Dragonoak (17 page)

“That's not...” I began, voice louder than it had any right
to be around a Queen. I tried again in a whisper. “That's not my
name. I'm not
Rowan of the Northern
Woods.
”

“You
grew up around the woods, right?” Varn asked, and I nodded. “And
you're from the north. What's the problem?”

“The
south! I'm from the south of Felheim,” I protested.

“North
of us,” she said, shrugging. “What do you want from me?”

I shook
my head, deciding that of all the ways I didn't want to argue with
Varn, doing so in front of a Queen ranked chief amongst them.
Thankfully, Queen Nasrin seemed amused by our back and forth, so I
said, “My name is Rowan Northwood, Your Majesty. I came here
because Varn and Atalanta extended the invitation, hoping that I
might be able to help you, in exchange for—”

Queen
Nasrin's demeanour changed in a few short words. She rose to her
feet with a rush of fabric, and stared down at me.

“In exchange for?
You came here to
ask something of me?”

I
cringed, biting the inside of my mouth. I'd barely managed to
introduce myself, and yet I'd already said the wrong thing. Perhaps
Kouris ought to have come with me after all.

“Y-yes, Your Majesty,” I managed, intent on remaining
truthful. “I thought I might
eventually
ask a favour, after I'd
found some way to help you. It wouldn't be much, I promise. I'm
sorry. I didn't mean to speak out of turn.”

“No, no. Don't stare at the ground like that. I'm not
angry
. It's somewhat
refreshing, actually. I'm used to dealing with simpering fools who
waste endless hours on flattery, only to ask for this bit of land,
another dozen soldiers, just a little more gold. Rowan, you are a
Daughter of Isjin, and I've nothing but respect for you. I've
nothing but respect for anyone deserving of it, and so long as you
prove yourself worthy, you'll always have a place within my palace.
But do you see
this
and
these
?”
Queen Nasrin paused, picking up stacks of paper in each hand, not
waiting for my confirmation. “These are small favours being asked
of me from dozens of cities and towns. Small favours add up until I
am drowning in them, and my country is already in a state of
disrepair. Can you believe that we had golden statues of the gods
lining the gardens? I had them melted down, of course, sold them
with the frames my family's portraits once hung in, along with the
art itself, but that barely goes any way at all to fixing Canth's
problems.

“So you
see, I cannot afford to be in your debt, and you're mistaken on one
important point: I wasn't the one who invited you here.”

“... you
weren't?” I asked, voice barely rising above the embarrassment I
felt.

“Oh, I sanctioned it, put my seal on the letter and whatnot.
I am
forever
doing that woman favours, I swear, but it wasn't my doing,
I'm afraid,” Queen Nasrin said, falling back against the pillows
lining the chaise lounge. “Not that I
object
to you being here. Not in the
least. Nobody turns away a necromancer, after all.”

“Then
who invited me here?”

“Atalanta? Take her to the temple, would you,” Queen Nasrin
said, “I wasn't trying to avoid company when I said I was busy,
Rowan. I
would
like to talk to you, regardless of the fact that it wasn't my
idea to bring you here. If you'd join me for dinner one
evening...”

“Of
course, Your Majesty,” I managed, letting Atalanta usher me out of
the room.

Varn
followed, taking over from the guard previously stationed there,
and leant against the wall, snorting out a laugh. Ignoring her, I
hurried after Atalanta, preferring it when my face had burnt white,
not red. I'd messed up. I'd let Kouris think I could do this, yet I
hadn't managed to hold a single conversation with Queen
Nasrin.

“Here we
are,” Atlanta said, stopping in front of yet another plain looking
door. “I'll be out here, should you need anything.”

Beyond
caring about anything other than the mistakes I'd just made, I
stepped into a temple that wasn't anything like any I'd ever
visited before. The small room was dim and windowless, lit only by
red candles melting into the floor; it wasn't built to be a temple.
If I had to guess, it had likely once been used as a storage closet
or pantry.

Unlike
the forgotten temple I'd trekked to, there wasn't anything carved
into the walls, no mosaics lining the floor or murals to compliment
the candles. I thought the room empty, until I turned and suffered
my heart being forced into my throat.

A great
beast stood over me, taller than any pane. Light lapped at its
feet, throwing its shadow against the ceiling, and I stepped back,
certain it was going to lash out at me, though I soon realised it
was only a statue.

It
didn't have wings, but feathers spread from its wrist to its elbow,
growing out of its shoulder blades. The face was twisted, sharp
teeth jutting over a wide mouth, eyes concealed beneath a
blindfold. It had horns, not like a pane or a dragon's; they didn't
curve back. Rather, they reminded me of flat-topped anchors, with
the ring embedded into the skull.

The
creature wasn't like anything I'd seen before, when I tried taking
it in as a whole. But when I leaned close and examined small parts
of it, I saw nothing to unsettle me. Its legs were like great
trunks with vines creeping around them, and flesh grew from the
bark, until all looked smooth and soft, though it was made from
stone. It was as though the whole world had been twisted into one
magnificent, grotesque form, and I stepped closer, far from afraid.
I reached out a hand, and pressed it to the back of the long,
spindly fingers. The wax there was still warm, and a sense of calm
that hadn't crept near me in weeks took hold of me.

“Beautiful, isn't she?” a voice asked from behind
me.

I hadn't
heard the door open, hadn't heard anyone come in, but I didn't
start. Fingers still hooked around the statue's, I turned, met by a
flurry of red fabric and eyes I'd seen before; eyes I
knew.

“You're... you're from the temple,” I said, and the woman
bowed her head, smiling.

“In the
same way that you are also from the temple,” she said in a low hum.
“I was merely visiting the temple, just as you were. I had hoped to
find a relic of the past and little more.”

The
woman stepped around me, and though no breeze could make its way
into the room and the candles didn't flicker, something rushed
through me. It was a quiet, pulsing warmth that helped me to stand
a little straighter, made me feel braver than I believed I
was.

Taking
the candles cradled in the sleeve of her thin cloak, the woman
placed them along the statue's arms, where the previous ones had
burnt to the wick, and lit them one by one, using the candle that
had yet to die out. She worked around me, humming softly as she
went, and though we'd met once before and it couldn't have been a
coincidence that we were both there, she made no attempt to explain
herself.

I found
that I didn't mind. For the moment, simply being around her was
enough; I was content with not understanding what had unfolded. It
was as if I was the only one there in the room, though I was aware
I wasn't alone.

“Please,
Aejin,” she said softly, drifting away from the statue and sitting
on a low bench opposite it. “Sit with me. Talk with me. Tell me
your name, if you would.”

I
followed in her example without needing to take in her words. Sat
next to her, I stared down at my hands, lest I become lost in her
eyes.

“Rowan,”
I eventually said, voice very far away indeed. “My name is Rowan
Northwood.”

“Rowan.
Rowan Northwood,” the woman repeated, making the words sound older
than they had any right to, than I had any concept of; she murmured
my name as though speaking of a ruined city. “It isn't a Myrosi
name—oh, but your blood flows from there. Your ancestors must've
lost their names, centuries after they lost their Everlasting
Kingdom.”

The
woman was talking to herself as much as she was talking to me,
reminding herself of something. Her skin was the same colour as
mine, and I supposed she knew her own heritage well. Nothing in the
way she mused out loud unsettled me.

“And how
old are you, Rowan, Aejin?”

I didn't ask her why she kept calling me
Aejin
, though the word meant nothing
to me. Not in Mesomium, not in Canthian. Not even in Svargan.
Reaching out, the woman covered my hands with hers, causing me to
reflexively look up. Once my eyes were on hers, I couldn't look
away.

“Twenty-five,” I whispered, thinking it sounded
right.

“Only twenty-five,” she said, eyes desperately searching my
face for
something
. The light of sorrow covered her face, and she said, “It can
be difficult to tell. Harder to guess. We rarely reflect what we
have been through, but... you were brand-new, Aejin, when I saw you
last. How quickly that has changed.”

“We?” I
asked, voice straining in my throat. “Then you're... ?”

She
placed her fingertips along the line of my jaw, leaning in so close
that I saw myself reflected in her eyes; saw that I burnt as her
eyes did, trails of white rising from my unsteady gaze.

“Do you
not feel it?” she asked, knowing that I did. “It is... as though I
am able to trust myself once more. It is not often that I come
across other necromancers, but when I do, it is as though there is
music in the world once more. The silence fades, and I am
distracted from what the empty ground wordlessly screams. I am glad
that you came, Aejin. I am glad that I know you.”

“Who are
you?” I asked, fingers wrapping around her wrists, skin warmer than
the wax had been.

“I have
been many things to many people. I do not remember all of the names
I have been blessed with,” she said, smiling distantly. “But my
mother, while she was in the world, she called me Kondo-Kana. And
this name I cannot forget.”

CHAPTER VII

Denial
came and did what little it could.

If the woman in front of me was as old as the Kondo-Kana
whispered of in myth, surely I would have
felt
it. My reasoning soon slipped
away from me: Bosma was older than anything else, and nothing
resounded through the ground that I didn't feel within the young
souls that wandered across its surface.

Power
flowed through her as it now raged within me, on display for all
the world to see, and I heard the disquiet of everyone I'd ever
met, everyone I'd healed or passed on the street, scream out at me
in a voiceless, deafening roar. It wasn't that those people were
missing pieces; that wasn't what made them different from me, what
stopped them from being able to save themselves. Rather, I was
lumbered with one piece too many, and it wasn't until I was sitting
in front of this woman, in front of Kondo-Kana, that I understood
how that part fit into me.

I pulled her hand from my face, turning it in my own. Bright
skin pressed against dull. I didn't know what to say to her, didn't
feel as though I
had
to say anything. What words could pass my lips that she
hadn't heard a hundred times before? I would be nothing but a
fading echo of all those that had lived long before Isin rose and
fell, before Felheim was conceived of.

“The statue,” I began, eyes fixed on Kondo-Kana as though she
was the sculpture I spoke of. “Who is it?
What
is it?”

“It is Isjin,” Kondo-Kana said fondly, taking no delight in
my ignorance. She only smiled at the opportunity presented to her,
the chance to speak of her creator. “Humans as a whole have the
troubling habit of believing that this world was created for them;
that the gods shaped Bosma that they might rule over it. Everything
should be theirs. The
gods
are theirs, or so they think. But Isjin, she is
not a human god. She is not a phoenix god, or a pane god. She is
the god of all things, and all things are of her dream. It was not
merely humans she uplifted, did you know?

“Kanos
was a dragon, feeding the sun with his breath. Indos, she was a
pane, and Raath, they were a phoenix. But humans, they forget. They
make sure they do. They carve statues as they see fit, statues to
make themselves comfortable; statues to blind themselves to the
beauty of the gods. Isjin looked like this. I think, I hope. It is
hard to remember.”

“Did
you... meet her?” I asked, terrified that Kondo-Kana would hear how
incredulous I sounded. Looking at the statue and hearing her speak,
I realised that I hadn't been searching for a reason to pray, in
all the time I'd spent in temples; I'd been seeking out some sort
of proof, for I didn't believe Isjin could be anything more than a
story.

“No,
Aejin,” she said. “Not even I am that old. But in the greatest
temple in all of Myros, there was a statue commissioned by a man
who held onto memories of her. I doubt I have done it justice,
after all these centuries, yet...”