”

Namir snorted, “Then you try leading next time.”

“If you can convince Pacha to allow it, I’ll certainly take the offer.”

“Who’s Pacha?” asked Aidan.

“Papa,” she clarified, “he insists on patrols being led by rahgs, not kria. Well, the elders insist on it. He just goes along with it so to not cause an upset. Ironic, considering that the Dahmia were originally female.”

Petra scoffed, “That’s got to be one of the stupidest things I’ve ever heard. If they can fight, let them fight.”

“And it’s not even like we train for hard battles—self-defense, maybe. But most of us are just scouts or guards. That’s why, when the time comes for me to ascend, I will become the first kria Gahirem.”

“Yeah, good luck convincing the elders of that,” said Tahneth, “they’ll ground you just for mentioning it.”

Razira kept her head up, but Petra could see her confidence waver.

“They’re really that strict?” asked Cassius, also picking up on her budding anxiety.

“Yeah, they are. They love their traditions, and will gang up on anyone who questions them. Many Kiithran—even some from my cohort—were left stranded on the ground for merely asking if they could start selling headdresses to other races.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Aidan asked. “It would give you more to trade.”

“It’s just ‘not what we do’,” Razira mocked. “Plus, headdresses can be seen as sacred and to see them on the wrong person would be infuriating to them.”

“And you’re just going to let this continue?” Petra asked.

“As Gahirem, I could suggest the change—even as Lahirem, if my mate agreed—but the council is made up mostly of elders, and they’d dismiss me as mad, or treasonous, if they didn’t banish me all together.”

“Sounds like they got their heads shoved too deep in their own dung pit.”

Petra was rough and blunt, but it was exactly what Razira needed. She laughed so hard she snorted, catching her patrol off-guard.

“That sounds just about right, actually.”

“Then it’s high time someone pulled them out,” Aidan said, giving her a warm grin. “Just make sure you have enough support before you challenge them. I’ve seen similar dealings go way wrong without it.”

“Thank you,” Razira said, giving them a tap with her long, furry tail before following the patrol into a break in the trees.

“Wait. Are we there already?” Cassius asked from the back.

“Almost,” said Razira, trotting through the branches and into the light.

Breaking from the shade of the forest, they found themselves standing on a stone precipice that stretched out over hills that rolled away from the mountain range. To the southwest, massive shadows floated in mist above the horizon.

“That’s Morai,” Razira said with pride.

Stepping out onto the ledge, strong winds whipped their cloaks, hair, and feathers, and the Kiithran stretched and pumped their wings.

“Ready?” Namir asked Aidan when he was situated astride his back. He could feel the boy's hands shaking in his mane.

“No.”

“Too bad,” Namir sprung and sprinted across the ledge, spreading his wings.

Seeing the land fall away from him, Aidan forewent holding Namir by the mane and flung his arms around his sturdy neck. This earned him a deep chuckle from the stag who seemed too delighted in his panic. The edge disappeared under Namir and wind struck them from below. Aidan felt Namir’s muscles bunch and release as his wings pumped against the air, driving them upward. His eyes leaked from the wind, but he could see Cassius and Petra following close behind, with Razira pulling up the rear, Syra clutched tight in her scaly talons.

Aidan thanked the heavens that the weather was kind with little turbulence. After the first half hour of having his face shoved into Namir's mane, he began to calm down and enjoy the scenery, one glance at a time. His view from the castle tower was certainly beautiful, but to see the land spread away like a green sea was something he doubted any human had been privileged to witness.

The shapes that were once shadows now loomed miles both below and overhead. From their position, they saw mountains, rivers, and entire forests all hovering over the great lake below.

“Nearly there, now,” Namir said through the wind.

But Aidan's relief and excitement for firm ground came too early. As they glided nearer to the rocky cliffs, updrafts surged around their perimeter, blasting them from below. Aidan screamed and clung on, almost choking Namir—a sight he knew Petra was recording in her memory for later.

“Easy, now. It's right in front of us,” Namir said, holding his wings out steady and letting the draft carry them up to a landing platform.

“See? Wasn't that bad, now was it?” Razira said as they trotted to a landing.

His reply came out as incomprehensible garble through thin, blue lips. His hands still shook and Namir swore he had bruises on his sides from where Aidan's legs held their death grip. The twins burst out laughing. Being creatures of flight themselves, they had found the ride quite pleasant and enjoyable.

“I can't wait to tell Syra about this,” Petra snickered, climbing down from Drakar.

“Speaking of your friend,” Razira said, lying Syra on the ground, “didn't you say you were looking for a healer?”

“Yes, please,” Cassius said, “Do you have one? She has this rash that we know nothing about, and she hasn't woken for days.”

He showered her the red marks littered across Syra's skin. Razira looked to Namir who twitched an ear for her to go.

“This way.”

With Syra laid atop her back, Razira led them through dense woodland paths until they reached a clearing pocked with squatting huts of leaves, logs, and stone. From a distance, they appeared primitive—albeit colorful. But as the party entered the sprawling village, the intricate weavings and carvings spoke of a culture not so different from the reptilian mountain-dwellers.

The huts were of one story, but wide—large enough to fit a large family comfortably. And each was decorated to the owners' liking. Some were painted, some grew flowerbeds on the roof, but most sported feathers and sparkling stones to some degree. It was the carvings that grabbed the twins' attention. Cut into the wooden framing were scenes of family members and their accomplishments, similar to the carvings that lined their lair walls.

“Those are nohaaki,” Razira told them as she led them through the hut-lined streets, their occupants astir with confused looks and whispers.

“Nohaaki?” Petra repeated, surprised by the striking similarity to her own language.

“Yes, Memories of Record. You'll see them everywhere. At mine, even the walls are covered. There's only one place you won't see them.”

“Oh? And where's that?” asked Aidan.

“Moremi's den.”

Further down the hill and cuddled back into a stand of large-leafed trees, a single hut sat bare and smelling of a strong mix of herbs. It was on the larger side, with several windows spaced along its sides. Colored glass and stones hung outside from their eaves and distracted Petra from the old kria that answered Razira's knocks on her door.

“Well, this is a surprise,” she said, her ears erect and eyes bright despite her age. “Here I was expecting human trinkets, and you bring me actual humans.”

“Sorry for the late notice, Morai” said Razira, “We just arrived and one of the visitors needs your attention.”

“Oh, it's quite alright. Don't mind at all,” the mare huffed Razira's meekness away, “I'd be more concerned about your father's reaction. Does he know they're here?”

“Not yet,” Razira admitted. “Figured I'd go fetch him once they were settled here.”

“Go on and hurry off, then. They'll be fine with me.” Curiosity bubbled from her eyes as she looked the party over, “I'm interested to hear their stories of the Lower Lands, anyway.”

Razira left them to be escorted into the hut, where Moremi instructed them to lay Syra on the woven blanket by the first window.

“You're lucky,” she said, squatting by Syra's side and unclasping her cloak with agile fingers, “my last patient left this morning, so you have the whole hut to yourself.”

“Where's everyone else?” asked Petra, glancing about the open room filled with mats and hanging cloth dividers.

“Everyone else?”

“You're family? All the huts we passed seemed to be occupied, so I just assumed...”

“Oh, no, young one,” she said with a faint grin curling up her long face, “it's just me, here. As healer, the Earie is my family—I take no mate, lest I show favoritism.”

“Sounds kind of lonely,” said Cassius.

“Eh,” Moremi grunted, “to be honest, I get enough earfuls just tending to the sick. I'd imagine living with them constantly would grow old quick. No, ol' Moremi here is quite content with the quiet—when I can get it, of course.”

“Now, how long did you say this one's been sick?” Moremi ran her fingers down Syra's neck and arms, examining the scratch marks.

“About two days, or so,” Aidan said, taking a seat on the dirt floor opposite Moremi. “Said she felt tight and itchy, before just passing out.”

“Hmm,” Moremi narrowed her eyes, “tight and itchy, you said?” She unfastened Syra's vest and lifted her shirt for a better look of the long lines raking across her torso. “That would explain the scratching, but not the tightness or the sleeping.”

She lowered her snout to just above Syra's chest and sniffed, trying to identify any oils left by irritating plants. But her ears shot back and she was stunned for a moment, confused.

“Everything, okay?” Aidan asked.

“Curious...” said Moremi, causing Aidan to lean forward, attempting to see what she saw.

Aidan was sent jumping when she lifted Syra's arm and shoved her snout into her armpit, taking in a long whiff.

“Um...what are you doing?” he asked with big eyes.

“You're not human after all, are you?” Morai asked. The stare from the corner of her eye sent chills up Aidan's spine.

“Will that be a problem?” asked Petra, refusing to be intimidated. They come a long way to find this healer, and she was certainly not going to be turned away at the door.

“Then tell me,” Moremi said, sitting up and craning her neck towards the twins standing above her, “when was the last time she molted?”

“We don't have time for this,” Petra grumbled as Moremi led them through the misty vegetation of the mountain behind the village.

“We also don't have time to sit around, explaining to the entire village why there's a dragon in the middle of town square,” Aidan said, helping Cassius to carry Syra up and over boulders. For an elder, Moremi sure made the hike look easy, and she pushed the group to keep pace.

“Nearly there!” she bugled from a ridge some distance up the hill. “I think this spot will do just fine.”

“You think,” mocked Petra, her face red from the climb.

Aidan heaved Syra over the ledge to Cassius, and they all took a rest while Moremi walked through the patch of boulders left by a previous rockslide.

“Yes, this'll do!” She raised her tail, calling them over. “Bring her over here.”

They laid Syra at Moremi's feet and she opened the pouch strung around her neck. Out leapt a small, brown toad that squirmed in Moremi's hands. And it smelled absolutely horrible.

“Oh, that's rank,” Aidan said, covering his mouth and nose. “What is that thing?”

“It smells dead,” said Cassius, squinting from the fumes that radiated from the squat amphibian.

“It smells like shit,” Petra hissed, huffing air out her nose, trying to keep the stench from taking root.

“Well, you're not wrong,” Moremi mused. “It is a Dung Toad. Or, graga, as you may know it. And if this doesn't wake her up, nothing will.”

Moremi shoved the toad right up under Syra's nose, its sticky toes gripping and sliding at her nostrils.

“Oh, Lord, I hope this works,” Petra prayed. “She's going to be smelling that for days.”

The toad chirped and nearly hopped away, but Syra's nose gave a twitch and her face scrunched in disgust until her lids slid open.

“Good Lord, Petra, what did you eat?” Syra coughed and Moremi tucked the toad back in its pouch.

“You would know if you'd been awake this whole time.”

“This whole time?” Syra asked, sitting up, “Where...where are we?” Nothing around her looked familiar. The river and cave were gone, and instead of a giant goat, a feathered elk now stood over her.

“Morai,” said Cassius, relief brightening his face.

“Morai? Already? How long was I out?”

“Nearly three days!” spat Petra. “We had to carry your rump most of the way.”

“To be fair, Razira did most of the carrying,” Aidan corrected.

“Who?”

“We'll explain later. Right now, Moremi has a question for you.”

Syra looked up at the teal-and-purple Kiithran sitting beside her.

“When was the last time you molted, Syra?” she asked with warm bedside manner.

“Molted?” Syra looked surprised. The thought had never even occurred to her in years. “Nine, ten years ago?” she said, wracking her brain which was still fuzzy from sleep. “Right before you two hit your juvenile stage.”

“So, you've been stuck in old hide this whole time?” Petra laughed, “No wonder you felt horrible.”

“It wasn't like I could just shed it off in the middle of the city.”

“Well, you're in a safe place, now,” said Moremi, turning her muzzle to the grove of stones. “Why don't you take the time, now, while you can? I'm sure you'll feel worlds better.”

Syra stood, but hesitated, looking around at her spectators with fidgeting fingers.

“Don't tell me you don't know how!” Petra snickered.

“I do!” Syra spat back, “It's just that...Mother helped me last time. And it’s…just kind of embarrassing with all of you watching.”

Petra stifled a laughed and Cassius bopped her across the back of her head.

“Then we'll help you, this time,” he said, holding out a hand, “It’s certainly not as embarrassing as us needing help learning to relieve ourselves.”

Cassius led Syra into the boulder pit where he waiting at the edge. Light came and went, and Moremi stood bedazzled by the creature left behind. But the twins looked on pity. Instead of shining bronze, her scales were dull, muted, and an ugly brown. Creases and cracks veined down her legs and sides from where her hide begged to shed. Beneath the outer layer, they could already see her new hide trying to burst out.

“Okay,” Syra said, a might uncomfortable from the stares and feeling shrink-wrapped, “now what?”

“Start scratching,” said Cassius, “I’ll help with the smaller bits.”

Syra raked her claws across her chest, arms, sides, and down her tail, and rubbed herself against the rough edges of the boulders. She was surprised at how easily the dry, old skin peeled off. Strip by strip and piece by piece, her old hide fell away like the shell of a hard-boiled egg. She felt the pressure and tightness lift away as her new skin stretched and filled out. By the end of it, she shone like a freshly mint coin and stood taller and stronger.

“She's still tiny!” Petra hooted in laughter, pointing up at her. “I’m still twice your size.”

Syra glared down at her sister and growled, blowing a gust of wind out her snout that nearly toppled her over.

“I still have another one to go—I’ll catch up soon enough.”

“Sure, sure. Whatever you say, runt.” Petra waved a dismissive hand and walked away back towards the village.

But before she could hop down the ledge, a long face with arching horns and shimmering headdress popped up from below. They stood there a moment, nose to snout, with confused wide eyes.

“Beg pardon,” it said in a deep, rolling voice, “but, who are you and why are you on my mountain?” It then saw the giant lizard crouching over the two other humans and another Kiithran, with eyes glaring and fangs bared from Petra’s insult, “And why is there a dragon in my backyard?!”

In one leap, the stag shot up and over Petra, and bounded off to confront the perceived threat.

“Get behind me!” he commanded, positioning himself between Moremi and Syra, and lowering his head—horns at the ready with russet-and-brown mane flared.

Syra simply sat there, surprised—and a bit amused—at the display.

“I take it Razira hasn’t told you yet?” Moremi asked, holding back the chuckle in her throat.

The stag paused, “Told me what?”

“Papah!” Razira’s voice called from below the ledge before she popped up and bounded over to them, clearly out of breath.

“What is this?” the stag asked, his body stiff, “What haven’t I been told?”

“I tried to tell you, but you just kept on running,” Razira said through pants.

“I saw a light and had to see what it was. And what I found was this!” He huffed up at Syra.

“Yes, very good. You found our guests. Just like you would have if you had stopped to listen to me.”

“Guests? What guests?”

Razira’s lower left ear twitched.

“Pacha, this is Syra,” she said, motioning to the dragon who gave a quick, toothy grin. “She’s the one Valen was talking about. You know, the one who we agreed to invite to the meeting? The Kesh Raza meeting? Tomorrow?”

The stag blinked, lifted his head, and sat down, “I am so terribly sorry.”

[seracross]

Heart of Fire - Chapter Fourteen: Misty River

Summary: “A dragon without fire is nothing but a liability.” Nine years ago, Syra was thrust into a war: a hide-and-seek battle for control of five powerful crystals, hidden by a secret organization 200 years prior. Taking human-form, Syra searches the dragon-hating city of Altaira for clues on their location. But when her secret is revealed, fickle hearts are quick to change. And when an old enemy raises his scaly head, who will be there to turn to? Her estranged siblings? An ex-fiancé? Or a temperamental pixie the size of a duckling? In a race against her father’s murderer, Syra must traverse the five kingdoms to halt his efforts to rebuild a powerful relic that should never have been created. Are the bonds of love and family strong enough to survive the horrors of secrets and betrayal? And how do you fight an elder dragon bent on revenge when you’re a wyrmling who can’t even breathe fire?

Genre: Fantasy, Adventure, Romance, Drama

Rating: PG-17 (Strong Language & Violence)

Read All | Read Next

The ride to Misty Hollow felt longer than it should have. The mero's agile hooves made their descent to the small mining town quick work, but the silence between them screamed unspoken words and made the hours drag on. Petra made a point to stay as far away from Aidan as possible, going as far as to skid down a steep ledge head first if it meant she could stay yards away. Cassius kept to himself, eyes on the trail and lost in his own thoughts.

From her position behind Aidan, Syra could see roofs poke out from the hills and treetops, and she prayed the rest of the journey wouldn't be this awful. Aidan's words had echoed in her head the entire way down and her mind replayed the entire last decade to her on repeat.

She had known of his disdain for dragons—the whole city hated them—but did not know how deep that well ran. Or maybe she did, but just didn't want to believe that he could hate her so much. Maybe I didn't know him as well as I thought I did, she thought. Should I have just told him everything from the beginning? Would it have made a difference? Or changed the way he saw us, if he had the chance to get to know one? Maybe if he hadn't been so focused on revenge, our clanmates' deaths could have been prevented. Her head swam with what-ifs and she just missed rear-ending Aidan as he stopped a ways from the town gates.

“We should find an inn to stay for the night,” he said.

“You can,” spat Petra, “I'm not sleeping anywhere near you, dragonslayer.”

Aidan winced and let his gaze fall, he couldn't really blame her.

“We'll find another place to stay,” Cassius said, trotting after Petra. “There has to be more than one inn in this place.”

“Like hell I'm staying in an inn!” Petra dismounted and began unpacking her things from the mero, lying them against a tree, “My rump is staying right here. Like I said before, the less humans, the better.” She gave Aidan a death glare before throwing her cloak out over a bed of grass.

“We should stay together,” Syra said. “Tahlu warned us that the Black Thorn could be in any city, and we'll be weaker if we're separated.”

“Then I'll just have to handle things myself,” Petra said, patting the hilt at her side.

“You think two weeks of practice makes you capable of taking down a whole squad?” Syra scoffed down at her from her mero.

“You don't know what we're capable of! You never did.”

“What's that s—”

“Let them be,” Aidan said, inviting Syra to join him, “Where they sleep is their choice.” He looked over to Cassius, “We'll meet in the square at dawn.”

The early hours were spent hopping shop to shop for supplies. There were no towns between there and Morai, so Aidan made sure to stock up on dried foods and hunting gear.

“Alright, I think that’s everything,” Aidan said, checking over their supplies for a second time. “Tahlu said to keep west of the mountains, so we’ll take the road south of here.”

As they passed the town square, a clamor of voices rose from a growing gathering of townsfolk.

“Did you hear?” One woman whispered to another, grabbing Syra’s attention, “Another city has been attacked.”

“Attacked? By what?”

“What do you think? A dragon, of course. Bloody beasts just can’t leave us alone.”

Syra grabbed Aidan by the sleeve and tugged for him to stop and listen. From her height, she couldn’t see who was amassing such a crowd, but her taller companions were unpleasantly aware of the bronze coins that hung from the group’s necks.

“Settle down, now! Everyone!” A gruff, overconfident voice snapped Syra’s attention to the man standing atop the town well, arms outspread as if casting a spell. Larson, she growled to herself, scowling up at him from the shadows of the townspeople.

“I know the rumors are upsetting, and I’m here to set the record straight.”

“Bashta,” Petra hissed low, “he’s here to make them worse.”

“Last night,” Larson continued, “I received a raven from a comrade in Rozenfall. It seems that, sometime yesterday afternoon, a dragon attacked the city, demolishing many of their buildings and setting them ablaze—including half of the Arrun groves.”

Alarm swept through the crowd, many scared and others angry.

“But why?” yelled a young lady, “Rozenfall is miles from the mountains, why would it attack a city that’s had no qualms with them?”

“Because they’re dragons!” one cried.

“They know nothing but fire and death!” went another.

Larson held up a hand for quiet.

“No qualms, you say?” he asked the young woman. “Are you aware that Rozenfall is the source of all your defenses? All of your precious ropes, repellents, salves and ointments for those pesky magical plants that just won’t go away! The fact that it burnt down half of their Arrun trees is proof that it knew what it was doing—that it knew Rozenfall was our main line of defense.”

“How?” called a man, unconvinced, “Dragons are just dumb, savage beasts. They don’t know anything!”

“Beasts, perhaps,” Larson agreed, “But beasts that can be controlled!”

The crowd was aloud with whispers, like crickets in a summer field.

“And who do you think controls them?” Larson pushed on. “Who sought peace with them? Traded with them? Made them their guard dogs?” He laughed at how insane it all sounded now.

“Altaira,” the young lady said from the hush of the crowd.

“I’m sorry, what?” Larson egged on, with a hand to his ear, “I couldn’t hear you.”

“Altaira!”

Syra watched as anger leapt from one person to the next, the wave of dissent surging through the farmers and miners, the bakers and crafters.

“Altaira is our capital,” Larson said with remorse, “but tell me. How many times have they come to your aid? When that mine collapsed, how many guards were sent to dig your men out? When the town flooded from the rain and snow, what help did they send to tend the injured or rebuild your homes? Even as I stand here mocking them, there are no guards to stop me.”

Larson took the necklace from his neck and held it out above the people, the morning light glinting on the small coin.

“A small, humble coin, for the small, humble man. Alone, it doesn’t amount to shit,” he said, gaining a few laughs, “but melt those down together,”—he pulled out his sword which shone a bright bronze—”and you have yourself a weapon.”

Clapping sparked from within the crowd, and soon it grew into applause.

“Altaira knows we’re here,” Larson said when the clapping died down, “that the Black Thorn is a threat and only growing stronger. So, they’re sending their guard dogs to cut off our trades routes and supplies. But that will not stop us, will it?”

“No!” yelled the crowd.

“It only proves how corrupt they are! They don’t care about us! They only care to line their own pockets and sit in the plush beds that we make, filling their plump bellies with food that we grow! I say it’s time to change things.”

The crowd seethed, their whoops and hollers filling the square, drunk on rage and the promise of easier lives unhindered by wealth or status. All the while, Larson and his men smiled, their mission completed.

Through the throng, Syra watched one of the men whisper to Larson, prompting him to look dead at her. Aidan saw it, too, and he pulled at her arm, his eyes locked onto Larson.

“We need to leave, now.”

The town was too enamored by the show to even notice the party leaving out the south gate. For this, Syra thanked the stars.

The trail was small and a slight overgrown from little use, and hugged the river running parallel to the mountains. It was an easy ride for their mero, and they had traveled some miles before they heard the neighing of horses. From behind then, heavy hoofbeats approached at a worrying pace.

“You think they followed us?” Cassius asked, turning to scout the trail behind them. He flinched away, nearly toppling off his ride, as an arrow whizzed past his face. “I'll take that as a, yes.”

“I knew you'd turn up sooner or later!” Larson called from his horse as he and his band of men galloped towards them. “How does it feel, having the deaths of three people on your hands?”

“You tell us!” Petra snarled back, digging her heels into her mero's side and leading the party at a faster click.

As the trail crested a hill, the river fell away into a ravine. Syra noticed Petra was getting nervously close to the edge. She heard the stretching of a bow string, then the whistle of wind as an arrow flew past her, digging into Cassius’ mero’s flank. It screamed and stumbled. Its legs buckled and they tumbled sideways into Petra. The rocks underhoof gave way and the two mero toppled over the edge of the ravine, taking the twins with them. Syra screamed, and Larson laughed, “Two down!”

Syra snapped her reins and the stag bounded off on agile hooves.

“Petra! Cassius!” she called, keeping her eyes on the pair of heads bobbing in the swift current. They rose and sank with flailing arms and her chest tightened. They don’t know how to swim yet.

There was movement ahead of them and two more men on horseback emerged from the thicket to block them.

“What do we do?” She asked Aidan who galloped beside her.

He scanned the green for an exit, “Up and around!”

He cracked his reins and with strong, quick leaps, the mero leapt off the trail and scaled up a boulder. Syra followed and the men watched in anger as they dropped back down on the opposite side.

Just when Syra thought they were free, a long whistle cut through the air and a single man crawled from the brush, a gold earring tacked on his ear. Syra went to defend, but her hands were on the reins and his were on the ground.

She saw mana pulse into the ground as they flew past, followed by a flash of green. There was a strong tug from under her and then she was airborne. She hit and skidded against the dirt, tumbling over to see vines wrapped around both stags’ legs.

“Are you alright?” Aidan asked from beside her, a gash beginning to leak on his forehead. “Yeah, I’m okay,” She was scratched and bruised and had landed on her elbow too hard, but she could still run.

“Don’t even try it,” Larson said, as he and his men surrounded them. “Take them,” he commanded his mage, whose hand began to glow.

Syra saw Cassius and Petra being dragged away below her and she curled her fingers into claws, charging her hand.

The mage reared back, “Not so fast—”

But Syra swung quicker. She clawed at the air and sent a blast of wind arching into them, sending up a veil of dirt and dust.

“Hang on,” she said, grabbing Aidan and leaping off the edge of the ravine. Gold shimmered around them as they hit the water.

Their heads popped to the surface, spitting and coughing.

“Cas! Petra!” they called, treading water to keep their legs away from the hungry rocks below.

“There!” Aidan said, spotting Cassius a ways ahead, clambering to the low-hanging limb. Aidan managed to grab a floating log and pulled Syra over to it. They scrambled on top and Syra dug both hands into the water.

“Hold on!” With glowing hands like paddles, Syra pulled the water back around them, propelling them forward. She spun the log sideways to lodge it between a boulder and the bank, allowing Cassius as foothold.

“Where’s Petra?” Syra asked.

“Over there!” Cassius pointed to the red locks washing over the stones as Petra's mouth was barely above water.

“She’s stuck!” Syra stripped off her cloak and handed it to Aidan before wading back out into the current. With one hand gripping the cloak, she dove under the rapids, feeling for Petra’s foot among the rocks. Where is it? She ran her hand over the river bottom, but found nothing. Squinting against the rushing water, she could see Petra’s foot was lodged under a rock just a few more inches away. She reached forward and the rock shimmered. With a tug, she yanked the rock away and Petra shot to the surface, coughing and wheezing. Syra grabbed hold of her arm and tugged on the cloak for Aidan to pull them out of the current. Syra caught her breath and Cassius and Aidan heaved Petra up onto the bank.

“Are you okay?” Aidan asked, watching her choke up water between gasps.

“I cannot wait until I get my body back. You humans really do suck at this surviving thing,” she said, getting her breath back.

“Yep, she's fine,” said Cassius.

“Were we followed?” Aidan asked Syra.

“Not that I can see,” she said from her perch atop the bank. “They probably thought the rapids would take care of us.”

“We can hope, at least.” He turned back to Petra, “Can you walk?”

“I'll be fine,” she said as Cassius pulled her to her feet. “Just a bit wet.”

“Then we should get going. We just lost our supplies and our rides, we can't stand to get caught again.”

They made their way along the rocky river bank, hoping for a scalable slope to take them back up to the trail. But the sides remained steep and the rushing water echoed off their flat faces in mockery. It was a stroke of luck that one of the mero had found sanctuary on a pebbled shoreline. One of its saddlebag managed to survive the trip downriver, and the mero munched away at a bush outside a small cave eroded into the bank.

“We should rest here for the night,” Aidan said, tossing his bag into the cave.

“But it’s still daylight,” said Petra. “We can keep going.”

“We’re soaking wet and lost half our supplies. We need to make camp and dry off before night comes.” Aidan shot her a raised eyebrow, “Unless you’re fond of freezing to death.”

Now that the sun was hidden by the ravine walls, Petra couldn't deny that the chill made her hair stand on end.

“Fine,” she said, clambering up the rocks into the dirt hole.

Syra followed after her, but as she pulled herself up she felt her head swim and her grip falter.

“Woah, now,” Aidan said, catching her before the ground did, “You alright?”

Aidan helped her up, but she still staggered, “Yeah, just a bit...lightheaded, for some reason.”

“You probably used too much mana.”

“Maybe,” Syra said, not that convinced. She knew what mana deprivation felt like, and this wasn't it.

“You think she picked up something from Omei?” asked Cassius.

“I sure hope not,” Aidan said, beginning to worry. The last thing they needed was to come down with some exotic flu. “You should rest, just in case,” he said, sitting her down inside the cave.

“Petra, you watch her,” Cassius said from the shore.

Petra sat bolt upright like he just threw a hot rod at her, “Why me?!”

“Aidan and I will go get wood and hunt, someone needs to be here with her.”

“Ugh!” she groaned, loud enough to echo off the stone walls, “You're mean.”

“Now, is that anyway for a Vayguard to act?” Cassius mocked.

Petra creased her brow and crossed her arms with a huff, resigning herself to her side of the cave, “Fine. Go. But you better bring back something good!”

Hours passed without their return, and Syra only seemed to get sicker. Her skin had become more pale and she nodded off and on.

“You think it’s an infection? Like in Omei?” Petra asked when Syra had awoken.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. I feel...tight, and...kind of itchy,” she said, wriggling on the ground.

“Well, I hope it goes away soon. We have a lot of ground to cover.”

“Yeah, me too.”

A long pause passed between the sisters, each trying to occupy their own minds but neither comfortable with the silence. It had been years since they were alone together, and even then it only led to Syra having a face full of flames.

“Why do you still pine over him?” Petra finally spoke—she did not have the gift of subtly, “Has he not made it clear he isn’t interested?”

“It’s not like that,” Syra said just above a whisper.

“Sure looks like it. He seemed pretty fond of that Talian mage.”

“I noticed.”

“Then why keep hoping he’ll change his mind? It’s driving Cassius crazy.”

“And what about Tarys, hm? Did you give up on him, too?” Syra scowled over at her through narrowed lids. “Just because he didn’t notice you after a month of your silent stalking?”

Petra pulled her arms tighter around herself and shut her mouth. Syra had hit a nerve.

“At least I told him how I feel, and don’t cower away from fear of rejection,” Syra said.

“But he has rejected you! Yet you cling onto this fairytale that all will be magically forgiven.”

“Because I have to!”

Syra took a deep breath and stared up at the tiny roots weaving through the dirt ceiling, “If I don’t keep the embers going, then it will certainly die.”

“Maybe it should. It’s not like you can stay with him when this over.”

“You don’t know that. There are ways, there has to be.”

“You’re a naïve and sheltered fool, Syra,” Petra huffed.

“And you’re a bitter cynic who’s scared of her feelings.” Jade clashed with gold and they both stared, unfaltering, into each other, “I might be a fool—hell I probably am—but at least I’m trying to make things work.”

“Trying just gets you killed.”

Silence fell between them as the patter of rain grew louder outside.

“Mother tried,” Petra said, her voice distant, “and look where that got her.”

“Mother was a fighter! That's what trying means: to fight. You can't succeed without trying first. That's why I can't give up: if she didn't, neither can I.”

“You at least knew her! I can barely remember her face...or her scent.” The rigidness left her face and Petra's gaze wavered, “Sometimes I think I catch a whiff of it from Father’s den, but even then I can’t place the memory. It's like, having known them makes their absence harder—you know someone’s supposed to be there, but they’re not. And that hole just doesn’t go away.”

Syra looked over to Petra through heavy lids, her body demanding rest, “I’m not like Cassius,” she said soft, “I’ll never be able to feel your pain. But, I know mine hurts like hell, and I’d never want you to feel that way.” She scoffed, “Probably should have told you that sooner, huh?”

Petra stared in a bit of shock as Syra bobbed in and out of consciousness.

“Looks like I’m just as horrible of a sister as I am a dragon,” she chuckled at herself before passing back out.

The company woke to find Syra still unconscious, even after the passing of freshly seared meat.

“Come on, it’s time to go,” Aidan said, prodding her shoulder.

Still, she did not move.

“Hey! Get up,” Petra poked her face, making her head wobble. She was still warm, and still did not rouse. “I don’t like this,” Petra furrowed her brow. “You better not be playing with us!” She smushed Syra's face between her palms and wiggled her head side to side, then stopped abruptly.

“What is it?” Cassius asked.

She pushed Syra’s head to one side, revealing red marks. All along her jaw, neck, and chest were bright red scratch marks.

“They’re on her arms, too,” Cassius said, pushing up a sleeve.

“She did say she felt itchy.”

“When?” asked Aidan, leaving the mero to examine the scabbing lines.

“Yesterday, while you were gone. She said she felt tight and itchy.”

“It couldn’t be a human sickness, could it?” Cassius asked Aidan. “Some kind of rash? Perhaps she walked through a bad stretch of grass?” A dragon's constitution was normally quite robust, but given their travels and Syra's prolonged exposure to people, it wasn't a farfetched theory.

“I don’t think so,” said Aidan, “rashes like that don't knock a person unconscious. But then again, I’m no medic.”

“Well, we can’t just leave her here.”

Aidan nodded, “We’ll have to take her with us, and hopefully she’ll come out of it on her own.”

Aidan and Cassius picked her up and laid her atop the mero.

“And what if she doesn't?” Petra asked, the concern in her voice coming as a surprise to both boys.

Aidan let his hand linger on Syra's face a moment longer, biting his cheek at the thick scabs that weren't healing, “She has to. We'll just have to find someone who can help. Until then, we keep moving.”

They walked and waded along the river until it widened and its banks leveled out into thick forest. Upon reaching a deep pool in its course, the rhythmic sound of clunking wood called their attention to a small cabin with a waterwheel slowly spinning in the current.

“What’s that?” asked Petra, head bobbing as she watched the wheel turn.

“A mill,” said Aidan as he climbed up the bank, “Come on, there should be someone inside.”

As they glanced around the yard waiting for their knocks to be answered, Aidan noticed a raft propped against the side of the house. He meant to dip away for a closer peek when the door was opened by man with full beard that smelled of firewood. He was a middle-aged gentleman and poked his head out from the door, caring not for the sudden company.

“Yes, what is it?” he said, a tad gruff but not rude.

“Please, excuse the interruption, sir,” Aidan said, “but we've been traveling quite a ways, and were hoping you could spare some cover for the night?”

“You really think I'm about to open my home to some strangers?” the man said with a laugh.

“Please, sir,” Cassius piped up, “my sister is sick, and we've been traveling all day.”

He looked over the tired ensemble, their pant legs soaked and their boots squishing up mud.

“It would be greatly appreciated,” Aidan tried again, “Even the mill house or a shed would be better than being left in the open.” Aidan paused, glancing around the stretches of woodland all around them, “You're also the only person around who could help.”

Sympathy at the sight of the unconscious girl made his stone face falter, but he eyed their weapons with a tightened jaw.

“You can hold our weapons until we leave,” Cassius said, picking up on his unease, “we truly don't want any trouble.”

“Alright,” the man said with a hesitant sigh, “but I want something in return.”

Cassius looked to Aidan who shook his head, “I'm afraid we don't have much money to give you. We lost most of our supplies in the river.”

“Hmph,” said the man, displeased but understanding, “then fetch me one of those.” He pointed to the large rabbit carcass strung from Cassius' pack, “A fat one.”

“Deal,” Aidan said, turning to Cassius and Petra. “Cassius and I will go hunt, while you—”

“Oh, no!” Petra hissed, “Not this time. This time, you're staying with pock-face, while we hunt.”

The man introduced himself as Lawrence, and stored Aidan's and Syra's swords in a back room while the twins left to hunt.

“You can set her down over here,” Lawrence said, folding over some blankets by the wood stove. “Any idea what did this to her?”

Aidan shook his head and laid Syra down, “We're hoping to find an apothecary when we reach Morai. But I'm worried the trip might be too hard on her.”

“Hm,” Lawrence nodded, “that is quite a ways. And all you have is that one mero?”

“Yes. We had more, but they were lost to the rapids farther upstream.”

“That's unfortunate. I'd like to offer a horse, but as I only have one...”

“I understand,” Aidan said, throwing his cloak over Syra, “it's gracious enough of you to let us stay.”

“Well, I was an adventurer too, once,” Lawrence said, inviting Aidan for a seat on the couch, “and I couldn't just turn away a sick lass.”

Aidan sat—making sure to keep his wet legs off the cushion--and Lawrence went to the kettle nestled atop the stove.

“Here,” he said, handing Aidan a mug of tea. “It's a tad weak, I apologize. Don't get much opportunity to splurge on fancier things.”

“No, it's fine, thank you.” Aidan was grateful for the hot beverage and the chance to rest away from the wind and rain.

“That's a nice raft you have outside,” Aidan said after finishing his drink. “How does it ride?”

“Wouldn't know,” said Lawrence, looking down into his own stained cup.

“Is it not yours?”

“It used to belong to my son.”

“Used to?”

Lawrence's thumb picked at the cup's tarnish, “He moved to Altaira some years ago—wanted to be a guard. Don't know why. Heaven knows that boy could barely chop wood. But he had it stuck in his head that he would make Soldier and bring me to live with him in the big capital.” He chuckled, his throat straining a bit, “There was no way to know that his Knighting Day would be celebrated with dragonfire. It was weeks before I got the news that my son had burned to death protecting a city that couldn't protect him.”

Aidan gripped tight at his mug. Images flooded his head. Images of burning buildings, people crushed under the feet of ogres, and dark shadows swarming over the city in a sky lit by flames. He fought to push them away and his words caught behind his tongue.

“I’m sorry,” Aidan choked out. He met Lawrence's watery gaze with his own, “So was my brother. And her father,” he motioned to Syra. “But life goes on, almost like it never happened. Like we could just turn around and they should still be there. It really is amazing how humans can still survive with them around.”

“Could always be worse,” Lawrence said, blinking the memories away. “I have family across the sea, and many towns live on constant watch for them. Some have been completely desolated. I can see why people left to come here. Our dragons at least keep to themselves, most of the time.”

“How can you be calm about it?” Aidan asked, frustration bubbling up. “They killed your son. How can you forgive them so easily?”

“Oh, it's far from easy. I live with his absence every day, just like you with your brother.” He grimaced, “It ate me alive for a long, long time. Why else would someone choose to live by Shit Creek in the middle of nowhere? I couldn't stand to see everyone else move on, while his bed remained empty. I hated everyone. Humans and dragons alike.”

“What changed?”

“I realized my son wouldn't want me to be that way—bitter and on my face more than my feet.”

Aidan had thought it odd that he had yet to see anything resembling ale or wine.

“He loved dragons, you know? Found them fascinating. That's why he chose Altaira in the first place: hoped to meet one, one day. Bit ironic, ain't it?”

“Just a bit.”

“Anyways, that's why I can't keep on hating them. Sam would never let me live it down.”

Aidan rested his head back against the sofa and stared at the knots in the wooden ceiling. He, too, had loved dragons once upon a time. And even back then, Syra was his favorite. He had forgotten that in his grief.

“Thanks,” Aidan said, raising his mug to Lawrence, “I hope I can tell the same story someday.”

That night, after they had eaten and Lawrence had gone off to bed, the company settled in by the fire to read and keep watch over Syra. Petra seethed from her spot on the sofa, so much so that Aidan thought it might alight.

“You alright?” he asked, taking the risk of her biting his head off again. But this time, her anger was not directed towards him.

“Can you believe those people?” she asked, staring off over the river beyond the window. “He just opened his mouth and those idiots in the square bought right into it.”

“Of course, they did,” said Aidan. “He just told them what they wanted to hear.”

“What? That dragons are just dumb, savage beasts that should be blamed for everything?”

“That their suffering is real, and they’re not alone. That there are people out there fighting for them. It gave them hope—something, I’m sure, they haven’t felt in a long time.”

“False hope!” she spat with a snarl, “Hope in people who manipulate others to get their way, then murder them if they don’t agree! They think us savages, but at least we listen to each other before going to war.”

“Those people,” she pointed out the window, “they know nothing about us, or Altaira—hell, they don’t even want to! Yet they march on, crying for our heads because some graga, long ago, painted us as beasts to be slaughtered!”

“Then why don’t you do something about it? You’re the leader, right? We all know what one dragon can do to a city, what can a whole clan do?”

“Because we’re better than that!” she hissed before lowering her voice after Cassius shushed her from Syra’s side. “We could retaliate—without a treaty, we could burn you all and take your land. And yes, I would love to watch those idiots burn to ashes, but then we’d be just as bad as them. Worse, even, because we’d be proving them right. It would accomplish nothing, and only invite more casualties.”

She sighed and fell back into the sofa, angry at people’s misplaced anger and weary from being angry herself, “So, we just sit there, watching you build your walls and machines, knowing that no amount of niceties or reason will convince you otherwise. And we will sit there, waiting, until your people decide to take one step too far. And then,” she stared dead at Aidan, her eyes bright gold even in the shadow, “we will raze you. So you better make damn sure that when you’re king, you’re on the right side.”

The next morning came and Syra still hadn't risen. To everyone's dismay, more marks had appeared overnight. This time on her face and her belly, and this time they bled.

“We have to get to Morai soon,” Cassius said, his stomach in knots.

“I know, but we can only walk so fast.” Aidan held a hand to her forehead and was relieved to find her still warm, but not burning up.

“Come with me,” Lawrence called for them to follow him outside.

“How 'bout a trade?” he asked Aidan when they stood next to the raft. “I won't be using it, and I could use that mero on my trips to town.”

“Oh, no. I'm not putting one more toe in that river,” Petra said, stepping away from the wooden dingy.

Cassius ignored her and leaned over to Aidan, “It would certainly be faster than trekking through brush. I say we take it.”

Aidan hesitated, “But it was Sam's.”

Lawrence gave a bittersweet smile before grabbing him hard on the shoulder, “He wouldn't have thought twice about it.”

Aidan gripped his hand tight, “Then we'll thank him for it.”

“You're joking, right?” Petra asked, eyes darting between them, “We're not really going back on those rapids?”

“Grab your stuff, missy!” Lawrence boomed with a grin, “Time to set sail.”

“I am going to die,” Petra hushed to herself and turned on a heel, leaving the men to laugh as she sulked back into the house.

As the river widened, the rapids slowed into gentle shoals and they coasted at a fair knot. Still, Petra insisted on sitting in the dead center far away from the greedy waves.

“You're not going to be afraid of water forever, are you?” Cassius teased. “How are you supposed to help me fish when we get back home?”

“Swimming in a lake is different,” she spat, “it doesn't move.”

Cassius sighed, “Can't swim. Can't fly--at least, not that well. You really have no room to tease Syra, now do you?”

“Shut it, Cas. I don't need to swim or fly to take on Marrak.”

“Those rocks beg to differ. If Syra hadn't pulled you out, your part in this journey would've been over.”

“I still say she's a liabilty. Even after all these years, she still can't b--”

“Hush!” Aidan held up a hand for quiet.

Rustling came from the trees and grew louder as they drifted onwards.

“See anything?” asked Aidan, scanning the foliage.

“Nothing,” said Cassius. “Can't smell anything, either.”

“We must be upwind.”

Aidan crouched down, ready to spring at the first sight of danger. Then his eyes caught it. A flash of color in the sunlight.

“There!” he whispered, pointing into thick branches that stretched over the river.

But by that time, they were the ones seen first.

[seracross]

Heart of Fire - Chapter Thirteen: Cured

Summary: “A dragon without fire is nothing but a liability.” Nine years ago, Syra was thrust into a war: a hide-and-seek battle for control of five powerful crystals, hidden by a secret organization 200 years prior. Taking human-form, Syra searches the dragon-hating city of Altaira for clues on their location. But when her secret is revealed, fickle hearts are quick to change. And when an old enemy raises his scaly head, who will be there to turn to? Her estranged siblings? An ex-fiancé? Or a temperamental pixie the size of a duckling? In a race against her father’s murderer, Syra must traverse the five kingdoms to halt his efforts to rebuild a powerful relic that should never have been created. Are the bonds of love and family strong enough to survive the horrors of secrets and betrayal? And how do you fight an elder dragon bent on revenge when you’re a wyrmling who can’t even breathe fire?

Genre: Fantasy, Adventure, Romance, Drama

Rating: PG-17 (Strong Language & Violence)

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The ceiling glittered like stars when they returned to the lab, and the siblings were a symphony of angry stomachs.

“Did you find anything?” Aidan asked as they entered.

“Yes,” Syra said, setting her things down, “It turns out we only need one thing.”

“Great! What?”

“A bug.”

“A…bug?”

“Yes.”

“What kind of bug?”

“This kind.” She pulled out a scroll with a sketch of a flying insect.

“That’s the Marsh Fly,” said Lanis. “They give you a nasty fever if you get bit, so we try to stay away from them.”

“Can you get one?” Syra asked.

“They’re normal only out in the summer, but breeding season’s coming up so you might be able to find a few.”

“Good,” she said, rolling up the scroll, “Apparently, while they can give you a fever, their bite can also cure certain other illnesses without the use of mana. Once the infection is gone, we can treat the fever.”

“And how do we know if it’s gone?” asked Ristau.

Syra paused, “I haven’t figured that part out yet.”

Lanis patted her on the back and went to leave, “You and Sulaer can work on that while Ristau and I go get the fly. Aidan, you keep working on that poison.”

“But you could get bit!” Syra called out.

“It’s not like there isn’t a cure.”

The next night, Tahlu led them to the infirmary in Mirna. Precautions had been made to limit any accidental exposure and they were given a room to themselves. Lanis sat, disrobed, on a cot, awaiting the start of the treatment.

“As Omei’s king,” he had said, “it’s my duty to risk my life before I risk theirs.”

“How do we make sure no mana can get to him?” Aidan asked.

“By using this,” Tahlu wheeled out a casket made of solid iron. “We normally use it on convicts to keep their mana inside. I never expected to use it to keep it out.”

“We ready?” Aidan asked, gripping a vial of dark liquid.

Syra looked around at the team surrounding the casket, all looking to her for the go-ahead. She glanced over to Sulaer, who nodded and held the jar containing the small fly.

“As we’ll ever be.”

With that, Tahlu helped Lanis into the casket and they gripped at each other in a tight embrace, hoping for the best. Syra waited for them to finish before giving Aidan permission to proceed.

“I’d like to tell you it won’t, but this is going to hurt.”

He drew a needle from the vial and plunged it deep into Lanis’ shoulder. Lanis winced at the insertion, but as the toxin began to spread, he began to twitch and groan. Sulaer held Tahlu’s hand as he watched his brother pale and scream against the burning in his body, and Syra remembered how horrible it felt to just inhale its fumes.

After some time his breathing became shallow and he convulsed every so often.

“How long does this take?” Tahlu asked, pacing.

“Until he’s too weak to move”, said Aidan, “As long as he’s still breathing, we continue.”

The moon was setting before Lanis settled down into shallow, but steady breaths.

Syra, Sulaer, and Ristau all checked him over through the small glass window on the casket’s lid before nodding in approval.

Sulaer gave Syra the jar with the fly flitting about inside and stepped away. Syra unlatched the small door in the side of the casket and loosened the jar’s lid.

“Wait,” Tahlu said, asking for the jar, “Let me do it. If he dies, it should be me that gave it to him.”

Syra handed over the jar and stood by Aidan. Tahlu unhitched the lid and dumped the bug into the casket, latching the door closed. Through the window they could see it jump and flutter around before landing on Lanis’ chest. Then they saw his body flinch.

“It’s done,” Syra said, “He’s been bit.”

“Now what?” asked Cassius, who was a nervous wreck from all the worrying around him.

“Now, we wait.”

An hour or so passed and Lanis began to sweat. His breathing quickened but remained shallow, and grew steadily paler. Soon, he was drenched and mumbling as the fever took hold, his fluffy hair weighted down like a chicken caught in a downpour.

Being locked outside the casket, Syra had no way of monitoring his temperature or his pulse. She began pacing herself, up and down alongside the metal casing she prayed would not become his coffin. Every minute felt like an hour, and she looked through the tiny window at every passing until Aidan pulled her aside.

“You need to calm down,” he whispered. “Tahlu is already white as a sheet just being here. If he sees you worried, it’ll only make it worse for him.”

Syra took a deep breath and nodded, resigning herself to the windowsill. How much longer will this take? The sun is already rising and Ristau and Leimia are still here. The Lower Tal couldn’t travel during the day without the risk of burns, but she knew they would never leave Lanis’ side.

Despite the three mages’ constant surveillance, it was Cassius who caught Lanis’ dire state.

“Something’s wrong,” he said, rushing to casket to look through the window.

“What? What is it?” Syra hurried to his side, followed by Sulaer and Ristau.

“I don’t know, it…it just feels like I’m losing him. Like he’s barely there at all.”

“What do you mean, feels like?” Aidan asked. “He’s in a metal tank.”

“He’s an Empath, you daft jellyworm!” Petra yelled, “Now bring us that potion before Lanis croaks!”

Tahlu threw open the casket and grabbed Lanis around the shoulders, holding him upright, “Bring it over here, quick!”

Aidan grabbed a jar of clear liquid and handed it to Tahlu who drained it down Lanis’ throat.

“Come on, come on, that’s it. You can do it, little brother,” Tahlu cooed, holding onto him.

Syra watched as Tahlu fretted over Lanis, with his brow nearly as wet from worry. She placed a hand over Cassius’ and gripping it tight. He looked down in surprise, but smiled at her proud face and squeezed back.

“How is he?” Tahlu asked Cassius, “Can you tell? Will he be alright?”

“Easy now,” Cassius hushed. He put his free hand to Lanis’ chest and closed his eyes, “There’s still a heartbeat, so he’s alive…and he’s stop fading.” He looked over Tahlu with relief, “He’s weak, but still here.”

“Oh, thank goodness.” Tahlu pulled his brother to his chest and began to weep, rocking back and forth.

The whole group breathed a sigh of relief and Aidan had to take a seat.

“We still don’t know if it worked,” said Ristau, hiding in a shaded corner away from the encroaching sunlight.

“At least we know it doesn’t kill you,” Petra said.

“How are we going to know if the infection is gone?” Ristau asked Syra.

She was speechless at first. She and Sulaer had wracked their brains trying to invent some kind of test, but came up with nothing. But then she looked at Ristau and Leimia, and saw how they shrank from the pool of light growing on the floor.

“Sunlight,” she said, “If Lanis can stand sunlight, then it must mean the infection is gone.”

“It’s worth a shot,” said Sulaer, looking to Ristau.

He nodded and motioned for Leimia to follow him, “Better let him rest up before you do, just in case. I’ll take Leimia to the Recovery Room, come fetch us when he’s up and about.”

Even with both Syra and Sulaer aiding his healing, it was nearly sunset before Lanis was up and standing.

“Are you sure you want to do this today?” Tahlu asked, fussing over him. “The sun will be back tomorrow.”

“Yes,” Lanis said through pants as his brother helped him walk to the balcony, “I need to know if it worked. I need to know if my people can be saved.”

Long shadows covered the streets of the city, but the infirmary balcony still caught the last rays of light. Lanis squinted against its brightness, but stepped out with eager footing.

This is it, Syra thought as she watch the Brother Kings walk out, We either tortured a man for nothing, or we saved an entire city.

“How is it?” Tahlu asked, looking him over for the beginnings of redness and blistering, “Does it burn?”

“It’s…it’s warm,” Lanis laughed as he felt the light’s warmth flow over him, a warmth he had almost forgotten after decades of life underground.

“Did it work?” Sulaer called from behind them.

Tahlu beamed and scooted Lanis around to face them, “So far, so good!”

Tears welled and fell from Sulaer’s eyes and she hid her face with her hands, but she couldn’t hide the giant smile that took up half her face.

“We did it,” she said, looking over to Syra, her fair cheeks now red. “We finally did it!”

Syra was taken aback by Sulaer’s arms being thrown around her, “Yeah...we, we actually did!” Syra hugged her back and, for the first time, noticed how short Sulaer was for a Tal.

“Did it work?” A voice came from the doorway, and Sulaer bolted towards it.

“Wyn!” She careened into him, leaping into his arms and was completely bawling at this point. “Yes! Yes, it worked! Look, go see! He has no blisters!”

Wyn and the others joined the brothers on the balcony and saw for themselves that there were, indeed, no blisters. No swelling or redness at all. Just clean, fair skin.

“Thank you,” Lanis said, looking to Syra and the others, tears now streaming from his face. “This…I can’t…” he choked on both sobs and laughs, “This is a marvelous day, indeed!”

“It might be marvelous, but you’re still recovering!” called Ristau from the shadows with Leimia in tears at his side, “Now get your royal butt back into bed before I give it blisters!”

Tahlu and Lanis hobbled away back to the room, but Ristau stopped Syra and the others before they could follow.

“I believe a ‘good job’ is in order,” he said, smiling.

“It wasn’t just us, sir,” Aidan said, glancing over to Sulaer who was being coddled by Wyn.

Syra thought she caught a glimpse of sadness on his face, but he pushed it away and she nodded, too.

“It really wasn’t. I could barely even read Talian before Sulaer helped me. She…she really made this whole thing possible.”

Ristau and Cassius both had proud looks on their faces, and Cassius patted her on the head, ruffling her hair that desperately needed washing.

“In any case,” Ristau continued, “I believe we owe you a debt.”

Syra’s eyes went wide as she watched him pull a small box from his pocket.

“This, now belongs to you.” He opened the box to show her the glittering shard that sat inside.

“Th-thank you…thank you!” she said, taking the box in shaking hands. Finally. Finally, they had a shard after all the travelling and fighting and studying.

“This is only but the first, remember,” Ristau said. “But I sincerely hope the other four aren’t as difficult to come by.”

“Oh, good Lord, me too!” Petra wailed, causing the other to laugh.

“Now, you can’t just carry that around like some regular old trinket,” he said, taking the shard from the box, “It’s much too valuable and far more dangerous. May I?”

He held out a hand for Syra to take, which she did. Turning her hand over, he pointed to the tiny stone set in her ring.

“This is no ordinary stone, you see. It’s a morakii. And morakii are the best conduits of mana, able to hold on to immense amounts of energy. So, the best way to keep track of the shards”—He tapped the tip of the shard to the stone, and brilliant light shone from both. It glowed, and wavered, and condensed, until all the light had been absorbed into the ring—“is to keep it hidden.”

“That, was amazing,” Petra said, starstruck.

Ristau laughed and clapped his hands together, “Now, with all of that taken care of, who’s hungry?”

The next day, after they were bathed and rested, Tahlu gathered everyone in his meeting chamber to update Valen on their accomplishments and to discuss their next moves.

"Well, I am impressed," said Valen's reflection in Tahlu's looking glass, "I never even thought about mana being the true culprit. Splendid job, all of you!"

"Thank you, Valen, but it was Syra who realized our error and devised the plan to fix it," Sulaer said, giving Syra a grateful nod.

"So, I've been told." Valen grinned ear to ear, his brick-brown eyes swollen with pride at his little apprentice, "I had high expectations sending you off, but you have outdone yourself."

Syra flushed, hot from the eyes of those around her and from the pride she found in herself, "I'm just glad it worked."

"As am I," laughed Lanis from his seat by the door. His color had returned, but was still easily winded. Ristau had insisted he stay in bed another day, but Lanis reminded him that only Tahlu was allowed to tell him what to do, and refused to miss Syra's sendoff. So, he sat propped in a chair with Wyn charged as his keeper. "As are my people. This will not be easily forgotten, I assure you."

"How are the plans coming to cure the city, by the way?" asked Valen. "There are many Tal who need treatment."

"Ristau and Leimia are working on that now. Once the procedure is solidified, we'll have medics from both Omei and Mirna start taking patients."

"And how quickly do you expect them to recover?"

"Depending on their age and health, one to two weeks would be fair. Even sooner if our mages can rejuvenate them."

"I'll contact Vesna. She might allow them into her spring under these circumstances." Valen flipped through several rolled letters at his desk, "It seems we'll need the extra man-power."

"I take it the Black Thorn is still growing?" asked Tahlu, crossing his arms and rubbing his sleeve with absent-minded fingers.

Valen nodded, "A small group is confirmed to be in Dairos, and there are several reports of them taking Rozenfall as their current headquarters."

 "That's certainly a good place to start," Aidan said, biting a nail in thought.

"Why?" asked Petra, "If their problem is with how things are being run, why don't they start with Altaira? Isn't that your capital? Just cut off the beast's head and the rest will fall."

"It is the capital," said Valen, "but it is just one city of many. There's no doubt there are minions scurrying about, but Altaira has the largest army and plenty of battle mages at their disposal. They know it would be suicide to attack with only a small rebellion of blacksmiths and farmhands."

"And that's why Rozenfall is such an asset," added Aidan. "It's built in a mana desert and filled with people who make a living fighting the magical. If they want any chance at breaking Altaira's defense, Rozenfall's a necessity."

"So, let's say they convince Rozenfall to fight," Cassius said, "what kind of damage are we looking at?"

"For humans, not much, outside of normal battle wounds. But for you?" Aidan looked over at the siblings, "I'll just tell you that Altaira's entire supply of Arrun oil comes from there, and that's just one of their commodities."

Not one peep was uttered as a grave realization washed over Syra. She wouldn't be just fighting Marrak. If he was indeed the Black Thorn leader, she would be fighting people, too, and an army of them at the rate it was going. People who had had nine years to invent and perfect ways of protecting themselves from magical kind—her kind.

"Aidan's right," Valen said. A grim expression peeked out from under loose strands put there by sleepless nights, "Rozenfall is a deadzone for the magical, even I can't go there without feeling drained. Avoid it, if at all possible."

"But for now," Tahlu said, standing and giving the party a reassuring eye, "stay to the woodland trails west of the mountains. You'll have to stop in Misty Hollow for supplies, but after that the path to Morai should be safe. Most of it lies within Kiithran territory, and they don't take kindly to uninvited guests."

"Morai?" asked Syra.

"As in the Morai Mountains? The floating ones?" asked Aidan. His voice wavered and Syra saw him tense from the corner of her eye.

Valen nodded, "The shards were originally divided between each realm, where their leaders were charged with protecting them. You now have the shard given to the Tal,"—he motioned to Tahlu—"You will find the second shard belongs to Dürgah, the leader of the Kiithrani who reside in the Morai Mountains."

"But Morai is nearly at the coast. We'll never get there in time," Aidan said.

"Not if you're walking," Tahlu said with a slight grin.

Tahlu led the party outside to the Southern Gate where their rides had been prepared. Aidan looked on in silent confusion, but Petra cackled at the long, fuzzy faces that blinked down at them.

Instead of horses, they were brought mero, for the Tal did not ride horses. They stood about the size as a horse, but were much more limber—-dainty even—-and of cloven hoof; perfect for scaling the rocky ledges of the mountains. And their hair was fluffy, particularly around the neck, with two small horns poking out between their ears.

"Not what you were expecting?" Tahlu asked Aidan in jest as he scratched the creature behind its ears. "Just think of them as horses of the mountains. There are many steep trails where you're going, and mero make a rock wall look like a staircase."

The mero bleated and stomped a hoof as Tahlu found its favorite scratching spot, and its leg muscles rippled under its fur.

"They're also quite fast when you get them going."

They bid their farewells and Sulaer made sure to hug each one of them before they mounted up.

“Please, be careful,” she said. “The mountains may be old and beautiful, but they can also be dangerous. Just because a rock looks sturdy, doesn’t mean it is.”

“We’re well aware,” said Petra.

“Oh, right. You would be, wouldn’t you?” Sulaer said, recalling their montane origin. “Well, I still packed you some medical supplies, just in case. There’s salve, bandages, some more amec crystals for you, Syra…some herbs if you can’t find any, and—”

“I’m sure we’ll have everything we’ll need,” Syra said, giving her pack a confident pat.

“Thank you, Sulaer,” Aidan said.

“Of course!” Warmth bubbled from her grin and he gazed on like one soaking up the last rays of sun before winter. “Oh, almost forgot! Tahlu, didn’t you have something for him?”

“Oh, yes, thank you.” Tahlu unstrapped the sword from his belt and handed it up to Aidan.

“But I already have one,” Aidan said, taking it by the hilt.

“Not one like this.” Tahlu pulled off the sheath and silver-blue metal shone brilliant in the sunlight.

Both Aidan and Syra’s eyes widened as Tahlu and Sulaer chuckled to themselves.

“Is this…austram?” Aidan asked Tahlu, rotating the blade, mesmerized by its velvety luster.

“Indeed, it is. One of the last ones made.”

Aidan twirled it with a quick hand, feeling its light weight and how it cut the air with little resistance.

“I can see why people call it, blue steel.” Syra said.

“I know you have your own sword, and that it probably means a great deal to you,” Tahlu said, “but I’m sure you’re aware that no ordinary sword can fell a dragon…”

Aidan’s twirling ceased and he laid the blade across his lap.

“Especially not one with hide as thick as Marrak’s.”

Aidan looked from the blade to the sword hung from his waist. He unclipped it and held it tight in his hands.

“This was my brother’s,” he said, eyes staring down at the finely crafted scabbard and into the misty memories it held. “My father gave it to me when I became a soldier, and it’s been watching over me ever since.” His thumb massaged the small scuffs along the sheath before handing it down to Tahlu, “Please, take care of it.”

Tahlu accepted the sword with a bowed head and sympathetic eyes, “Until you return for it. For now, what may I call it?”

“Its name is,” Aidan paused, giving a hesitant glance over to the siblings, “Drahgrashi.”

Syra’s ears screamed as her own language fell from his lips, the word for ‘dragonslayer’ Aidan’s own poison-tipped arrows that hit her and the twins in their throats.

Syra didn’t need to be an Empath to feel another wall shoot up around Petra, and Cassius just turned his face away, no doubt just as hurt by the sentiment.

“I’m leaving,” said Petra, giving her mero a tap with her heels.

“Same,” Cassius said and followed her.

That left Syra sitting atop her giant goat with mouth caught open and no words.

“I named it for Ethan,” Aidan explained, keeping his eyes averted. “I thought, if I slayed the dragon that took him me, I could look it in the eye and let that be the last word it ever heard. That somehow, it might bring my brother some peace.”

“You said you named it that when you became soldier?” Syra asked, strained and barely audible.

“Yes.”

“So, just days after taking me?” Her voice cracked.

That night had been one of her happiest, one she remembered fondly even now. How could he? she asked herself, anger churning in her gut. Of all available suitors, she had chosen him--an act no dragon took lightly--yet he found solace in the murder of her kind. He didn't know, came the small voice in her head that chided her whenever she was being stupid, You made sure of that. You have no one to blame but yourself.

Aidan met her gaze with genuine remorse. He knew how much the sentiment hurt her, even without seeing how her face contorted from the shock. But that had been years ago, when grief and rage fueled his mission to protect his city. Syra had been his one reprieve from the nightmares and anti-magic projects that threatened to become an obsession. And despite their time and experiences together, a tickle of unease still cropped up whenever he was alone with Petra or Cassius.

He wanted to forget it all, to just enjoy their company and charge through the journey together. But he couldn't. He couldn't forget the stench of burnt flesh as his brother lie dying, or the shrieks of fear from the city streets as the shadows flew overhead, or how his gut shiezed when Syra's voice boomed from a scaly beast.

She had been honest in her explanation—he knew Syra well enough to know she hated to lose anyone—but resentment still festered and a sliver of him remained callous to her cries.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said, letting the words drip from his tongue and burn into her ears.

[seracross]

Heart of Fire - Chapter Twelve: Bookwyrm

Summary: “A dragon without fire is nothing but a liability.” Nine years ago, Syra was thrust into a war: a hide-and-seek battle for control of five powerful crystals, hidden by a secret organization 200 years prior. Taking human-form, Syra searches the dragon-hating city of Altaira for clues on their location. But when her secret is revealed, fickle hearts are quick to change. And when an old enemy raises his scaly head, who will be there to turn to? Her estranged siblings? An ex-fiancé? Or a temperamental pixie the size of a duckling? In a race against her father’s murderer, Syra must traverse the five kingdoms to halt his efforts to rebuild a powerful relic that should never have been created. Are the bonds of love and family strong enough to survive the horrors of secrets and betrayal? And how do you fight an elder dragon bent on revenge when you’re a wyrmling who can’t even breathe fire?

Genre: Fantasy, Adventure, Romance, Drama

Rating: PG-17 (Strong Language & Violence)

Read All | Read Next

"All of Caelus’ notes are on these shelves," Sulaer said, waving to a bookcase brimming with old books and older scrolls. Some laid sideways, still open, while others had free pages poking out of them. "I tried to organize them, but they just never seem to stay put. You can blame Ristau for that."

Syra pulled one with roughened edges from a shelf and leafed through it. Her jaw tensed, overwhelmed by the mass of messy script and sketches smiling up at her.

"I know it looks daunting," Sulaer said. "Believe me, I've spent decades pouring over these things and I'm still puzzled by some of his spelling."

"And you expect me to find something you haven't?"

Sulaer grinned and took the book from her hands, sliding it back in its place, "I expect Valen's apprentice to give it her best shot."

"You know him?" Syra knew her mentor had a reputation, but was surprised by its reach.

"All the Kesh Raza know him. But he was also a study partner of mine back in Sylvani."

"You went there, too?" Syra broke into a whine. "I am so jealous."

Sulaer laughed and patted her on the shoulder, "Well, there's plenty to learn here!"

"If I can even understand any of it."

To say there were many tomes would be an insult. Sulaer’s lab might as well have been a library with the occasional bench and cabinet. One with writing’s Syra had never seen, on subjects she had never seen, and most all of them were written in Talian.

"Don't you worry. I took notes on Caelus’ notes, and they're much more organized."

Syra forced her unease down and took a long look about the room, steeling herself, "So, where do we start?"

Sulaer guided her through the makings of the spell first. Its foundations and procedure, and why this was added with that. Over the next couple days she gave demonstrations, showing how the different ingredients interacted under different conditions, and translating along the way. Syra was relieved that her room was adjacent to the lab as they rarely left, even for sleep. After days of introduction and mental drilling, Syra had a rudimentary hold on the language and was able to read and deduce for herself with the use of Sulaer’s notes.

"Now, the experiments start," Sulaer said, gathering her notes.

"Experiments?"

Sulaer grinned, "Today, I take you to the shard."

Further into the academy, where wooden walls became carved from stone, the shard slept in an iron case within a room stained, charred, and fractured by the years of failed trials. The cabinets were stocked, but the shelf-lined walls were bare, their contents moved to a safer location—which would explain the lab’s overabundance—and the acrid air stung Syra’s nose hairs.

“You’ll get used to it,” Sulaer said, seeing her crinkled nose, “but do make sure to take a break now and again.”

Peering into the box, Syra could feel the pressure pulsing from the shard. Such a puny thing, she thought, seeing how it took up little space in the box.

“Take it,” said Sulaer, “It won’t burn you. Surprisingly.”

The green-and-purple shard fit neatly in Syra’s palm and was warm. Very warm. Like a fire before you got too close. And Syra could feel her body gulping down the mana it radiated, to the point of becoming dizzy.

“Be careful not to drink too much,” Sulaer said, placing the crystal back into its box and latching it, “You’ll overload yourself and end up with a horrible headache.”

Syra nodded and stepped back from the box, its heat fading from her skin, “What should I do now?”

A wide grin cracked across Sulaer’s face and she handed Syra a notebook, freshly bound, “Play with it.”

“Play with it?” Syra repeated, “Isn’t that what caused this whole mess in the first place?”

“And it’s the only way to get us out of it. Like you said, work backwards. You have the notes, supplies, and now the power source. I expect an update every other day, and do try not to blow anything up—this is the last room left. I’ll keep my study door open if you have any questions, and I’ll update you if I find anything new.”

And like that, Syra was left to wilds of alchemical discovery, with a hurried vocabulary list and 150-year-old ramblings of a Talian hermit. If there was ever a magical exam to be passed, it was this one.

A week passed with Syra mired nose-deep in parchment and potions, but book after book, trial after trial, she still hadn't made any leeway outside of singing her eyebrows. And other than at mealtimes, she hadn’t seen nor spoken to Aidan or the twins. Any attempts were met with, “How’s the cure coming?”, “Find anything?”, or the more common, “Just focus on getting the shard so we can go.”

Normally, she wouldn’t have minded being left to her devices in solitude, but normally she’d have someone to turn to for help, be it a teacher or classmate. Even Aidan had clever solutions sometimes. But despite her original promise, Sulaer busied herself in her own readings and research, many times disappearing for hours all together. It was that sort of day when Syra went to her balcony for a quick rest.

The balcony off her hallway faced over the terrace towards the city’s center. She could see the Playhouse with its patrons, and beyond that a training field, and a flower garden with a small pond. She watched from this spot as Cassius and Petra trained one-on-one in combat—Wyn had insisted that if they were to stay until a cure was found, they might as well learn to be useful. They were getting better, and Syra found it a relaxing distraction from the dim cave and strong smells and words that blurred together. But there was something off about that scene that day. An uneasiness that drew her attention from the twins to the small bench by the pond. A bench where Aidan sat, too comfortably, next to Sulaer in her satin dress with her big books.

Syra’s stomach dropped. They were laughing. She waved the thought away as quickly as it came, but the cold knot in her gut told her to keep watching. Sulaer pointed to the book Aidan was reading—Syra’s book—and he smiled. He smiled that smile where his forehead creased and his eyes glinted from behind that mask of smart sensibility he always wore—a smile she had not seen since the festival. But this time it wasn’t for her.

There were more laughs, more smiles, more flicks of the hair. There was always more, and Syra had to break away from the balcony before she broke herself. She returned to the lab, in its quiet, dim solitude, but her mind was now a blur and she felt the prodding of nausea. Just ignore it, she thought. We’ve all been stressed and he deserves a nice break. Even if something did come of it, halflings weren’t all that rare—there was one in her Runes class after all.

She forced herself to continue working, throwing herself into the scripts and charts and diagrams of old, looking for any missing piece or glint of hidden meanings. But nothing helped. Her mind kept returning to the image of Aidan smiling with Sulaer, and she continued to return to the balcony where any sight of him numbed the grief left to fester.

More days went by like this. And the more she looked for evidence of their relations, the more she found: more hours in the garden, more exchanged gazes at meetings, more whispered giggles at the dinner table. Many times she started to tell Cassius of her troubles. Hoping that, perhaps by purging them, she could lessen the ache that gnawed away at her and made her world dim and gray. But she never could.

She'd watch from her balcony as he and Petra found confidence in their two-legged fighting skills: their weapons becoming lighter and swifter, until a swing and twirl were second nature. No, he had his own problems to deal with. Certainly, he had dealt with hers far too much at this point. This was something she had to bare on her own. And that just made the ache deeper.

She was returning from her time on the balcony—which had become a bit of a habit—when a low rattle came from one of the rooms a few doors down from the lab. The door stood slightly ajar and through the crack she could see Ristau slumbering wide-mouthed at his desk. She went to walk onwards down that hall, but the mortar and pestle atop his desk called her back. Ristau had those at the Playhouse, she thought, recalling their first meeting. She had been curious about this "Down" they spoke of, but never found the chance to ask.

Please don't squeak, she begged the door as she pushed it open with a fingertip. She took a step into the room and paused, watching Ristau for any movement, but he snored on with his head rested back against his chair. Padding over to the desk, she examined the dusty bowl and the small bag sitting open next to it. Again, she glanced over at Ristau, but he continued to dream with a slight grin on his ruddy face. He looked so calm and happy. Did Down affect dragons the same way it did Tal?

Then she reached for it, plucking it by the drawstrings. It was the swift, heavy hand that made her jump.

"Careful, milady," Ristau said, fully awake and gripping both her hand and the bag in one large hand, "That's a slippery slope you're treading on."

Syra looked down at the bag, but didn't move, "Does it help?" she asked in a small voice, "Will it make the pain go away?"

"No," he said, empathy softening the edges of his face, "but it will dull it."

He lifted his hand and she took the bag, clutching it to her chest, before turning to leave.

She stopped in the doorway, "Why are you—"

"The only thing that clouds the mind better than rage," he said with a solemn face, "is grief. And I need your mind to save my people."

She nodded, shut the door, and returned to her quarters where she drowned herself in pages, and the ache slid into its box and waited.

It was Cassius who found her.

"Syra!" he exclaimed in a whisper when he entered later that night to find her dazed and lopsided in her chair. "What the hell happened?" He asked, sitting her up straight.

She mumbled something about a potion and needing to get back to work, and that's when he saw the dust specks under her nose.

"You're kidding me." He looked to her desk to find the bag open with dusting around its brim.

"It helps," Syra said, pulling out of her stupor and smiling up at him. "Well, at least until this groggy part. I think I might finally be on to something. I think I can—"

"Oh no," Cassius interrupted, putting a finger to her lips, "You're not telling me anything until you've sobered up." He picked her up from her chair and set her on the bed.

"But I'm fine, really!"

"Bashta!" he cursed, taking Syra aback by his sudden harsh tone, "You're pale, wobbly, and slurring your words, all things completely not you."

"I'll be fine so enough," she shooed his hand away from her forehead, "just...let me enjoy not feeling like shit for a moment."

Cassius stared down at her, his own face reddening, "How do you think Aidan would feel if he saw you like this?"

The mention of his name woke the monster inside the box, and Syra grimaced at the pin prick in her chest, "He has someone else to worry about now."

Genuine surprise flashed across Cassius’ face, “Who?!”

“Don’t play dumb. It’s sickeningly obvious.” She rested her head back against the headboard, tired of faking her cheeriness.

Cassius’ eyes searched his memories of the past few days before scoffing, “Well, it’s not Petra, I can tell you that right n—”

“No, you blind lizard. Sulaer!” She wriggled farther down into the bed and clutched at a pillow, “With her silky hair and library and big…womanly-ness.”

“You’re being silly.”

“I can’t compete with that, Cas,” Syra said, the sparkle gone from her eyes.

He sighed and looked away, unable to put his thoughts into words she would care to understand.

In the quiet, her grip on the pillow loosened and a wry smile bubbled to the surface as her mask slipped off.

“Though, I can’t really blame him. I’d squat for her if I were in his shoes.”

She chuckled and looked over at her brother who appeared a tad embarrassed by the subject.

“We’re all messed up, you know?” she said, gaining a raised eyebrow from him, “all three of us. Petra keeps pining after Tarys, who wouldn’t know she existed if she weren’t Vayguard. I’m going bat-shit over a human boy. And you…” She looked Cassius over with a slow, critical eye, and sneered when they landed at his neck. With a sly finger, she flicked the strands of hair away and slid it down across the light bruising just under his ear. “You go sneaking off to have a little fun with fairy boy when nobody’s looking.”

Cassius smacked her hand away and snarled, baring his teeth. But that didn’t stop him from flushing, or Syra from snickering.

“Hold your fire, I meant no harm. Hell, I might as well join you next time. First round’s free, right?”

For the first time since their reunion, she took a moment to study his human form: his slender face, toned shoulders, and firm chest that was just visible behind his unbuttoned collar. Her eyes stopped at the black marks that peeked out from under his shirt.

“Actually, while you’re here,” she leapt from the bed and snatched up a blank strip of parchment from her desk, “hold still for a second.”

“W-what are you doing?” He fidgeted as she unbuttoned his shirt.

“I said, hold still.” She balled a fist and light shimmered around him, yanking him down onto the bed.

Running down the middle of his chest were black runes left from Valen’s spelltag. She pressed the parchment overtop.

“Just relax,” she cooed and traced the markings with smooth strokes of a finger until they burned onto the paper. “Perfect,” she said, admiring her work.

“What’s that for?” Cassius asked, scooting away and buttoning his shirt.

“I told you, making progress.”

The two stood there silent and Syra looked from him to the door, “You may go now. I’m sure fairy boy is waiting for you.”

“What is with you?!” Cassius growled with true, but scorned, concern. “I’d expect this kind of attitude from Petra, but not from you!”

“Then you obviously haven’t been in my head long enough.”

“I think I’ve been there too long,” he said, standing from the bed. “Come find me when you’re not such a graga.”

He left her side but stopped in the doorway, “Sulaer’s already engaged, by the way. But you would know that if you got your head out of your ass and actually listened to people.”

The next morning brought Syra a splitting headache and a visitor.

“So, did you hit the books, or did the books hit you?” asked Ristau from her desk. She hadn’t even heard him come in.

“That’s not funny,” Syra said, massaging her temples.

“Yes, it is. And what’s even funnier, is that I was woken up by your brother lecturing me about keeping you sober.”

“He told you?!”

“Of course, he did. Who else does he know with access to this?”

He snatched the bag of Down from her desk.

“Hey, wait, don’t!” She sprang upwards and gripped at the air towards the bag, “I need that.”

“Uh-uh,” he said, shaking a finger, “One: this is mine. Two: it was my mistake for giving it to you in the first place.”

“But you use it all the time.”

“Yes, and I know how to keep my head up and my mouth shut. Not spitting venom at anyone who shows the least bit of concern.” Grief softened his eyes, “He’s your brother, Syra. And the only one you’ll ever have. Never take that for granted.”

She would have retorted, but the Down had left her system and the words she spoke last night burned her tongue worse than the dry-mouth. She groaned and hung her head.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t tell me that,” he said, riffling through her papers, “I certainly wouldn’t believe you.”

His words hit hard, and she remained silent.

“And you know what’s the worst part?” He paused his shuffling to look right at her, “You knew better. And I know you knew better because you wouldn’t have said those things otherwise.”

Syra had no excuse to give. Every one that popped into her head she could reason away as being callous, petty, and downright pitiful. A bitter, self-centered brat wallowing in self-pity, that’s what she had shown herself to be. So this is what Aidan meant by ‘mopiness’.

“What is this?” Ristau broke Syra out of her self-reflection as he looked down on a spelltag similar to the one she had copied from Cassius last night. The runes were different and more complicated, but the structure was the same.

“Progress.”

“No-no,” he said, pounding a finger on it, “this isn’t a counter-spell. This is a shapechanging spell.” He leered over at Syra who met his gaze with confidence, “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m very serious, and all I need now is a power source,” she said. “Plus, it made me realize something about Caelus’ spell, and why our attempts keep failing.”

“Oh, and what’s that?”

“That we’ve been going about it all wrong, for starters. But I can’t really get dressed and to go tell everyone with you standing here, now can I?”

Ristau begrudgingly put the spelltag back on the desk.

“Thank you. Now, shoo-shoo. Go and bring everyone to the lab.”

The seats around the lab table were filled by the time Syra arrived, and all waited anxiously for her news. To her disappointment—but of no surprise—Aidan took the seat next to Sulaer, who watched her enter with both nervousness and excitement.

“So, what did you find?” Sulaer asked, almost bouncing in her chair, “What’s this ‘realization’ Ristau was talking about?”

Syra pushed her insecurities aside and plopped a thick notebook on the table, opening to Sulaer’s cliff notes on the powering of Caelus’ spell and its general make-up.

“Lanis,” she said, looking to the king who was deep in thought, “when we first got here, you said that Kor Lahru’s mana spring ran down here, right?”

“Correct, it does.”

“You then said that you believed this to be a reason why the disease isn’t progressing—why the Lower Tal aren’t getting any worse.”

“Yes—”

“You’re wrong,” she said, inciting tension around the table, “At least, I think you’re wrong.” She pointed at little Leimia who sat quiet by his side, “You are getting worse. Every generation is getting worse. You said that children born here suffer worse deformities if they survived at all.”

“Again, correct, but what is your point?”

“I think it’s the mana spring that’s making them worse, and why we can’t find a cure.”

Sulaer looked confused, but intrigued and motioned for her to continue.

“We thought all the conditions had to be the same for the spell to be reversed. But you can’t counter a curse using something that it draws power from. You’ll only be feeding it,” Syra explained. “Caelus’ spell was powered by the shard—a huge source of mana—so would it not make sense that the disease is also powered by mana?”

“The mana spring is feeding the disease,” Sulaer hushed, growing pale.

“Yes, just like using the shard in our trials stops any counter-spell from working. We’ve been trying to swim upstream.”

“So, we do what, exactly?” Aidan asked.

“Stop using the shard, for one,” said Ristau.

“Not just that,” Syra said, setting a second book on the table and flipping to a sketch of an Arrun tree. “We have to starve it.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Aidan asked Syra as she devoured tome after tome searching for any instructions on how to create a mana-draining potion. “Don’t Tal need mana to survive?”

“Not necessarily,” said Ristau, who also joined in on the search party. “Unlike Fae or dragons, we’ve separated from the Mana Flow over time. So, while draining our reserves will severely weaken us, it will not kill us.”

“But you could run the risk of the disease killing us while our bodies are too weak to fight off the infection,” said Lanis. He and Leimia had a tower of books each to themselves that had already been looked through.

“So, we’ll just have to kill the infection before it kills the patient,” said Syra. “Do you have any information on any known cures?”

“Before we get to that, let’s focus on weakening the infection first,” Sulaer said, nose-deep in her own stack.

Aidan looked around at everyone sitting in a sea of parchment, their eyes red from hours of scouring—even Petra was making progress.

He sighed, “I think I know how to make one.”

All heads looked up from their pages.

“You tell us this now?” Petra yelled.

“I wasn’t sure if it fit what you were looking for, and I’m honestly not proud of it.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Syra.

“Dragonlances,” he said, meeting her gaze, “they’re tipped with a poison made from the bark of the Arrun tree. If concentrated enough, it can kill any magical creature…even dragons. That’s why we use them.”

Syra bit her lip, “And you know how to make this poison?”

“I helped invent it.”

Syra, Petra, and Cassius all stared at him shock.

“Those arrows were made by you?!” Petra growled.

“By my alchemists, yes.”

“We lost clan members because of you!” Petra screamed and Cassius had to hold her back from lunging at him.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have flown so close!” Aidan spat back, “Just stayed way up in the mountains where you belong!”

Tension grew with the silence, and Aidan lowered his head, “I’m sorry. That was wrong of me to say.”

“No, you meant what you said.” Tears formed in Petra’s eyes and she shot to her feet, knocking over her stack of books, “I knew we shouldn’t have brought you along! You’re no different than Marrak, or Larson, or any of the other Black Thorn members! Only caring to act when it suits you best. And to think I was starting to trust you.”

“Petra, I’m sorry. I take it ba—”

“Bashta!” she cried, spitting at him, “You’re just a lowly pink worm. Altaira’s doomed with a king like you.”

With that, she stormed off, leaving the rest to sit and simmer in her wake. Cassius went to say something, but he couldn’t bring himself to even look at Aidan. And the four Tal could only watch on as outsiders.

“Where we belong?” Syra finally asked, looking to him, “After what you’ve seen your own people do, you still see us as monsters? Even as we sit here trying to help another race?”

“It’s a hard habit to break, Syra,” Aidan admitted, “Those roots run deep and I…I just need time to let them die.”

“More time, huh?” She shook her head and closed her book, standing, “Unfortunately, time is something we don’t have. Marrak is moving, and we don’t have time to wait for your scars to fade. We need to know that we can still trust you.”

“Of course, you can!”

“Good. Now, get to making that vile poison of yours and I’ll look into killing the infection for good. Sulaer?” she asked, turning her attention away from Aidan, “Are these all the books you have?”

“No, just the ones we know with relevant information. There’s also the Grand Library below the academy.”

“A Grand Library?” asked Cassius.

“Yes,” Sulaer nodded, “Omei has the largest library in all the realms and, to be honest, there are scrolls there that even I haven’t read yet.”

“Take me there,” Syra said, her face steeled against the screams and tears that begged to burst out. “We might be able to find more clues on how to kill this thing.”

“Sure. There’s a whole section on all our medicinal advances.”

“Then we’ll start there,” Syra went to follow Sulaer out of the lab, but stopped abruptly, “And Aidan?”

Aidan looked up at her, guilt plastered on his face.

“Where I belong, is my choice.”

Down into the depths of the mountain they went, spiraling down the main staircase. The roots of Mother Tree still reached even this far down, and lit their way past floor after floor. The Medicinal Section was located on the seventh floor and took up most of the sixth wing that branched off of the main staircase.  

“So, this is even bigger than the Sylvani library?” Syra asked in amazement.

“Just by a floor, but I still like to brag about it,” said Sulaer.

“Just looking at all these books makes me want to fall asleep,” said Petra. She and Cassius had joined Syra after Petra decided that she’d much rather read than be stuck in a room with Aidan.

“We can’t nap now,” Syra said. “Not until we have a solid plan, at least.”

“Here,” Sulaer said, leading them to sit around a wide, round table off in a cozy nook with a small plant as its centerpiece, “have a seat. I’ll warm us up.”

Carved from stone and far from the warmth of the city, the Grand Library held a chill. The siblings sat about the table while Sulaer fiddled with the plant. She peeled back the cone of leathery leaves to reveal a rather plump bulb. She rubbed her hands together and blew on them, as if they were cold. Faint green light appeared between them and she wrapped them around the bulb. In seconds the bulb glowed and then unfurled, releasing a wave of warmth into the nook.

“Much better,” said Sulaer, turning back to the bookshelves, “now where to start?”

Book after book they read until their stomachs growled, but still they did not find a solution.

“What about this one?” Petra asked, sliding the open book over to Syra.

“Nope, not that one, either.”

“Ugh!” Petra groaned and laid her head on the table, exhausted and hungry, “I thought you said we could find cures down here.”

“These are cures,” said Sulaer, “they just all require some addition of mana, and that’s the opposite of what we need.”

“Well, we can’t stay here forever. Even you said you haven’t read all of these. How are we supposed to?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“Wonderful.” Petra closed her book and left to return it back to the shelf. As she slid it back into place she screamed, dropping the book and making Syra and Cassius run to her.

“What is it? What happened?”

“What is that?” Petra pointed an accusing finger and grimaced at the fat grub waving its pincers at them from the shelf.

“It’s…it’s a worm,” Syra said, puzzled. “Sulaer, why is there a worm down here?”

“You are underground, remember?” said Cassius.

“That’s a bookworm,” Sulaer answered, laughing.

“Like, the kind that eat books?” Syra recalled hearing talk of them in Altaira, but had never actually seen one.

“No, not exactly.” Sulaer reached over and scooted the worm into her palm, and Petra quivered in disgust. “They eat their memories.”

“Come again?” Cassius asked.

“All the memories of all the people that ever read it, even the author. It takes a lot of energy to write a book, and even more is invested by those who pour themselves over one. And it’s these little fellas that hold on to that energy in the form of memories.”

“So, you’re saying these worms hold the memories of all the books in here?” Syra asked.

Sulaer took a moment to answer, “Depends on their age, but yes, it wouldn’t surprise at all.”

“Can I see it?” Syra asked, taking the worm from her hand and running back to the table.

“Don’t put that thing over there!” cried Petra, “I sit there!”

“It’s not going to bite you, Petra,” Syra said, setting it down on the table, “I don’t think.”

Syra took out a piece of parchment and a quill from her bag on the table and began writing.

“A locator spell?” asked Sulaer surprised, looking over her shoulder.

“If that worm has memories of the information we need, then maybe I can find the book it got it from.”

Sulaer watched her hands fly over the paper, her strokes a tad sloppy in her hurry.

“Don’t rush,” she said, stopping her hands a moment, “it won’t work as well.”

Syra nodded and continued with slower, more precise marks. The script wound around the borders and spiraled inward until only a blank spot was left in the center.

“Now you just need a purpose,” said Sulaer.

Syra hesitated. This was always the hardest part. She could learn spells fine, but creating one had always been a hurdle. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, imagining what she wanted and hoped the words would come. And then she wrote.

 Locate the tome,

your only quest.

And bring me thither,

At my behest.

 The bane of plagues,

it acts alone

To restore the body

And make it whole.

 “Not bad for your first try,” Sulaer said. “Now what?”

Syra picked up the worm and placed it on the page. She balled a fist, charging it.

“Sorry about this,” she said, pointing a finger. She tapped her fingertip to the worm and a spark of electricity jolted the worm, causing it to seize and spit up the juices from its gut onto the paper.

“That’s just disgusting,” said Petra.

“It’s magic,” Syra replied, scooting the poor grub off to the side.

“Nothing’s happening,” Cassius said, watching the paper.

“I’m not done.”

Sulaer took a pin from her pouch and handed it to Syra, who pricked her finger and pressed it to the page. The words shimmered as light traced along the spiral of ink until it came to the center. Please, work, she thought, but nothing happened. The page still glimmered, but did not move. Syra bent over the paper, analyzing it to see what she could have done wrong, stopping at the small glob of blue liquid just outside the center lines. She blew on it, flicking the glob over into the center.

It sparked, and glowed, and the page twitched and ruffled. Then it started folding itself. Over and over, folding and twisting until it formed itself into a bird that flapped its wings and hopped about the table.

“You did it!” Sulaer rejoiced, gripping her shoulders.

“Well, look at that, you did!” Petra said, laughing at the paper bird, “What’s it supposed to do?”

Syra bent over the table and the bird stared up at her, beak to nose.

“Go,” she said, and the bird flew from the table into the air, fluttering on its tiny wings in circles above them.

“Where’s it going?” Cassius asked.

“To find the cure.”

[seracross]

Too accurate. Even the dragons.

[melonberrystudios]

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