Shape-shifting class is in session! Elain teaches Cypress, Kyro, Zamzi, Cerys, and Buttercream how to alter their forms, while Nesita stands by as a medic.
The sound of cloth tearing made Elain wince, though it could have been worse: it had been cloth, this time, and not flesh. Nobody needed Nesita’s medical attention today, but perhaps they should have kept a tailor on retainer.
“Oh,” Cypress said, looking at the tattered scraps of cloth around his torso, and also at that torso itself, which was scarcely any less of a mess.
“What are those?” Buttercream said, and laughed, as if at a joke that only she understood.
“You’re supposed to be going for fewer limbs, not more,” Elain said with brittle patience. “I’m not sure how you managed that, actually -- it’s supposed to be easier to lose limbs than to grow them.”
When his mother, Cynfor, asks him to pick a career, Kyro decides he wants to stay exactly where he is -- in the nursery, taking care of hatchlings, a role previously belonging to Nesita.
“Don’t you think you’re a little old to live in the hatching grounds?”
Kyro took his sweet time in answering his mother, first making sure that he thoroughly chewed the notocactus that comprised his lunch. Then he said, mildly, “I like it here.”
Cynfor gave her son a puzzled look. She cast her gaze around at the two baby guardians play-wrestling in the grass. Four nests of Arcane crystal marked the center of the nesting grounds; they sat back towards the great crystal ridge that enclosed the Inner Sanctum, safe and sheltered. The shallow, gentle stream that ran through the Inner Sanctum cut flowed between the nests and into a hole in the ridge, carefully netted off to prevent any clumsy or over-adventurous hatchlings from ending up inside. Along the ridge, a lean-to ran south from the nests, providing housing for even the largest of half-grown dragons. An oblong fence encompassed the lean-to, the nests, and the space around them, marking out the official boundaries of the hatchery.
After Achzina receives his official invitation to join Clan Lukra from Ammanas, Frip helps him settle in, introducing him to the other Oracles: Bartos, Nesita, Acrux, and Machine. // read on ao3
“I’ve brought you a letter,” Ammanas said. The ornate scroll he handed Achzina was thicker than Achzina’s own forearm, since he was in his two-legged shift. That made it unwieldy, hard for Achzina to pull open, and the tundra added, “I can tell you what it says, if you don’t mind: it’s an official invitation to join Clan Lukra.”
“Oh, thank you.” Achzina put the scroll down and smiled at Ammanas. So he’d been accepted after all. It wasn’t a surprise; in fact, he’d started to wonder what the holdup was. Barholme had certainly seemed certain that he would be -- certain enough to kill him for. “What should I do now? Head for the Inner Sanctum?”
Ammanas nodded. “Actually, Frip volunteered to show you around. She should be -- ”
“Here?” A figure stepped around the corner: a two-legged shift like Achzina’s, clad in hooded white robes. Her feet tapped against the wooden floor as if she wore heavy boots, though they were hidden under the robes. Achzina wondered, briefly, if she’d been standing just around the corner, listening, waiting for the most dramatic moment to appear.
Ammanas frowned. “Well, I thought you were going to meet us at the gate, but this is good, actually … No offense, Achzina, but as much as I enjoy your company, I do have a lot of other guests to see to.”
“None taken,” Achzina said, automatically. He looked at Frip. Under the hood he could see light glinting off the deep purple crystal of her face; the sight stirred something in his memory. “I thought Elain was the only shape-shifter among your clan?”
“Your clan now, Ach,” Frip said, her tone more informal than Achzina would have expected from a near-complete stranger. And she hadn’t answered the question. “Do you prefer Ach or Achzie? We’re still trying to settle on a nickname for you.”
“I leave you in Frip’s most capable claws,” Ammanas said, leaving with a bow. Achzina would’ve found the words more comforting if Ammanas hadn’t sounded so doubtful on the words “most capable.”
“I’m going to introduce you to the other Oracles, give you a short tour of the lair, and then show you to your quarters,” Frip explained as she walked down the corridor, beckoning Achzina to follow. He did. There was something familiar about her. Now, where had he seen white cloth and crystal scales recently … ?
He didn’t have to think about it very hard. The image had occupied his mind every night since, an unanswered question that weighed particularly hard on him as he contemplated the mantle of Oracle. “You were there, weren’t you?”
“I’ve been many places,” Frip said, deftly navigating a ramshackle ladder in a space that had been built for creatures with wings. Achzina followed more slowly. “You’ll have to be more specific.”
“That night, when Barholme attacked us,” Achzina clarified, though he suspected that Frip knew exactly what he was talking about. “I saw you at the window when the rift opened.”
“Barholme opened a tear in the very fabric of reality. I wouldn’t be surprised if you saw strange things.”
As a seer, Achzina was used to working out abstruse meanings: his visions rarely gave clear answers, either. “Are you a strange thing, then?”
Frip grinned. “The strangest.”
For a long moment neither of them spoke. On Achzina’s part, he was too busy making his way through Pilgrim’s Rest, which had not really been designed for creatures with only two legs. There was a route, for beastclans and shape-shifters, but it wasn’t the quickest or easiest way around.
“I think I owe you thanks,” Achzina said at last. “I think you saved my life.”
“Now that doesn’t sound like me,” Frip said.
“Nobody knew why the rift closed, but I bet I can guess,” Achzina persisted. “You stopped it, didn’t you?”
“I seem to recall you telling Aridatha you had no idea what closed the rift,” Frip said, glancing sidelong at Achzina. It was true, but how had she known? He had seen no sign of Frip in the audience at Barholme’s trial. Of course, he could have missed her, or she could have received an account later, but it seemed too minor a detail to come secondhand.
“I said I didn’t know what happened,” Achzina replied. It was the same logic he’d used to justify keeping quiet to himself. “I still don’t know, not for sure. I just suspect.”
They’d reached the gates. Frip opened a small door set into them without bothering with a key and ushered Achzina through. Wondering why a clan that didn’t shapeshift would have a door fitted to two-legged forms, and why it’d been unlocked, Achzina stepped through -- but once the door shut behind Frip, it vanished altogether into the smooth surface of the wood, as if it had never been.
Achzina looked to Frip for an explanation, but she only smiled, as if daring him to ask about the mysterious door. He resisted the urge. Yes, yes, we’ve all seen magic before.
“Not like this you haven’t,” Frip said. Achzina blinked, but she had already moved on, heading towards the pool in the center of the Sanctum. “Come on, Achzie. The other Oracles will be waiting.”
I guess she can read minds, too. Achzina followed Frip to the pavilion, which was already occupied. He recognized Machine from his interview, and Bartos the archmage from Barholme’s trial. The pink-winged imperial and purple tundra had been at Barholme’s trial too, but Achzina hadn’t caught their names. They were all in dragon form, of course; it still felt strange for Achzina to see such a gathering of different breeds, the oversized imperial curled around the other dragons.
“You know Machine and Bartos already,” Frip said, a statement that appeared to slightly surprise Bartos. “These are Acrux and Nesita. Nesita’s a gifted healer, and Acrux is clairvoyant.”
“I also read minds sometimes,” said Acrux, the imperial, with a friendly smile. His tone made it clear that he’d heard Achzina thinking about Frip.
“I’m not really an Oracle, but I’ve been able to help some individuals who seek solutions to what ails them,” Nesita said.
“It’s astonishing how many of the answers people seek can be found in established texts, if you only know where to look,” said Bartos, pushing his spectacles up his nose.
Machine said nothing, only looked blankly at Achzina.
“I’m glad to meet you all,” Achzina said. “I understand we’ll be working together. I hope you find my visions helpful.”
“I’m sure we will,” Nesita said.
“Did you get your schedule yet? No?” Acrux apparently didn’t feel the need to wait for Achzina’s answer. “Aridatha will get it to you shortly, I imagine. She usually has us work in shifts.”
“I’ll also be joining you sometimes,” Frip added.
“What are your powers?” Achzina asked, hoping she wouldn’t find the direct question rude. She didn’t exactly seem the type to be easily offended, but there were the others to consider, as well. “And, er, Machine’s?”
“Barely in the building and you’re already asking what we all contribute?” Frip smirked, and kept talking as Achzina tried to protest that that wasn’t what he’d meant at all. “Machine can answer any yes or no question. And I mean any. He can’t communicate otherwise, but he’s still quite useful. As for me … I watch birds and I know things.”
“You’re an augur?” Achzina had met a dragon before who claimed she could tell the future from the patterns of birds flying through the sky.
“No, that’s unrelated to the knowing things bit -- we just like birds. But now that you say that, we really ought to add an augur to the team, oughtn’t we? Better write that down,” Frip said, making no move to do so.
Acrux cleared his throat. “Frip baffles many of us, but she can provide many answers that the rest of us cannot. When she deigns to do so.”
“Right now I think I’m going to deign to show Achzina around the lair,” Frip said, beckoning to Achzina. “Unless someone brought sandwiches to the workplace orientation. I could murder a BLT.”
Achzina raised an eyebrow. The other dragons looked startled and perhaps a bit crestfallen, to have been called out here for such a brief introduction -- except for Machine, who just looked blank. Achzina said, “I’d be honored to continue the tour, Frip.”
“Good, because you don’t have a choice. Now, the hoard is this way … ”
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.”
As Aridatha, Acrux, Geras, Bartos, Barholme, and Nesita try to make sense of Kelsus’ fate, Iburel appears to inform them that it was not an isolated incident. // read on dA
“He can’t be gone,” Geras said, for the sixth or seventh time -- Aridatha had lost count. No one really paid attention to the guardian anymore, huddled and shocked as she was, except to step over her tail.
“You have no idea what this is?” Repetition seemed in vogue today: it was the third time Aridatha had asked that, too, nominally directed at Bartos and Nesita but really beseeching anyone who might have any idea what was going on.
“Don’t touch it,” Acrux said, also a repeat, as Barholme’s gaze -- and claw -- strayed towards the rainbow swirls still emerging from Talva’s quarters, where Kelsus had … vanished. “Talva didn’t even touch him and she’s still got it.”
That was something new, something that got Aridatha’s attention -- a way to move forward. “You handled Kelsus, Acrux. Bartos and Nesita too. Does that mean … ”
Acrux frowned. “Telyn said I would probably survive. She said some of us were definitely going to make it, but half … lost.”
“This is our lord’s punishment for suffering a filthy beast-lover to live,” Barholme said, quietly, almost to himself. Perhaps Aridatha was only projecting smug satisfaction onto his monotone voice.
Geras whirled abruptly to face the silver fae and roared, a savage sound that Aridatha had never heard from her -- or any dragon -- outside of battle; the force of her breath blew Barholme back a bit. He picked himself up with an offended air, the pink light of his magic beginning to form around his talons as if he anticipated a fight, but with her piece said, more or less, Geras curled back into herself, head hidden under a wing.
“Barholme, unless you have some truly helpful insight to offer, please leave,” Aridatha said. “It’s probably unwise to have any unnecessary dragons near the site of this … contagion.”
“I did offer helpful insight,” Barholme said, unblinking pink eyes fixed on Aridatha. “Kill the shape-shifter and we may beg our lord’s forgiveness.”
“This … phenomenon … does not bear the signature of Arcane magic,” Bartos said, distaste in his voice as he side-eyed Barholme. While they shared an interest in complex, theoretical magic, Barholme’s fanatical, apparently senseless devotion did not endear him to Bartos. “I find it unlikely to be a divine punishment.”
“Barholme, why don’t you go pray to the Arcanist for insight,” Aridatha suggested. Under her breath, she added, “I think we’ll need all the help we can get.”
“Do not mock me, spark-stealer,” Barholme said, fins pinned back; but he left, and Aridatha forced herself not to wonder what she’d just been called, as there were more important questions at hand.
“Right,” Aridatha said instead, refocusing. “Bartos, you stay here and study this thing. Try to figure out how to stop it, would you? Nesita, check on Talva, from a distance.” They’d placed the snapper in a quarantine of sorts, sending her to wait outside the lair and avoid contact with other dragons. “Acrux, can you make sure no one else has it, and that everyone knows to stay away from here and Talva? Rope in Cypress, and Isildur, and anyone else -- ”
“Now, you would not deprive a dame of her darling, would you?” the deep voice came from behind Aridatha, inside the impacted area, and Aridatha felt ice run down her spine as she turned to see the shining eyes of the ridgeback standing right in the center of the web of rainbow light.
“Iburel … ”
How many dragons had Talva encountered, spoken to, before her eyes had started glowing -- before anyone had known that there might be something wrong with her? At least one, apparently, her own mate … Or perhaps there was another means of transmission …
“Iburel, you need to go join Talva in quarantine.” Aridatha looked around, thinking of the lair’s layout, trying to calculate the quickest way to isolate Iburel, how to minimize exposure …
A toothy grin spread across the ridgeback’s snout. “No.”
“No?” Acrux stepped forward, putting himself bodily between Iburel and the smaller dragons. “Iburel, you’re sick. You’re contagious.”
“Perhaps.” Iburel shrugged. “But I’m afraid I feel acutely alive, and I reject restraint.”
Iburel reached out and picked up a cauldron, one of those he typically used for his brewing -- the cold iron of which, Aridatha noticed distantly, had not been infected with the terrible light, despite its proximity to the site of Kelsus’ disappearance. Then Iburel lifted the cauldron to his face and spat into it, and the glow starting to trace its way across his skin from his eyes filled the cauldron. He held it out to his clanmates, grinning, his teeth shining like cruel stars.
“Won’t you experience my elixir? It animates, I assure.”
“We don’t want what you have,” Acrux said curtly. Then, under his breath: “Aridatha, Nesita, you should go. Bartos too, and Geras. I’ll deal with him.”
“Don’t curtail our company!” Iburel’s laughter was too loud and bright, and Aridatha saw Nesita and Bartos slip away, but she hesitated, unwilling to leave Acrux to deal with this.
“Go! If I’m busy here, you’ll have to warn the others,” Acrux said, pushing Aridatha slightly. When Aridatha didn’t move -- simply wondered if by “busy” he meant “potentially dying” -- Acrux turned to Geras, whose presence Aridatha had almost forgotten, she’d been so quiet. “Geras, get Aridatha out of here. We can’t let this happen to anyone else.”
Acrux seemed to have hit on the key phrase to wake Geras up; in a single, quick motion, the guardian snatched up Aridatha, who could manage no more than an offended squawk, magic and combat never having been among her skills, and crested the treetops with great heaves of her wings.
From above, Aridatha couldn’t distinguish the light twisting through Iburel and through the tree itself from the usual flickers of the Starwood.
Nesita, Bartos and Geras examine Kelsus, trying to understand the strange symptoms he’s showing, only to be interrupted by Acrux. // read on dA
“I’m fine,” Kelsus said, tail twitching. Geras had known him long enough to read annoyance in his waving fins, as indifferent as his voice might sound.
“You are very much not fine,” said Bartos, Kelsus’ wing stretched delicately in his claws as he examined it. The painful glow from under Kelsus’ skin had become, if anything, worse, spreading across his markings, consuming his nails and bones. His eyes were like sunbeams, impossible to look directly at. “Fascinating. I’ve never seen anything like this before.”
Geras growled, irked by Bartos’ detached tone when he’d said himself that Kelsus was in danger -- but Nesita stepped forward before she could speak.
“It will be an interesting case for further study when the immediate danger has passed,” the older healer said, soothingly, taking up Kelsus’ other wing. Abruptly, the little fae snarled and snapped at Nesita’s paws, teeth flashing with that awful rainbow light, and both tundras pulled back, startled: Kelsus had never had a violent bone in his body. As soon as they released him, Kelsus fluttered rapidly to the ceiling, hanging from it, wings spread as if to envelop the watching dragons in even more of that terrible radiance.
“Kelsus?” Geras asked, cautiously. She was large enough to reach him on the ceiling -- in fact, she was rather cramped trying to fit into Talva’s quarters, which the snapper had generously offered in this emergency -- but she made no attempt to touch him, since that had apparently set him off. “What are you doing?”
“Stop fussing over me!” There actually was some emphasis on these words: startling, for a fae. “I’m fine! In fact, I’m better!”
“Kelsus, can you tell us what’s going on with you? What do you feel? When did this start?” Nesita’s voice was calming as ever, but Geras had known her for a long time, too: she was worried. That distressed Geras more than her own anxiety, since Nesita was usually so unflappable.
But the words seemed to have the desired effect on Kelsus: he folded his wings slightly, head tilting as he considered the questions. “I was insect-hunting and I saw this tree -- it was glowing. And then it, sort of, flashed … I feel so alive, Geras. It’s wonderful.”
Kelsus paused, and in that moment Acrux poked his head into the room, eyes wide, neck curling slightly around Nesita and Bartos.
“Nesita, Bartos, Geras, could you come out here for a moment?” The panic in the imperial’s voice startled Geras, since Acrux was usually even more levelheaded than Nesita.
“You go,” Geras told the smaller dragons. “I’ll stay here and watch Kelsus.”
“No!” Acrux snapped. “All of you need to come with me. Now.”
“But Kelsus -- ”
With a frustrated cry, Acrux threw his weight against Nesita and Bartos, bodily shoving them out of the chamber. Outraged, Geras leapt after them, and that was when Kelsus’ light flashed blindingly behind her, almost audibly impacting the wood by her head, as if it were solid -- Bartos threw up a protective magic automatically; the daggers of illumination shredded it but went no farther --
Kelsus was gone. Cracks of that awful rainbow light spread across the ceiling-supporting branch he’d hung from, the grass under his last location.
“Kelsus?” Geras said. “Kelsus!”
She started to run back into the chamber, to look for him, to find him -- she didn’t know what she was going to do -- but Acrux restrained her, wrapping his sinuous body around her and holding her back with his own weight.
“It’s contagious!” the imperial said. “Talva’s eyes are glowing!”
Into the shocked silence, Bartos spoke one word, and distantly Geras noted that he was much better-versed in profanity than she would’ve thought.
“Are you going into battle?” the icy wildclaw said. “May I come with you?”
Nesita looked up. That dragon was new to the clan, she knew, and quiet, and kept mostly to herself. Nesita wasn’t even sure of her name.
Or, as Delemont so delicately put it: “Who the blazes are you?”
“My name is Lioska.” The wildclaw tilted her head, giving Nesita and Delemont a measuring look. “I have studied both individual combat and military strategy extensively. I believe you will find me an asset on the field of battle.”
Delemont snorted and mimicked her in a whiny voice: “ ‘I believe you will find me an asset on the field of battle.’ Let me ask, clever-claws, how many beasts have you actually killed?”
Lioska’s eyes narrowed, and her response was curt. “None.”
Another snort. Deciding that was enough, Nesita shoved Delemont and stepped forward.
“All the more reason to help you learn,” the tundra said. She gave Delemont a quelling look, and the mirror closed his mouth, which had just been preparing for another snide comment. “We would be delighted for you to join us.”
“Sure, why not? It’s not like anyone else in this godsforsaken fleapit contributes anything anyway.” Delemont turned away. “Just keep up!”
And off he went. Nesita sighed. Lioska didn’t seem offended, though; she was gazing after Delemont with a measuring look in her green eyes.
“Let me just tell Ehlen that her training is finished,” Nesita said. Ehlen was one of the clan’s hatchlings who had elected to serve the Arcanist, and she could have gotten in a bit more combat experience, but she didn’t need to. “In fact, if you want to start after Delemont, go ahead. No pressure on you, but try not to let him get himself killed before I get there.”
