Dragonoak (56 page)

Kidira headed straight for the great lodge at the centre of
the tribe, and it seemed as good a place as any for me to go. Any
pane there would be able to tell me where the resident human was.
It wasn't until that moment, already halfway to the heart of
Kyrindval, that I fully acknowledged I was minutes away from seeing
my brother again. My heart skipped, hands growing clammy, and
I
felt
the amount
of time we had been parted for, certain I had changed into someone
he would no longer recognise as family, if at all.

As I
passed the fire pit, a rumble of a voice called out “Rowan!” from
behind me, too surprised to make a question of it. I turned on my
heels and saw a mountain of a pane bounding towards me. My lips
parted, and before I could speak, a smile took over, doing much to
ease my fears.

“Kravt!”
I called back as they skidded to a halt in front of me, eyes
gleaming.

“My
little friend!” they said, hands on their knees as they crouched,
putting theirself on my level. “It has been years, many years, and
terrible things I have heard. But look! You are here, little
friend. I am glad of this.”

For all
the fangs and tusks it put on display, there was little more
reassuring than seeing a pane grin in earnest. A twist of guilt
rose within me, and I told myself I couldn't be blamed for it,
because I'd fought and I'd fought to get back to Asar; I hadn't
wanted anyone thinking I was dead, least of all Michael and Claire.
Kravt understood that there was an explanation for my absence. The
pane might've maintained their peace, but that wasn't to say they
were ignorant to as what had happened to Kastelir as a
whole.

“I'm
happy to see you, too,” I said, relieved to see that they hadn't
changed. To a pane, two years didn't count for terribly much. “Do
you know where my brother is? I was going to go down to the lodge,
but...”

“Ah!
Michael, yes, of course. Come, come, this way!” Kravt sprang back
to their full height, waved a hand and gestured for me to follow. I
set off after them, unable to find any excuses to delay the
inevitability of tracking down Michael, now that I had a guide.
Kravt moved with little concern for the fact that I was half their
height, but I just about kept up with them, skidding to a sudden
halt when they did.

Michael
had gathered quite the crowd.

He stood
down in the amphitheatre, pane of all ages sitting in a
semi-circle, attentively taking in his words. Scrolls and slates
were spread across their laps, and they only looked away from him
to scrawl down something that sounded particularly interesting to
them. It was fine enough weather to have school outside, I
supposed, taking a seat in one of the top rows.

Two pane shuffled to the side, giving me more room than I
needed, and one held out a spare strip of parchment. I declined it
as politely as I could, whispering
thank
you anyway
under my breath, and turned all
of my attention towards my brother.

Time had
done little to change him. He certainly didn't look any older, not
to my eyes, but if there was one thing different about him, it was
how happy he seemed. How caught up he was in what he was saying,
surrounded by people who wanted to listen. He dressed as the pane
did, taking on red for his colour, and his Svargan was much better
than mine. There were only a few words I didn't understand from
context alone, but everything he said came out far more fluidly
than anything that had ever passed my lips.

“If we look at a record by, say, Kagoni – or any of the human
scholars relevant to that era – it becomes abundantly clear that
the colonisation of pane land wasn't even
documented
,” he was saying, “Before
coming to Kyrindval and studying your extensive texts, I simply had
no
idea
that land
had been stolen from your people. From the perspective of humans,
pane simply
are
mountain-dwellers, here of their own accord. No one even
makes the paltry effort to pretend that the lands were willingly
given up, or traded away; it's important to remember what humans
are taught of the pane before we... before we can...”

He'd
been looking around as he spoke and had finally caught sight of me.
Had we been sat on the ground, Michael never would've seen past the
pane in front of me, but I rose just high enough above their horns
to wave at him. He lifted a hand, not remembering how to wave for a
few long seconds, and when he did, his fingers curled towards his
palm.

The pane sat around the amphitheatre pivoted in their seats,
uncertain of what could've possibly distracted Michael from a
lecture. I gestured with my hand for him to continue, and he worked
his jaw without a single word slipping out. I laughed, beaming, and
with a clap of his hands, he said, “
Well
. Now, where was I?”

He went
on speaking about the theft of the pane's territory, taken from
them for crimes necromancers had forced their dead to commit, more
animated than before. He made the most of the space available to
him, darting from side to side, answering questions and asking
plenty of his own.

The
group was dismissed earlier than Michael'd intended on, and he
apologised to those wanting to speak to him as he ran up the side
of the amphitheatre two steps at a time.

“Rowan!” he said, holding his arms out to the side. “...
what?
How
?”

Eloquence and articulation abandoned him.

Getting
to my feet, I wrapped my arms around his waist, but he was too
stunned to do anything but stand there with his arms held out
wide.

“It's
really me,” I assured him, and with a startled laugh, he patted me
on the back.

“Yes, I can
see
that, Rowan, I simply...”

He
faltered, squeezing me tightly when the words wouldn't come to
him.

“Do you
know how many problems you've caused?” he asked, lifting me off the
ground. “We thought you were dead, you know. But that seems stupid
now, doesn't it? Look at you!”

Michael
lowered me back down but kept a hand on my shoulder, lest I fade
right in front of him.

“I have
so many questions that I don't know where to start,” Michael said,
proving himself wrong half a second later. Eyes going wide, he
grabbed my other shoulder, shaking me as he said, “What about
Claire? Have you seen her?”

It was a
good thing I had. That was hardly the way I wanted to find out that
she was still alive.

“I have.
I spent a lot of time with her in Orinhal,” I told him, “I didn't
want to leave, but there were problems. Problems with
me.”

Michael
nodded in understanding, hand slipping from my shoulder to my
wrist. He tugged me down as he took a seat, in no fit state to be
standing, and said, “Well? Come on, Rowan. I can't believe you've
yet to tell me all about whatever you've been doing these two
years.”

I
laughed, taken aback by the invitation to speak freely, and of all
the things I hadn't counted on happening, this one caught me
off-guard the most: Michael actually listened to what I had to say.
He was attentive, nodding along as I spoke, and didn't once try to
interrupt me or presume to correct me. He wasn't itching to add in
anecdotes of his own; he was patiently enthralled, hanging onto my
every word.

I told
him about Canth, about my time in Port Mahon and the people I'd met
there. He clapped his hands together, delighted to hear that Kouris
was alive, pleased to know that Akela, Atthis and Katja were in a
similar condition. I said nothing more of Katja, kept her out of
the story entirely, and spoke too quickly for him to notice any
gaps in my tale.

Michael
might've kept his words to himself, but his expressions were a
different matter altogether. I watched his face twist through the
stages of surprise, disbelief and awe as I told him how Kondo-Kana
had found me, being as blunt as I could about what had happened
with Gavern. When I spoke of Queen Nasrin and the ship she'd put us
on, he sensed that my story was coming to a close, and when he
finally spoke up, it wasn't to ask about pirates or royalty, or
about necromancers whose names had passed into myth.

“Then
you saw our father?” was the first thing he said.

“I did.
He's the only one left in the village. The plague chased everyone
else out,” I said.

“That's... unfortunate, but hardly unexpected. You get rid of
the village's necromancer and look what happens! But I'm glad you
got to see him, Rowan. Glad he got to see you. I've been trying to
write to him, obviously, but the Felheimish have this misguided
notion that they can protect us by shooting ravens out of the sky.
Something about the rebellion, as if there's a message hidden
in
Dear dad, living with the pane. Just
wanted to let you know I wasn't set on fire with the rest of
Kastelir.
”

Springing back to his feet, he held out a hand to me. I took
it and he tugged me against his side, slinging an arm around my
shoulders as we headed into the tribe.

“Canth, hm? My sister, the pirate necromancer—imagine that.
No doubt I'd have a heart attack knowing a fifth of what you
really
got up to.
Meanwhile, here I am, rarely leaving Kyrindval itself, spending
much of my time reading and writing. Novel!”

“I'm
sure you've been doing more than that,” I said.

If the
lecture he'd been leading wasn't proof enough, plenty of the pane
we passed waved warmly, looking as though they'd like to get a word
with him.

“Oh, I suppose. I've been teaching here and there. There
aren't many who can compare pane records to what humanity has
managed to scrounge together,” he explained. “The pane have
an
amazing
collection of literature and historical texts. Absolutely
incredible. There are volumes spanning back prior to the Necromancy
War, when Myros was at its height of power. I spent over thirty
years of my life believing that all records of Myros had been lost
when really, humans had either chosen to bury them or hadn't taken
care of them properly! Not to mention that... Sorry. I'm rambling,
aren't I? Should I be talking this... normally? You're recently
back from the dead, in my estimation, and I'm not sure
how
I'm supposed to
react.”

“Me neither,” I admitted. “I've found Claire
and
you, and I still
haven't worked it out. It'll probably all sink in
later.”

“Indeed.
Well, for now, we ought to get something to eat!” he decided. “I'll
even let you pick the tavern.”

After
the past handful of days, curling up in bed and sleeping peacefully
wasn't a possibility, no matter how exhausted I was, but an evening
spent at a tavern surrounded by food and drink was sure to help my
mind reach a more even plateau. I chose the first tavern we came
across. A glass big enough for me to drown in hung above the
enormous door, garnished with a pair of dragon horns.

Inside,
the tavern was busy, but far from full. The pane working there
weaved around me, carrying a plate on each palm miles overhead, and
though some of the patrons nodded in greeting, our presence barely
caused a stir at all. The scent of roasting vegetables filled the
air, and I would've let that guide me, if not for the way Michael
grabbed the collar of my shirt and led me to one of the
tables.

It was
considerably lower than all the others in the tavern, designed with
humans in mind. I didn't have to worry about scaling the sides of
one of the stalls and sat down opposite Michael, greeted by a pane
who'd rushed out from behind the bar before I had the chance to say
anything to him.

“Good
afternoon, little friends,” the pane said in Svargan, “What would
you like today? The little friend special, hmm?”

“That
sounds perfect,” Michael replied.

“And a
couple of ales,” I added.

The pane
hurried off as quickly as they could, pulling clean glasses down
from a shelf. Michael sat there for five, six seconds before
realising something was amiss, starting in his seat.

“Wait—you understood all of that?” he asked, “Hah, don't tell
me. Kouris taught you Svargan, did she?”

“Svargan and Canthian,” I said, not giving him the chance to
point out that naturally, he'd had far more practice than me, and
was willing to help out if anything escaped my understanding.
“What
is
the
human special, anyway?”

“It's
exactly the same as the special, only they actually cook the
meat.”

Our food
was brought to us so quickly that I was worried they hadn't
bothered putting a flame to the meat, until it was placed down in
front of me. The table and chairs might've been designed with
humans in mind, but the plates and steins certainly weren't. I
thanked the pane who'd brought it over without taking my eyes off
the food, grateful that my time with Sen had more than prepared me
for this.

Michael
fell quiet as he ate, the day's events already catching up with
him, and I took the opportunity to eat without interruption. I
caught fragments of the conversations unfolding around me without
meaning to; one of the pane was bemoaning the latest hatchling to
find their way into their cabin and their tendency to gnaw on
everything, and another was worried about a delivery of wheat due
in the morning from Jorjang. I rocked forward on my elbows, tearing
Michael's attention away from roast potatoes the size of two
fists.