Haunted by recent losses, Lioska chooses to leave Clan Lukra, bringing in Gibralt to take her place.
Lioska leaned against her desk and sighed. She still had guard schedules to work out, meal plans to look over, supply requisitions to review -- she had to give Melasune feedback on the druid’s latest designs for the fallen trees, and settle a dispute between Ayers and Freya over how much ink The Starwood Chronicle should be using. And, of course, she had letters to write. Always letters to write.
She took off her jeweled eyepiece and rubbed her face under it. The jewelry, as ever, reminded her of Aridatha: she, Aridatha, and Nessa had split the set, with the majority going to Aridatha, as a symbol of their allegiance to each other above all else.
Now Lioska was the only one left. She hadn’t saved Nessa; she hadn’t saved Aridatha. Her attempts to tell herself that there was nothing she could have done only made it worse. What was she for , if she couldn’t protect the dragons she cared about the most? If she couldn’t protect her clan? Did she just exist now to do paperwork? No one had protested when she’d taken charge of the rebuilding efforts, but as they moved on past immediate rebuilding, Lioska found herself wishing that they had. Surely someone else in this clan was capable of making major decisions? They didn’t all have to be left to weigh on Lioska’s mind, did they?
Drew up my spiral boy Lioska! I'll be posting some of my clan lore soon, together with his backstory! Currently dragon married to his fae wife Drisa uwu
Ammanas notifies Lioska that Treat's death has left the clan without a competent chef, then seeks to recruit Abrianna -- and, by extension, her daughter Cynfor -- to solve this problem.
“Lioska, we have a problem,” Ammanas said.
Lioska looked down at him. “Last time I checked, Ammanas, we had quite a number of problems.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Ammanas snapped, an uncharacteristic outburst. Then he looked down, ashamed. “I’m sorry.”
Lioska accepted the apology with a silent nod. “What did you come here to tell me?”
“We’re running out of food.” Ammanas ran a claw through his fur. “Or, rather, we’re running out of food that can be easily eaten with a minimum of preparations. We have plenty of supplies, but with Treat gone … Our beastclan workers are struggling to keep up, especially with most of the kitchen destroyed.”
The clan holds a council to get to the bottom of Barholme’s attack on Elain and Achzina, and decide what’s to be done about it. Aridatha presides, with Lioska, Nesita, Bartos, Acrux, Talise, and others in attendance. // read on ao3 / read on deviantart
The pearlcatcher guard and a mirror with black scales and silver wings escorted Achzina, his attacker, and the skydancer who’d apparently come to warn him out of Pilgrim’s Rest, into the Inner Sanctum. It struck Achzina as odd that Clan Lukra would bring a would-be murderer into their fortified home, but he had more important mysteries on his mind. Once they entered the Sanctum, there came a brief period of frenzied activity around the three dragons involved in the altercation, while they remained under guard; then they were brought before Aridatha.
The clan leader and several other dragons had gathered in the same open-air chamber where she’d interviewed Achzina, built at the base and into the lower branches of one of the starwood trees. Achzina recognized Lioska from his interview. Also present were two tundras with sky-blue wings, one black-furred and one purple; a pink-winged imperial; a brown and green skydancer; a dark mirror with red markings mazing over her wings; and a purple coatl wearing bows. As Achzina, his attacker, and their companion entered, most of the dragons chatted amongst themselves; Achzina could hear the skydancer asking the imperial for news and see the mirror and coatl with their heads bowed together. A hush fell as the guards took up positions on either side of Achzina and the other … prisoners. Were they prisoners? Achzina wasn’t sure.
“Talise,” Aridatha said, into the silence. “You were the first on the scene, yes? What did you find?”
“I was --” began the tawny skydancer, the shapeshifter who’d burst into Achzina’s room.
“You --” said the silver fae, their attacker.
“Quiet,” Aridatha said, calmly but firmly. “Everyone will get a chance to tell their side of the story, but in turn. First, I want to hear from Talise.”
The pearlcatcher guard stepped forward. “It was late at night, the gates were shut, and I was patrolling Pilgrim’s Rest when I heard a commotion. Shouting, mostly, from upstairs, but as I headed towards it I started feeling something magical, too. Can’t tell you what it was; I’m no archmage.”
“Excuse me?” said the dark tundra, stepping forward. “If I may, Aridatha; since I am an archmage, and I took the liberty of briefly examining the scene of the incident?”
“Go on, Bartos.”
“From the traces left behind, it appears that someone used a spell designed to drain all the magic out of the room -- including out of any living creatures in the room, a process that would certainly be fatal.” A moment’s silence fell after that word, as all the dragons in the room took in the seriousness of the event. And it only got worse as the tundra continued: “The spell was not contained; Ammanas informed me that dragons in neighboring rooms complained of its effects, and particularly sensitive dragons could feel it from across the inn. If left unchecked, it could have harmed dragons across the inn -- perhaps more than ‘harmed,’ and perhaps further than the inn.”
Achzina felt cold, and he snuck a peek at the silver fae. He found it hard to believe that someone would go to such excessive lengths to kill him -- and he’d never even met this fae! What could he have done to engender such hate?
Barholme has a problem with shape-shifters, Ammanas had told him, but Achzina had never imagined such a “problem” would manifest itself like this.
“I don’t know anything about that,” the pearlcatcher, Talise, said as the tundra stepped back into the audience. “What I do know is that by the time I got up to the room, Barholme was just there looking -- well, I don’t know what; faes, you know? But he was there in the doorway, trying to cast, and the other two were writhing on the floor, clearly unwell, so I restrained Barholme and took all three of them into custody. That’s all I have to say.”
Talise retreated. Aridatha glanced around the room for a second, and then her gaze focused on the tawny skydancer. “Elain. What were you doing there?”
“When I went to bed last night, I found a note in my nest,” Elain said. “It said that Barholme would try to attack the new Oracle tonight, because he was a shape-shifter. I don’t know who sent it, but, well, they were right, weren’t they? I went out to the inn to warn him. And then Barholme tried to kill us both! I mean, I always knew he was going to, but I figured he’d go for me first.”
The skydancer’s matter-of-fact tone struck Achzina: he wondered how long she’d lived with the knowledge that one of her own clan-mates wished her dead, like a sword hanging over her throat. And still she’d come to warn him -- risking her life in the process. Almost unconsciously, Achzina moved closed to Elain, literally standing by the other skydancer.
“What happened when you got to the inn?” Aridatha prompted.
“I didn’t have time to tell Achzina why I was there, but I did wake him up, so at least Barholme couldn’t murder him in his sleep.”
“I would have woken him,” interrupted Barholme. “Sinners must know that they are punished.”
Elain gave Aridatha a significant look, as if to say, See? Achzina muttered, “Sinners?” with a growing weight in his chest.
“Elain.” Aridatha placed heavy emphasis on the name, glaring at Barholme.
“Barholme started in on his whole ‘sinners’ rhetoric, just like he just did.” Elain’s snout crinkled in contempt. “Which was whatever, but then he started firing bolts at us. Cut straight through the wall! I tried to stop him, but he shielded himself, held me off -- and then he created that rift thing. It had us both on the ground; hurt like Shade itself. And then it just … stopped. Not sure why. I figured Talise did something.”
Talise shook his head. “Unless ‘doing something’ means ‘just showing up,’ nope.”
The two tundras in the audience muttered to each other. Achzina remembered a flash of white cloth and a claw held to crystal lips, but he said nothing. For one, it wasn’t his turn to speak; and he also didn’t feel secure enough in his place here to speak up, or to disregard the request for silence in that held-up claw.
But now Aridatha turned to him. “Achzina. What happened, from your perspective?”
Achzina took a deep breath. Tell the truth, or keep quiet? What had Clan Lukra done to deserve the truth from him, when they couldn’t even control the homicidal maniac in their midst? He felt more inclined to trust the dragon at the window, who had probably saved his life.
“I don’t have much to add to Elain’s account,” he said. “I attempted to shield us, but it wasn’t going to hold -- but I suppose Barholme grew impatient, and that’s when he released the rift. It wasn’t really necessary.”
“You don’t know what halted the rift?” Aridatha asked.
Achzina hesitated. He hadn’t expected a direct question. But then, he wasn’t lying -- he didn’t know that the mysterious dragon had anything to do with the rift closing. He only suspected as much. “No. My talents lie in divination; I’m no great expert in other forms of magic.”
Aridatha seemed satisfied, anyway, though Lioska’s green eyes bored into Achzina as if she suspected something. Or perhaps only his guilt made him see accusations everywhere. Achzina reminded himself that he had done nothing wrong, that he was the victim of Barholme’s attack.
Reluctantly, Aridatha turned to the last dragon in custody. “Barholme. Defend yourself, if you can.”
The fae raised his head. “What else was I to do? For too long, you’ve stalled me, quibbled and refused to deal with the blasphemer among us. Then I hear that you consider inviting a second beast-lover to join us, and as an Oracle, favored of the gods. Obviously I could not allow this. I spoke to you on the subject, remember? I told you not to accept this creature, and you dismissed me.”
Aridatha frowned as eyes turned to her. “I recall. I told you I’d take your concerns into account.”
“You dismissed me.” Barholme’s fins flared. As little as Achzina wanted to give the fae any credit, he had a point: Aridatha barely sounded sincere making that promise now, after the fact. Then Achzina remembered how backwards Barholme’s “concerns” were, and any sympathy he’d had for the priest vanished. “I could not let this stand. And even if you refused him, by some chance -- such a sinner could not be permitted to claim the mantle of Oracle, here or anywhere else. So I went to take care of him, to show him the error of his ways with holy fire.”
“The Arcanist is not a god of holy fire,” interrupted the purple tundra. “He would wish us to study strange forms of magic, not destroy them on sight.”
Barholme’s neck swelled, fins extended to their full length and surface area as he hissed in rage. But others nodded in agreement: Lioska, the dark tundra, the imperial.
“Thank you for not attempting to deny your guilt, Barholme,” Aridatha said, a note of anger in her voice. “It makes this simpler.”
“Guilt?” hissed Barholme. “Guilt? What have I done? He is not of our clan, not yet; he is nothing to us. I have broken no law.”
He actually seemed to get some support on that one: the guard Talise tilted his head, considering the argument, and the mirror in the audience nodded.
“Pale excuses,” Aridatha snapped. “We will not allow murder on our grounds, whomever the victim may be.”
“Not to mention your total disregard for collateral damage,” Lioska said. “We must ensure the safety of the pilgrims who come to us for answers. What are we to tell them, if one of our number can set off dangerous magic among them with no consequences?”
“And your attack also targeted Elain, who is a clan member,” the imperial added. Elain herself looked rather surprised at that.
“You’ve admitted your guilt,” Aridatha repeated. “Now all that remains is to decide what’s to be done with you.”
Barholme’s head tilted as he looked up at Aridatha. “Kill me, then. I can think of no fate more glorious than to be a martyr for my lord.”
“We’re not going to kill you,” Aridatha said firmly.
Beside Achzina, Elain snorted, as if she disliked this decision, but Achzina himself felt rather relieved. For all Barholme’s willingness to do so to him -- not to mention the fae’s unpleasant demeanor -- Achzina didn’t want to feel responsible for another dragon’s death.
Aridatha glanced around the chamber. “I intend to exile Barholme from our clan and lands, so that he no longer possesses the privileges of a member of Clan Lukra, and nor may he approach our lair. If our patrols meet him, they are to turn him back with as much force as he makes necessary.”
“What, so he can go murder some other shape-shifters somewhere else?” Elain demanded. “So he can vent his spleen on the beastclans?”
Achzina felt much the same, and said so. “Exile does nothing to curb Barholme’s murderous tendencies, or to prevent him from enacting them somewhere else. He must be stopped, not simply made someone else’s problem.”
“If I may make a suggestion,” said the imperial, stepping forward. “I know you asked Nesita and Bartos to seal these three’s magic, to prevent any conflict from breaking out here in council.”
From beside Achzina, Elain let out a soft “oh,” and Achzina himself realized at that moment that his shape-shifting lay beyond him. That they had done so to all three dragons, not just the obviously guilty Barholme, and that they hadn’t bothered to mention it, irked him.
“I believe the first step in punishing Barholme would be to seal his magic in a more long-term manner,” the imperial continued. “That is possible, is it not, Bartos?”
“I’ve never tried it,” said the dark tundra. “But the theory certainly supports it, and I’ve heard of such things from other clans. I don’t doubt that I could work out how to do it. Permanently, if you wish.”
“You cannot take my lord’s blessing from me,” said Barholme, but he spoke quietly, as if not quite sure himself that the words were true.
“You sometimes speak as if you are the only Arcane dragon in this clan,” Bartos said, an almost contemplative note in his voice, though his pink eyes were sharp. “I think we’ll be able to demonstrate quite effectively that that’s not true.”
Aridatha turned to Elain and Achzina. “Without his magic, Barholme will post little threat to anyone. As the injured parties: does his sealing and exile satisfy you?”
Achzina looked at Elain. Elain appeared to consider the matter for a moment. Then turned to Barholme, curled her claws together, and punched him in the gut.
“That’s for all the mind control,” Elain said, while Barholme coughed on the ground.
“Mind control?” Achzina mouthed, but everyone ignored him.
Elain looked at Aridatha. “All right. You can exile him now. I’m going to bed.”
A new dragon joins Clan Lukra: a strange pearlcatcher who answers only certain questions. // read on deviantart / read on ao3
The pearlcatcher walked into the clan lair with such assurance that it took some time before anyone realized that they’d never seen him before. He got all the way to the stream in the center of the lair before someone thought to challenge him, and when they did, it was only Kelsus. The fae landed on the bank beside the pearlcatcher, peering up at him.
“Hello,” Kelsus said, fins undulating gently with distant curiosity. “Are you new here? I don’t remember seeing you before.”
“Yes,” the pearlcatcher said.
“Sorry I missed you,” said Kelsus. “What’s your name?”
The pearlcatcher said nothing, only looked contemplatively into the pool, tilting his head back and forth as he watched the water. It was shallow here, just barely running over the tiny stones of the streambed, not even an inch deep. This was a common place to ford the stream, although it never got deep enough to give a dragon larger than a fae or spiral much trouble, except in the pool where the familiars gathered.
“Excuse me?” Kelsus said, after a moment’s silence. “Sorry, can I get your name?”
“No.”
“Oh.” The fae’s frills wilted back. “Sorry for bothering you, then.”
He flew away, leaving the pearlcatcher to his contemplation -- but only for a moment. Shortly, Geras walked over, Kelsus perched on her head, clinging to her horns.
“Excuse me,” she said, her voice considerably sharper than Kelsus’ monotone. “I don’t recall Aridatha informing us of any new clan members.”
The pearlcatcher said nothing.
“Who are you?” Geras asked.
Nothing.
“Kelsus, please go get Lioska. You, I hope you’re not planning on going anywhere.”
The pearlcatcher folded his legs under him and settled down next to the stream, Geras looming over him.
When Lioska arrived, Frip accompanied her.
“I’m sorry if this is foolish,” Geras began. “I don’t know this pearlcatcher, and he won’t answer my questions. Do you know him?”
“No,” Lioska said, eyes narrowing as she examined the stranger. “He’s definitely not a new clan member -- I’ve never seen him before.”
“Well, he’s not a new clan member yet,” Frip said.
Ignoring Frip, Lioska said, “What’s your name? Who are you?”
The pearlcatcher said nothing, just looked at Lioska. While his face appeared mostly expressionless, one might read a hint of frustration in his Lightning-blue eyes.
“Answer me!” Lioska snapped.
“Don’t bully the poor pearlie,” Frip said. “It’s not that he doesn’t want to answer; he can’t. Can you, Machine?”
“No.”
Geras looked at Frip, though Lioska did not take her eyes off the pearlcatcher. “You know him?”
“I know everyone.” Frip grinned.
“You should have told us he was coming, then,” Lioska said. “Where’s that mess of yours who’s supposed to be standing guard?”
“Saria is having a moment of existential uncertainty,” Frip answered. “Anyway, Machine is here to join our clan, and we’ve big plans for him … But you won’t get much out of him, I’m afraid. He’s not very talkative.”
“What does she mean, you ‘can’t’ answer?” Lioska asked Machine, who, true to form, did not answer. He definitely looked frustrated now, and glanced back and forth between Frip and Lioska. “Did you make an arrangement with Frip?”
“No,” Machine said. His voice had almost a fae’s lack of tone, but he did sound vaguely relieved, perhaps at finally receiving a question that he could actually answer. He looked at Frip almost warily.
“Call it one-sided, like everything else,” Frip said. “I don’t suppose you’ve figured it out yet … Come on, Lia, you’re supposed to be clever.”
“Figured out what?” Kelsus asked.
Lioska ignored the fae, thinking. “He only says no?”
“Close. Machine can only answer yes or no questions. But … Well, you’ll find that out in time, won’t you.”
Lioska looked at Frip. “Did you talk to Aridatha about recruiting your friend here? Clear this with anyone?”
Frip shook her head. “But he’s here now.”
“We could always … remove him,” Lioska said.
“Oh, I really wouldn’t recommend that.” Frip examined her claws. “It wouldn’t do to be so cruel to a clan member, now, would it?”
“He’s not -- ” Frustrated, Lioska shook her head.
“Someone seems to be missing from this conversation,” Kelsus pointed out. As ever, it was impossible to tell if he meant to be sarcastic.
Geras turned to Machine. “Do you even want to stay?”
Her voice suggested that she rather hoped for a “no,” which would render the whole argument moot.
“Yes.”
“There you have it, then,” Frip said. “Who are we to turn him away?”
“The people who live here already?”
“Didn’t stop Barholme, and he might be regretting that about now, mightn’t he?”
“What do you …” Lioska shook her head. “I’ll have to speak to Aridatha. In the meantime, Kelsus, keep an eye on him.”
“I can do that,” Kelsus said, forestalling Geras’ objection. He still lacked any formal role in the clan, finding himself instead a holdover from its early days, and did not typically receive much in the way of tasks; perhaps he wished to feel useful.
“I’ll be around if you have any more questions Machine can’t answer,” Frip said, in a rare display of helpfulness. As Lioska stalked away, the nocturne added in a singsong voice, “Big plans …”
Isildur, Aridatha, and Lioska recruit Freya as Clan Lukra’s new quartermaster, so that Isildur can move on to her desired role as editor of Cypress’ newspaper.
Looking at the letter on her desk, Aridatha wondered briefly, and pointlessly, if she ought to take Isildur’s preference for written communication as a sign of dislike rather than an instrument of efficiency. It would not greatly surprise her if so; as far as she’d seen, Isildur didn’t particularly like anyone. Were Aridatha inclined to be negative, she might have suggested that Isildur viewed her fellow dragons with all the passion and affection she showed towards the objects she managed in the clan’s hoard, but Isildur wasn’t insensitive to others’ needs and emotions; she simply took little interest in them. If it were personal distaste behind Isildur’s tendency to send letters rather than speak face-to-face, Aridatha hardly could have faulted her for it, considering the efficiency with which she did the unenviable job of tracking and organizing such a mess of resources. Aridatha didn’t need her quartermaster to like her, just to get the work done.
But if it were personal distaste, Aridatha imagined that Isildur would not send letters inviting her to in-person meetings, as she had the day before. Actually, she could wish that more dragons would give notice and schedule appointments when they had concerns, rather than seeking her out at any hour of the day, without notice, no matter what important and unwise-to-interrupt task she might be engaged in at the time.
Isildur’s concern today was her own retirement. The skydancer had long since expressed interest in leaving her own post to work at Cypress’ budding newspaper -- now all the more important to the clan since they had word of plague to spread to the rest of Sornieth. Since the prospect of ever stepping into an untended hoard -- one that had returned to its sprawling, chaotic, pre-Isildur state -- Aridatha had asked the quartermaster to retain her role until she could find someone else to replace her. Now, apparently, she had. But, of course, Aridatha had to meet this stranger before potentially offering them such a vital role in her clan.
Lioska would be there as well, for security, though Aridatha wasn’t sure what kind of threat she really anticipated -- she found herself questioning Lioska’s “security” measures more than ever now, after the clan had faced a threat that all of Lioska’s supposed hard work had failed to protect them from. Not that she blamed Zeal on Lioska, of course not; she simply wondered what the point of caution was, now that they’d seen how easily friends could be torn away …
Aridatha managed to shake such thoughts from her head as she headed out of the lair, towards the designated meeting point. She’d glanced into Lioska’s chambers on her way down from her own and found them empty, so she assumed Lioska would meet her there. Probably she was already there, as she tended to adhere more rigidly to punctuality than Aridatha. Something in the back of Aridatha’s mind -- the same thing that had tried to extrapolate so ridiculously from Isildur’s letter -- suggested feeling hurt, that Lioska had not made the walk with Aridatha, but there was certain to be a perfectly reasonable explanation that was not the simple and histrionic “she hates me now.” Perhaps Lioska had come directly from another task.
As she’d expected, Aridatha found both Isildur and Lioska waiting for her in the small clearing that comprised their meeting place. Between them sat a blue coatl with golden stripes running down her body. She was beautiful, sitting with her talons folded demurely before her.
The interview with the coatl, Freya, went well, and soon Aridatha and Lioska had both approved her as the clan’s new quartermaster. Aridatha returned to her quarters thinking that whatever Isildur had thought of her before, she’d be more pleased now: though she wasn’t a highly emotional dragon, Aridatha could tell she was quite satisfied at shedding her unwanted post. Not that it was completely shed quite yet -- Isildur still had to help Freya get settled in and learn her systems of organizing the hoard. But soon Isildur could edit to her heart’s content. And, knowing Isildur, that would be quite a lot of editing.
Returning to the lair after the outbreak of Zeal, Aridatha and Lioska find a strange imperial already there, offering a path forward. // read on dA
Trudging back into the lair after a disaster, exhausted and grieving, the last thing Aridatha needed was to find a stranger sitting in front of her own home, intently inspecting something on the ground. Whoever they were, the blue-winged imperial represented another issue that needed dealing with, when all Aridatha wanted to do was sleep for weeks.
They also didn’t seem to have noticed the approach of Aridatha, or the ragged remains of the clan filing in behind her, too spooked to split up and head to their own quarters. For a long moment, everyone stood silent. Finally, Lioska walked up to the imperial and tapped them on the side. “Whatever you came here for, now is a poor time. Who are you, and what task shall we have to delay till morning?”
“This is the right time,” the imperial said, absently, and turned to give everyone a view of what they were looking at: a pulsating patch of rainbow light, taken root among the grass at their feet.
The entire clan recoiled, with snarls and cries of dismay. Aridatha whirled on Frip. “You said it was safe!”
Frip merely gestured back at the imperial, who barely seemed to have noticed the other dragons’ reactions. Instead, they meticulously placed crystals in a complex pattern at their feet, beside the spot of light.
“That’s sacridite,” said Barholme, landing on Aridatha’s shoulder. She almost shook him off, but restrained herself, and he peered curiously at the design as the imperial completed it. Aridatha had questions, of course, but something in the imperial’s manner told her they would not be answered, so she held her tongue and waited for them to finish. Finally, the imperial delicately tapped a claw on a central crystal, making a distinct plink sound, and rainbow light flashed over their scales. Everyone recoiled, again, but somewhere in the back of her mind, Aridatha noted that it wasn’t quite the same as before: this light didn’t burn the eyes as its harsher cousin did … A circle of white light bloomed out from the sacridite, washing over the glowing grass, and then receded, and the rainbow was gone. So was the sacridite.
“Ah,” said the imperial, still with a distant, indifferent tone. “It works.”
“You didn’t know that was going to work?” said Geras, craning her neck from where she had, apparently, curled her entire body around Kelsus, unwilling to risk losing him again.
“I did,” Frip said. “Clan, Bluebird. Bluebird, clan. Now we can wait till morning.”
“I was a blue bird,” the imperial agreed. They picked themself up and began to wander off to the south.
“Wait -- ” Aridatha said, and several others echoed her confusion.
Frip turned to them. “Aren’t you tired?”
And a sudden wave of new exhaustion washed over Aridatha, such that she could barely keep her eyes open, though she forced herself to do so just to glare at Frip: the timing was too convenient for this to be anything but the nocturne’s influence. But, as everyone else yawned and murmured goodbyes and headed to their own beds behind her, there was little Aridatha could do but comply.
*
Morning came, and explanations came with it, though never as complete as Aridatha would have liked, and with an excessive amount of meddling from Frip, who, as always, knew more about everything than anyone should. Though this did seem to balance well with the imperial Bluebird, who claimed to know little about even their own basic details. Even their name was provided by Frip, as Bluebird themself appeared confused by the entire concept of identity. Their vague answers to questions tended to run in circles.
What Aridatha came to understand was this: Bluebird was previously acquainted with the bright plague, which they called Zeal; they had seen it in their previous clan, though they would not name that clan, or give any details besides that it had been Arcane, as the imperial themself was. They had come east into the Starwood following the outbreak, experimenting with ways to contain it. The sacridite ritual was their first success. A brief break in the serious conversation occurred here, as Barholme discovered that Bluebird had taken the sacridite from his own personal supply, and Aridatha had to mediate the resulting argument, which was rather one-sided, since Bluebird made no attempt to defend themself and did not even seem to understand the fae’s anger.
With this finally settled, Aridatha returned to squeezing Bluebird for specifics on their “cure.” The ritual would not save the infected, who would in fact die from it, but it did stop the spread of infection. However, it requires massive amounts of sacridite -- Bluebird had used most of the clan’s existing store on that small patch of grass. And Bluebird grew increasingly vague when asked, by those well-versed in magical theory -- Bartos, Nesita, Barholme -- how exactly the spell worked, and how others could replicate it. Lioska gave Aridatha a look, and Ari nodded: the imperial’s imprecision was suspicious. They were hiding something, and would have to be carefully watched.
Bluebird was insistent about one thing, amidst all their evasions and equivocations: they wanted more sacridite. With enough of the material, they claimed, they could eliminate the disease, Zeal, once and for all. Or, at least, that was what Aridatha gathered from their words; what the imperial actually said was: “A surfeit of dreams will close the circle and calm the endless fire.”
“So we need more sacridite,” Aridatha said. “A lot of it. I wonder how much it costs … ”
The clan’s store of treasure remained largely untouched, the nonliving gold and jewels unaffected by Zeal. They were far from any market, but Boolean should be home soon.
“Hm,” Lioska said. “Aridatha, a word?”
“Of course,” Aridatha said, and followed Lioska out of Bluebird’s hearing. As she left, she heard Bartos speaking to the imperial, trying once again to glean some specifics of their magic.
“This is a heavy burden for a single clan, especially one so recently devastated as our own,” Lioska said. “And such a worldwide cure benefits others almost more than ourselves: some of us have already proven resistant, like Acrux, who never developed the plague despite great exposure; and we have Frip and Bluebird.”
Aridatha tilted her head skeptically. She’d known Lioska was pragmatic, even ruthless, but this was a new low. “So we should let Zeal ravage the rest of Sornieth as long as we are safe? Even setting aside any moral concerns, we are self-sufficient, but not that self-sufficient.”
“I’m not saying that,” Lioska said, though she didn’t bother pretending to be offended by the suggestion. “But it would be unfair as well as unwise for us to attempt this alone. We should seek allies. We could use help -- financial, scholarly, possibly even military.”
Aridatha let out a brief, almost mirthless laugh. “You choose such a selfish tone in which to advocate cooperation … but you’re right. If nothing else, others deserve to be warned of this danger.”
Lioska bristled a bit at the initial criticism, but Aridatha could see her deciding to let it go, chalking it up to stress or just recognizing its irrelevance. While Lioska had her pride, she was not in the practice of letting it obstruct more tangible pursuits. “Would you like me to draft a letter informing local clan members of such?”
“I’ll write it,” Aridatha said. “And I think we can do a bit better than ‘local.’ Could you go check on Illyan and see if her printing press is still functional?”
After the recent disaster, the remaining clan members reunite. As Aridatha tries to figure out what to do, Frip returns, angering Acrux and Geras, and offers a revelation about Kelsus’ fate. // read on dA
“That’s three passes without finding anyone else. I think this is all we’re going to find, unless someone survived in the lair itself.”
“Right. We’ll have to do that …” Aridatha looked miserably at Lioska, imagining the task of deciding which dragon should risk going back to the site of disaster, to the heart of the infection. Perhaps Aridatha herself ought to go investigate. She just couldn’t bring herself to ask anyone else to risk their lives; maybe she could ask for volunteers.
“We may wish to wait till morning,” Lioska said, the barest note of mercy in her voice. “Everyone is exhausted.”
It had taken the remainder of the day and a good portion of the night for Aridatha and Lioska to gather those clan members they could find in this small clearing about a mile from the lair. Finding Nesita and Bartos, who had stuck together, had helped greatly, since the two tundras were able to devise a spell that pointed them towards other dragons. But their success rate was not high. Clan Lukra had included 37 dragons before the incident. Only seventeen stood in this clearing.
Aridatha glanced around. “This isn’t much of a camp, but it’ll do.”
Lioska nodded. “I’ll see if I can arrange some hunting and foraging. We could do with a good meal -- or even a bad one.”
As Lioska moved away to talk to Delemont, Aridatha let her head droop into her talons and took stock.
They had not lost a full twenty dragons. Frip’s and Boolean’s travels had kept them out of harm’s way -- the former Aridatha knew of from Acrux’s account, the latter from Isildur’s records. Boolean would return in about a week’s time, and of course Aridatha doubted that the incident would have inconvenienced Frip even if she had been present. By pure bad luck, however, the catastrophe had caught the familiar-trader Nilith on one of her visits, and several dragons had seen her fly up over the treetops with that motley fire in her veins.
Surviving dragons had witnessed similar scenes with Weythran, Xylia, and Moros, and of course Aridatha had seen the infections of Iburel, Rakgi, Cobalt, and Kelsus for herself. And Talva, whose case had been their one inadequate attempt at a quarantine … Other dragons were simply missing: Arven, Zura, Sovari, Halamshiral, Gavin, Sunfall … and Nessa. That last name on the list of the vanished tore at Aridatha’s heart more than she cared to admit. No one could say whether these dragons had succumbed to the disease or simply become lost in the woods, so a painful thread of hope continued to spin in Aridatha’s veins …
And she had to act on that hope. She made a decision: even with everyone tired, they needed to do at least a quick check of the lair. If it was safe, they would rest far better in their own home than in the middle of the woods -- unless, of course, the infection lingered invisibly, or they were too haunted by the images of their fallen friends … Regardless, Aridatha needed information. She turned to the rest of the clan and called for their attention. “Everyone! I know you’re tired; I know you’re hurting. But we need to know what the current state of the lair is, and … it may be dangerous to investigate. I’m not going to order anyone to go back in there, but I would appreciate volunteers.”
The entire clan -- excluding Delemont, Zarya, and Luna, who had gone off to find food -- stared blankly at Aridatha, clearly not enthused by the idea. Even Lioska appeared less than thrilled. Maybe Aridatha really should have waited until the next day.
Then, a voice from behind Aridatha: “That won’t be necessary. The lair is fine. The infection’s cleared out by now.”
Aridatha spun to see, of course, Frip, sauntering into their temporary camp as if she hadn’t just conveniently abandoned them in their hour of greatest need. Bile rose in Aridatha’s throat, and clearly not only in hers: Acrux lunged forward, snarling, “Where were you?”
Frip paused and surveyed the scene: fourteen faces angry, like Acrux’s; or sad, like Cypress’s; or simply contemptuous, like Isildur’s. As she looked at the others, Aridatha felt her own rage fade away, replaced by despairing exhaustion. “You knew this was going to happen, didn’t you, Frip?”
For a long moment, the nocturne said nothing. Then: “Doesn’t matter.”
“It doesn’t matter?” With a single abrupt movement, Geras lifted herself from the spot where she’d lain listless and silent ever since they’d gathered, clearly suddenly furious. She stalked across the clearing and loomed over Frip, teeth bared, and even Acrux stepped back. “Half our clan is gone. Kelsus is dead. And you just -- How can you just come marching back in here like nothing’s -- ”
“Oh, right.” Frip held up a talon before Geras, ordering her to wait, and Aridatha could see the guardian’s entire body shaking at the casual insult of the gesture, but she seemed baffled into compliance, too surprised to either continue her tirade or take more physical action. Meanwhile, Frip lifted one wing and appeared to search under it, as if she had far more hidden there than her relatively small wingspan would suggest. Finally, after an agonizing moment, she turned back to Geras, pulling out from under her wing and rather disheveled, very confused green fae.
“K … Kelsus?” Geras jerked back in shock. “But I saw him -- I saw you -- ”
“Don’t say I never did anything for you,” Frip said, setting Kelsus on the grass, where he blinked and looked around blankly. Geras slowly, carefully, reached out a talon towards him, and he grabbed it -- both of them looked like they could not quite believe the other was real, or perhaps it was his own existence Kelsus struggled with -- and then, in a quick motion, he scampered up Geras’ leg and sat on her shoulder, nestling into her haori. Carefully, Geras twisted her neck back and nuzzled him gently with her snout.
Aridatha looked at Frip and felt a strange cocktail of emotions, not all of which she could identify. Relief was in there, and joy -- of course she was glad to have Kelsus back, so glad -- but also something sadder, something like disappointment, and then shame that she could greet such a boon with anything negative. “The others … ?”
“Don’t get greedy,” Frip said, as Aridatha had rather expected. “We broke the rules just to bring back Green Bean. Everything else is as written. Nobody else is coming back.”
For a moment there was solemn silence, a somber acknowledgment of all the bodies missing from that clearing, even now that two more had been added. Then, Frip added, “But the lair is safe, so I’m going to go get some rest in my own bed, and I suggest the rest of you do the same.”
