Dragonoak (67 page)

There
was a general ripple of agreement throughout the group. Fixing half
a continent was already an impossible task; returning the pane's
territory to them hardly made it any more daunting. Only Michael
had anything to say on the matter.

“... is that really a priority?” he asked. “Not that I'm
saying it isn't
important
, per se. But these past
two years, humanity has been suffering, and it is the humans who
need their homes rebuilt, order restored to their lands. All the
while, life has gone on as normal in Kyrindval, save for any
trouble we've brought with us. It just seems that our resources,
limited as they are, would be better spent elsewhere.”

“Life's
been going on as normal, has it? I suppose life's been going on as
normal, these past fifteen hundred years, aye? The pane living up
in the mountains, that's normal. They haven't been suffering,
haven't been chased out of the towns they do visit, kept out of
inns and shops alike. They haven't had rules imposed upon 'em by
your sort, and they definitely haven't suffered along with
Kastelir,” Kouris said, gaze skidding over to Sen. “Two years
you've been here, Michael, and you still sound like most of the
humans out there. What would you suggest? We wait another few
centuries for your lot to stop bickering for five
minutes?”

“Kouris, that's
not
what I'm saying. Nobody understands what's been
taken from the pane better than I do, and—”

“Nobody
understand better than you do?” Kouris asked. “That so?”

Michael
snapped his jaw shut, unwilling to say anything more that could be
rightly twisted against him. Nothing more was said, after Kouris
and Michael's exchange. Kouris was right about not rushing into
things, about using the next two days to plan carefully, and Kidira
headed back to Kyrindval without aiming a goodnight at anyone.
Michael left when the coast was clear, when there was no chance of
running into her, and Akela walked Sen home a few minutes
later.

I put my
arms around Kouris, kissed her forehead and told her how glad I was
that she was alright, and went with Claire back into the tribe,
wanting nothing more than for Thule to be our last stop.

I
would've slept all day, had Maedir not sought me out. She rapped a
fist against the door and I was grumbling for her to come in before
I'd waken up in earnest.

Maedir
fiddled with the golden sash of cloth slung over her shoulder as I
pushed myself into a sitting position, fangs worrying into her
upper-lip.

“Something wrong?” I asked, scrubbing the sleep out of my
eyes.

“Rowan,
you're a... necromancer, aren't you?” Maedir asked, ears
twitching.

“That's
me,” I said, already wanting to sink back under the covers. “Why?
Are the soldiers back?”

Maedir
waved her hands in front of her, and hurried to explain that, “It's
not anything like that. There's a... dragon, out in the fields.
With the others. But he's... half dead? I think. He keeps whining.
I thought you might know something about that.”

“Oak!
That's Oak.”

I was on
my feet in an instant, hopping into my trousers as I followed
Maedir out of the cabin. Of all the pane I lived with, Maedir
worked the most demanding hours, and I'd barely seen her at meals.
My departure might've been imminent, but I still wanted to learn
more about her, and few things made me as cheerfully talkative as
knowing that Oak was waiting for me.

“You
work with the dragons, don't you?” I began, spotting the broach
pinned to her collar. “So why have a wolf for your sigil
instead?”

Maedir
tapped a claw against the wolf's metal snout and said, “The dragon
isn't that popular, anymore. Not since Kouris.”

“Oh,” I
said, having to push myself up and over a rock Maedir hardly
noticed as she went.

“How
is
Kouris, by the way?” she asked, grinning slyly at me. I
hesitated, not sure whether I ought to have been denying her
presence a stone's throw from the tribe, and Maedir said, “I saw
her come through Kyrindval the other day. We used to be friends,
you know! Learnt to write and read together.”

“I bet
she'd like it if you visited her, then,” I said, and Maedir seemed
to consider it.

The pane
and dragons had thrived together for so long by respecting each
other's lands when the humans would not. The pane never fished or
sailed in the enormous lake the dragons had claimed for their own,
and only young, unruly dragons ever snapped up cattle from
fenced-in areas. There were two areas set aside for both dragons
and pane around every tribe: a steep mountainside where the remains
of dragons and pane alike were left to return to the ground, and an
open, rocky plateau where dragons left knocked-out teeth for pane
to salvage the seeds within, and pane worked to heal sickly
dragons.

Maedir made short work of the miles between Kyrindval and the
area she called the
sca-sino
, and I stood at the top of
the slope, marvelling at it. It was big enough for two dozen
cabins, and boulders had been dragged onto the hard ground, in
order for dragons to cling to and gnaw at. An old kraau was curled
up at one end, chest rising and falling as it napped in the
sunlight, trusting the pane to take care of its young.

The
newborn kraau weren't much bigger than horses. They fidgeted, but
otherwise remained patient while the pane ensured that their scales
were hardening at the right rate and helped one of the dragons
who'd sprained its wing stretch it out. Goats were tied to posts,
and a handful of pane were encouraging the young dragons to pounce
and take a bite out of them, helping them learn how to
hunt.

“Are
there ever any accidents?” I asked, watching a kraau scramble up
another's back and wrap their winged arms around its long neck. The
other lashed beneath it, rolling onto its side as it kicked it off,
diving at it in return.

“Of course. The tailors and carpenters and builders and cooks
all have accidents, too,” Maedir said, leading me into the
sca-sino
. “We just make
sure to have a little more bitterwillow stocked than anyone
else.”

As
Maedir led me between the boulders, I saw claw and tooth marks dug
into them. Some of them had been melted into the ground by the
dragons' first attempts at fire, and I was on the verge of picking
up the pace when one of the young kraau spotted me and, having
never seen a human before, flung itself backwards and rolled behind
one of its siblings.

Oak was at the edge of the
sca-sino
, keeping his distance from
the old kraau. He'd fallen on his front, chin propped up on his
paws, and was whimpering listlessly. Two pane stood in front of
him, holding out chunks of meat and scratching their heads when he
only whined louder.

“Good
morning, Oak,” I called, waving a hand to garner his attention. He
shot to his feet with such force that the pane looking over him
took a wide step back, dropping the meat in the grass. “Is
something wrong?”

He shook
his head, grunting. Maedir left me with Oak, no doubt expecting
answers later, and the other pane headed off with her. He pressed
the end of his snout to my chest, shirt ruffling as he huffed, and
I ran my nails between the gaps in his scales.

“Did you
just miss me?” I asked. “I wouldn't blame you. It must get pretty
lonely out there. I don't think anyone would you mind staying here,
you know. Look at all these other dragons!”

Oak's
tail swished from side to side, and a low, agreeable rumble from
the back of his throat rattled through me.

“That
way, I'd always know where you were, and you'd get to meet Claire,”
I told him. “I think she'd like that.”

Oak had
been subdued, until I'd mentioned Claire's name. Shooting to his
full height, back arched, Oak knocked me over without meaning to,
and I found myself on the ground, pinned down with a dragon's maw
inches from me chest. His eyes were wide and searching, and he
pushed his nose against my collarbone over and over, demanding an
explanation.

“...
Claire's alive,” I said, placing my hands on his muzzle in an
effort to keep him calm. “Did I forget to tell you?”

He
grunted indignantly, and finally took a step back. I put a hand on
the ground, about to push myself up, and made a point of pretending
the tongue he wrapped around my wrist was solely responsible for
getting me back to my feet.

Sitting
down on his hind legs, Oak tilted his head to the side, wings
folding neatly behind him. He growled in a way I hoped meant he was
confused and nothing more, and I found a nearby boulder to scramble
on top of and put us at the same level.

“Claire's alive. She's here, in Kyrindval. Kidira saved her,”
I said, and Oak's nostrils flared. “Right? But I can bring her to
see you, when she's not busy. Would you like that?”

Fangs
flashing through the hole in his jaw, Oak beat his discoloured tail
against the ground.

I hadn't
put all the pieces together the last time we'd met, but whatever I
knew when I brought him back, Oak knew, too. I gave him a moment to
absorb the information, and when he didn't slump onto the ground or
threaten to fly off, I moved carefully to his side, brushing a hand
across the larger scales.

“Do you
feel like going somewhere, Oak?” I asked.

I'd be
in Thule before I knew it. If I didn't take the chance now, who was
to say when I'd never have this much time to myself; when I'd be
able to move as freely again.

Oak had
no objections, but I took care when climbing onto his back. The
wound at his side was poorly patched over, and though it'd never
hurt him or do any harm, it'd never heal, either. He was still
skittish, tensing involuntarily as I used his scales to pull myself
up, low growls rattling inside his chest as he pressed his body
close to the ground.

“Shh,
shh,” I said, reaching forward to stroke between his horns.
“Ready?”

Oak knew where to head without a word from me. Setting off at
a sprint, he beat his paws against the ground, wings stretched out
wide, and pushed the ground away. It wasn't any less startling the
third time; I clung to the base of his wings, heart tumbling into
the sole of my right foot, stomach up in my throat. I smiled
through what didn't quite register as fear, and glanced down to see
every pane and dragon in the
sca-sino
stare up at us,
bemused.

One of
the young kraau was curious enough to aim skyward, wings flapping
far too hard and barely keeping him aloft. He caught up with us,
tail snaking behind him, but before he could entice Oak into some
game, his energy all but deserted him and the ground welcomed him
back. The kraau cried out and the elder wilfully ignored
him.

The
colours of Kyrindval, the reds and yellows of overgrown wildflowers
and shiny sides of chipped rocks, faded from my sight, replaced by
the rich browns of wood and dirt alike, and the endless greens of
grass and leaves. The pattern repeated itself as we rushed over and
between the mountains, wings folded back so Oak could dart through
canyons, but once we soared over the wall, I'd already forgotten
more shades of brown and green than there were colours ahead of
me.

The
Bloodless Lands remained without shadow, pure white under the sun
and moon alike, and hadn't felt the slightest urge to rearrange
themselves after my intrusion. Without Kouris and Kidira, without
anyone who wasn't made of the same things I was, I no longer had to
confine myself to the outskirts of Myros. Cities greater than those
close to the mountains rose to greet us, and within minutes, I
looked back and saw nothing but everlasting disquiet around
us.

“Look at
this all,” I mumbled to Oak. “How many people do you think lived
here? Millions? And all of them ran away, or...”

I
couldn't bring myself to say that they'd died in Myros. There was a
stillness to the air that wasn't stifling, and the ground was far
from soaked in the memories of war; for all my abilities, for all
my powers had grown, of late, I couldn't convince myself that so
much of a drop of blood had been spilt there.

Oak
followed roads marked clearly in the frozen grass, and when I saw
shapes scattered across them, I had him fly closer to the ground.
The roads were covered in carts, some on their sides and others
turned over completely, but there was no sign that people had ever
been there, or indeed animals. A bridge as wide as the ravine
behind Orinhal crossed a river that had once been as deep as the
ocean, and I pictured myself wandering into every tower and house
we flew over.

Beds
would still be made, covers immovable. There might be plates on the
table, cups in the sink; chairs would've been pushed under tables
or not, and frames of layers upon layers of white paint would hang
from the walls; but there wouldn't be a single sign of the people
who'd once lived there.

“Maybe
it goes on forever,” I said, teeth worrying into my
lower-lip.

The
Bloodless Lands weren't timeless, but they were lost to time. The
sun was still high, and this was the only thing that let me know
how long Oak and I had been out there. Not wanting to linger for
days or weeks without realising it, I narrowed my gaze at the
horizon, forcing my destination to the front of my mind.