The wind rippled Alandis’ hair as she and Solavier shot down the hill on horseback. Sol’s mount, too, had become relatively used to the dragons, and Sendoa was willing to bear him as close as the dragons would allow.
Alandis’ heart beat like a gong in her ears, interrupting every interchanging thought -
I’m going to -
Why does he have to love me?
Have to -
Where is Trys to lift this weight?
Her mind was fogged, a strange cloud of guilt over speaking to Sol at all that morning - to have complained, she thought, and that was always unwelcome - she was supposed to be strong enough for no one to have to know - that’s what she thought God wanted, even though she would have said otherwise of anyone else’s suffering.
Yes, yes, she had taken all her burdens on her shoulders those seven months, without Trys who had always lifted their weight by a smile and by an “everything will be alright” and she felt crushed by the weight of separation, loneliness, guilt - guilt over the dragons, guilt over running away, guilt over her feelings, guilt over Trys, and now, guilt over Sol.
I know, Alandis, I have to go!
I have to -
I’ll never force you, nor will I run away -
I have to -
You were always the Dove, Mielė-
I never -
Blinded, Alandis was only aware they’d reached their destination by Sissi’s customary skid-and-rear-abruptly.
She nearly flew over Sissi’s head, but Sol’s hand must have already been hovering over her arm, because he jerked her back into the saddle.
“Focus!” he commanded, but not unkindly, as though he seemed to know her thoughts. “My Lady, we can’t afford to have even the least of us out of action, but you? We may all burn if that happens! Or drown,” he added, eyes scanning the scene before them.
Contrary to Alandis’ hopes, they were not on the uninhabited southern beaches but across from the lighthouse isle, and pounding waves were frothing and foaming against the wildflower-strewn shores.
The wind was terrific, breaking the stems of the rue, flattening the beach glories, purslane, thrift, and ice blossoms. Once again the martyred petals flooded the ground like bejeweling blood, cast into Alandis’ face and hair. That was not the sight they’d come to see.
Whatever it was, it was thrashing through the water, fins rifting the white waves like maddened sharks, dangerously close to the pier. Too many children had crept out to stare, the boats were tossing and turning, tipping over and straggling their lines and sails, dumping them on the unprepared. The wind rose fiercely, casting rabid foam onto the nearest homes and shops.
“I was calling it to the south,” Alandis groaned with sinking heart.
Sol raised an eyebrow.
“Well, these are hardly tame dragons, but this is a strange one. Let’s go show him - or her - that this is your territory!”
“We have to get it away from the shore! Any clever ideas?”
Sol’s eyes went to a fishing barque loaded with that morning’s catch, not yet tipped over, for it was anchored up the river that flowed through Isola’s heart.
“Yes, one that’s fishy.”
“Take care of it!” she told him. “I’m going to -”
“Do what you do best, be careful, Lana.”
Her breath wavered and she didn’t answer, only dismounted Sissi and ran for the grassy shoreline.
In just a minute, the ship’s lines has been cut, and the barque sailed out against the roughening tide, the wind casting the pungent scent of salt and fish far and wide. The waves were swiftly bouncing it away towards the southern beaches. If only the beast who had nearly rid the bay of its marine life would take the bait -
Alandis was sprinting down to the water’s edge as it happened. The whirling water ceased, only for a breath, so that for just that space there was an eerie half-silence - then something like a column of sea and sky erupted from the water, crashed over the barque, and in another moment all was still.
The barque had been emptied, only a few of its precious goods still floating on the water. Maybe food was all that the creature had wanted - that, and to see what dragon had dared to challenge it. Surely it must have known by now whose territory it was.
Alandis’ eyes scanned the water and the horizon in vain. Whatever it was had not deigned to make itself visible - yet. She was turning back to call to Solavier when a distant cracking as of thunder and stone rolled across the bay from the island.
A chill ran through Alandis’ shoulders, not just from the wind. She turned back as It crawled over the island’s crest with a seething hiss.
It was a dragon. Not just any dragon, but one of the vanaile, fluid as water. Its wings were crisp like frosted mist, disappearing against the sky, glassy skin like an icy skeleton, sea-pearls and frilled waves cresting its skull with its eerie white eyes, translucent enough that the sun cast iridescence across the turbulent waves. It was thrice the size of Mother.
As it looked at Alandis across the bay, clutching at the mossy island of Nan’mier, the tail, edged like the seica, curled about, crushing the third lighthouse that had marked the upper terrace.
Alandis raised her hand towards it, letting the amber glow against the sun.
I have called you to the edge of my territory, vanaile! I hold by the dragon’s honor and I will not harm you. Yet I will do what I have to to keep you from harming my territory, this island and its mainland, the Salųšalis of my people.
The vanaile hissed again, tail and talons cracking the stone beneath it as the water dripping from it formed rainbowed waterfalls that spilled over the edge into the sea. Usually the dragon’s honor was enough to get a little breather, but not this time. At least, not that kind of breather.
The vanaile let out a fierce breath, not of fire, but of pouring, rippling steam, so violent that the water crashed and crested, pounding over the bay to meet the girl on the bank.
A faint shriek sounded from behind Alandis. Once again the curious children of Isola had assumed they would be safe behind the Dragandrea.
“Lana!” Sol would have pulled her out of the way but she pushed him back.
“Get the children! Now!”
The Zain ran, catching up the children under his arm as Alandis ran into the water, eyes on the barque that still bobbed, desperate to stay afloat. Better to be on the water where no children were than on the shore!
The first wave broke around the barque and Alandis had the sinking feeling that it was only the weakest of the vanaile’s hissy fits. It would have been angry, she was sure, if it had heard that label.
As she pulled herself onto the barque’s flooded deck, she heard Sol’s desperate call from the shore, but she saw the white eyes in front of her lengthen in a smile. A smile, but one that was not the kind presented at a tea party.
This may be one of my worst unplanned plans yet, she thought.
Solavier and the children froze as the dragon slithered into the water, melting into it. The sea was still. Still, until it did to Alandis as it had to the barque’s cargo.
“Lana. . . Lana!”
Sol’s breath went unheard as the dragon, barque, and Dragandrea vanished, and the tide rolled back.
Night had fallen. The day had been silent, waiting for Alandis to reappear. She never did. Nor had anything more come out of the sea. The wind had died, as had the rough waves.
Solavier had tried to help mend the damage as was his duty, just as the people tried not to assume the worst. Little was said.
Alandis couldn’t hold her breath for more than a minute, Sol knew that. No one could imagine that the vanaile had been the first to be unfazed by Alandis - to be against the dragon’s honor and kill her - to have drowned her.
Of all the dumbest things she could have done, and yet it wasn’t, because the waves hadn’t claimed the too-many-children on the shore.
She’d been distracted before they’d even reach the village. Distracted, because of what he’d said? He bit his lip until it bled.
Waiting in a wordless prayer was all Solavier or anyone could do, not daring to frame the thought that nagged - that she was dead.
Further, if Alandis was gone, would the dragons leave? Would they overtake all of Lharmeval? And if their last vestige of honor was gone, and the only barrier between them - no one wanted to think that far, either.
Sol did his best to keep his mind awake, not numb. He trusted Alandis, he trusted God, even if he felt he was trusting blindly in this moment. He would keep on, doggedly, until he knew. What would happen then, he wasn’t going to try and think of, either.
Sol touched the pommel of his sword. Every night he and Alandis had made a brief patrol of the village. Even if only to keep a sense of normality, he would go; but it would be without the dim glow of the amber. He swung onto Sendoa and let him choose his pace down the slopes.
Sensing his master’s mood, it was a slow and steady pace Sendoa set, rhythmic, and the forest was still. The village was quiet, despite the usual passings between homes and closing shops. A dog still barked somewhere, and a kitten pounced across the path before running back, squirrel-like, whence it had come.
Sol could sense the vague relief at the sight of him as he passed through the streets. Some of the children were sitting on their doorsteps, hugging their stuffed animals.
One had a doll modeled after the Dragandrea. It was a silly thing, and it had amused him to no end when such dolls had become commonly made by mothers for their daughters, but now it only hurt. The child must have noticed, because she crept out and handed it up to him.
Sol smiled sadly and tucked the doll under his cloak, wondering again whether Alandis had made it out of the waves. Maybe she’d made it to the island and simply been missed by the scouts, or pulled herself out sometime after they’d gone. Or even made it to the farther islands, wherever the vanaile had been headed. The thought gave him enough hope that he wished it were morning. He’d set out early, if he could be spared, or send out others if he was to be kept on guard.
It was then he realized the child was staring past Sendoa into the dark with frightened eyes as she grabbed at the girth.
The by now, all too familiar rattle made Solavier sigh as Sendoa shook himself, clearly wanting to be anywhere else but there.
“Alright, did you really have to show up tonight? Or do I already know why?”
He motioned for the child to run, and she did, being quickly caught up by her father and taken into the house.
A snort was the reply to Solvier’s question as he faced the drake.
“Listen, by now you ought to know some of our language. Alandis isn’t here, and the people have all had a day. Would you be polite for once and just. . . I don’t know, leave?”
Sendoa seconded the idea.
The drake, already far taller than he had been upon meeting Alandis, wings nearly fully strengthened, shook his moon-fired scales with an angry snort and continued down the road towards him.
“I really don’t want to try doing this,” Solavier muttered. “Stay with me, Sendoa, I’m going to need you.” He glanced at the stars overhead. “And I’m going to need You, too.”
He drew his blade, measuring how he might manage to stab the drake’s eyes, one of the few fleshy areas on its body. Not enough to kill, certainly, but it might send it away for a few days until the sun’s energy healed it again.
“Draco. . . what have I told you,” a tired voice came from the shadows.
The drake zipped happily at the words as its scales fell back into place.
“Alandis?” Solavier leapt from the saddle as the girl slowly stepped out of the shadow of the trees.
She smiled as if she hardly had the strength and stretching out one hand to hold the drake back, let Sol catch her other hand in his relief.
“I worried we lost you!”
“Very. . .nearly.” She dropped her head to his shoulder. She was still drenched, as though she’d only just made it out of the water.
Draco dropped his own head closer to her and breathed out heavily, the warmth nearly drying her at once.
“Thanks, I needed that,” Alandis sighed. “Go home, Draco, please don’t play tonight.”
She pushed his snout away in the direction of the distant mountains and the drake reluctantly complied, perhaps, for once, out of some sense of compassion. Not that he wouldn’t be back to excitedly hunt for cows in the middle of the village, not that he made sense thinking that.
Solavier sighed, looking down at Alandis, feeling the weight of all the unthought questions fall back, for now.
“You’re in rough shape, Mielė. Let’s get you back to the House. You can tell me about everything in the morning, and we’ll deal with whatever we need to then. Come on.”
He lifted her onto Sendoa and sent the stallion back at a canter, both riders silent.
Solavier took the girl to the doorway of the suite, high on the terraces. He stopped her, just for a moment.
“Alandis, don’t do that to me again. If I - If I distracted you - I can’t abandon my post, Alandis, but I’ll do whatever you need me to.”
She shook her head firmly. “It wasn’t you, Sol, or the vanaile. It was me. . . all me.”
She didn’t say why as she closed the door, but in his heart Solavier began to fear again. He remained on the terrace overlooking the sea for many hours, the moon cresting his hair with silver.
It must be removed, then, she had said, so long ago.
Read the next chapter.
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