THE SABLE SABREFANG TORE herself out of the tunnel, but it still took precious seconds even with Yaarah and Ashueli pulling on whatever parts of her one, they could reach and two, did not summarily execute them for their temerity.
“Mrrr-FURR! Don’t touch me!” Sabline roared.
“I’ll start climbing,” the Elf said.
“Flappy-lipped leaf child, are you praying to get eaten?” bellowed the Dragoness, squirming free at last. “We’ll fly down!”
Grabbing Ashueli by the scruff of the neck, she leaped powerfully off the cliff edge. The Elf had time for a strangled yell of dismay. Then, Sabline’s wings folded upward with a sharp cracking sound. Allory gaped as the Felidragon, with a despairing yell, dropped like a stone!
She can’t actually fly? Allory’s thoughts scattered.
To his credit, Yaarah reacted instantly. He gave chase. “With me, Allory!”
Reaching out with a startled yelp, her blue fingertips snagged his upraised right wingtip. Instant, brutal acceleration tore at her shoulder, but she held on grimly while tucking in her own wings. No point in having those wrenched off to boot, although she did appear to have healed to the point that only an occasional twinge at the scar site bothered her these days. Less so Sabline. She had suspected something was wrong with the Felidragon. Not no-flying wrong!
Had she injured herself contorting her joints to fit through that tunnel? Or was something deeper amiss?
The warrior Felidragon fought grimly, trying to get into a good orientation but succeeding only in flailing miserably with wings bereft of strength. Allory could not hear above the wind’s roaring, but Ashueli was clearly screaming at Sabline to do something, anything, as the agile Elf sprang onto her back and, gripping her wings near the base, exerted hard, twisting pressure. The major flight joints popped loudly, allowing her to find a better wing configuration, but they still failed to beat as they ought. The additional friction slowed her fall considerably, however, making Yaarah appear to plummet toward her as their relative speed increased. Rock blurred by as he gripped Sabline behind her shoulders and spread his own wings despite the danger to his own muscles and ligaments, wrestling the larger Dragoness into a stable flying position.
Allory caught up as well, plopping onto the soft surface of his outspread golden wing. Gazing up at the sky from her awkward sprawl, she spied against the glow of city lights a patch of shinier darkness alight on the cliff edge from which they had departed. Fire Raptor. They were scent hunters. Once it had isolated their scent in its brain, they would become prey. The beasts could even share scent traces with one another, Yaarah had informed her, and they liked to hunt other Dragons.
All part of the attraction.
Good thing their eyesight was poor, because Yaarah blended in with treasuries, not dark canyon stone. Even in the pitch black his golden colouration stood out, whereas Sabline was best friends with the night, mistress of shadows and more. Could her tribe be the egg stealers?
Move it, you flitter-bug!
Shaking her head at these intrusive thoughts, Allory rolled along Yaarah’s wing and onto his back. She hopped down onto Sabline as her friend fought to gain space from the cliff face, which was no longer vertical. Those rocks were awfully close. Their wingtips practically brushed the bushes.
“What’s the matter with you?” she screamed at Sabline.
“I’m no … warrior!”
What the – of all the ridiculous – “Are you sick?”
The way a shudder coursed through her body, Allory knew. The Dragoness said not a word, but few creatures in all Faedom would know that feeling as well as she did, a person who had spent all her life being the smallest, the least capable, the one afraid of everything. It went deeper than mortal fear. It was a desolation of despair, the reality of knowledge that branded the soul with scars she feared could never be restored.
Healing was so much more than merely physical.
Placing her hands upon Sabline’s shoulders, she began to sing.
“Don’t touch me!”
Her convulsion threw Allory off. It caused Yaarah’s flight path to slew dangerously. His outstretched left wing struck a dry branch with a terrible dual crack! Once for the wood, hardened perhaps by decades of drought. Once for his wing bone. He screamed in pain. As they slewed together through the air, Ashueli’s hand caught her and slapped her bodily against Sabline’s back.
Ash yelled, “Do it!”
Allory screeched, “Ouch! Suggids, I’m a delicate –”
“Do something or we’re all dead!” Yaarah thundered, drowning her out.
Clear enough?
Obedience kicked in. Digging deep, she flung all her desire for restoration, for wholeness, into the Sable Sabrefang’s body. Nothing pretty or glorious about what she attempted. Nothing sparkly. The sable fur came alive beneath her body and knees, crackling with bright electrical sparks. Ashueli’s hair stood on end. Allory glittered from head to toe for several seconds, before the drain of her resources caused her to slump, bereft of the strength even to hold herself upright.
Sabline’s wings suddenly reformed their aerodynamic shape, finding their strength and forward impetus. She beat powerfully, shooting away from the foot of the cliff with a roar that reverberated across the canyonlands, grating and furious and forlorn, as if something had been stolen from her.
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Yaarah collapsed upon her back.
Despite her great strength, the weight of three additional creatures was too much. Immediately, the Sabrefang skimmed down into a rough landing along a dry watercourse, jinking at the last second to avoid a tall column of stone that seemed to pop out of nowhere. Her digging in sent the male Felidragon flying once more. He attempted one beat with his broken wing, screamed and collapsed in a heap not far off. Ashueli executed a neat twisting somersault and landed in a crouched posture, alert for any danger. No surprises there. Allory skidded along on her shoulder, throwing up a tiny wave of sand before coming to a stop, hurting in every bone of her body.
Next she knew, Sabline loomed over her.
“Alright?” Allory croaked.
“What part of ‘don’t touch me,’ did you not understand, you infuriating little freak!” she thundered. “Did I ask for healing? Did I? All I wanted – I wanted to … GNARR!!”
Her fangs clashed, but despite the terrifying proximity, she did not execute a killing bite.
“You wanted to die?” Allory realised aloud, perhaps unwisely.
“You wretched, shrivelling worm, how dare you inflict your pathetic insecurities on me?” Sabline’s gaze scorched like fire, making Allory shrink inside as she always used to. “Learn this, little Fae. The last thing people want is your help or your pity, and by all that’s holy, that sparkly happy-me smile just makes me want to snap you in half! Life isn’t some joke. Life is pain, suffering and –”
“Enough,” Yaarah snarled, lowering his muzzle protectively over Allory.
She had seen him do this over his food.
Sabline slashed his shoulder with her talons, but the golden Felidragon did not flinch. Instead, he calmly and deliberately collected the shaken Fae into his forepaw, a gesture conveying unmistakable meaning: mine.
After glaring at the Golden Purrmaine for several endless breaths, the Sabrefang shook her head, turned upon her heel and stalked away into the darkness. Allory heard her spit and curse once before she vanished as if she had never been. Night’s own best friend, that predator. She shivered as if one of her own nightmares had just walked over her grave.
“Alright, Sparkles?”
“Don’t call me that, Yaarah.” She curled up into a foetal ball, shaking in reaction. “I’m … shattered. That was too much.”
“It was.”
She knew he referred to Sabline’s reaction even though he knew she had described the healing attempt. The last thing people want is your help. Bitter, bitter truth. Like that Human woman in the city. Better she never tried something like that again. Better to leave the world be, leave the anguish to those who wanted to wallow in it. Middlesun would still shine … until one day it shone so brilliantly, everyone and everything would be consumed in the flames of an apocalyptic flare of skyfires and nothing would exist anymore, most especially not this worthless, blundering, unwanted Scintillant Fae.
“Stop that,” Yaarah purred.
“Stop what?”
“Mrrr-hsst, the wallowing in self-loathing. There’s no need –”
“You’d lecture me too? Oh please, do carry on.”
Instead of making reply, he nuzzled her so tenderly with his cheek that it tore a sob from her and Allory had to bury her face in the palm of his paw. What use, tears? Yet this Felidragon had just read her like an open scroll, even her inmost thoughts. He understood her hurt.
Priceless.
He whispered, “You did the right thing. She does not realise it yet – and that is not your burden to carry. It’s hers.”
Easily said, not so easily laid to rest. The Fae rubbed the spot where that butterfly had come to adorn her hairstyle nowadays. The Healer Sage’s teachings had not touched on this aspect of the craft and Allory knew she would agonise over her decision, overanalyse it, beat herself over the antennae with her blunder. No. Not everyone wanted healing.
Walking up, Ashueli laid her hand briefly upon Allory’s back in a gesture of solidarity. “Come. We need to find shelter from these night hunters. Sabline will be fine, she just needs time.”
Maybe so.
Did her own trauma make her unfit to be a healer? Or, too sensitive?
Allory dozed fitfully upon Yaarah’s back as Ashueli led the march along the dry riverbed. She did not know how long they continued, but the night had to be old indeed by the time her companions found a suitable low cavern well off the sandy parts and holed up for a well-earned rest. Both Elf and Felidragon had been hiding their tracks all the while, boulder-stepping or using routes across dry, exposed patches of the canyon floor. She stirred when her ride curled up and told her she was safe.
Safe? Not from nightmares of being chased by nameless, formless black Dragons, nor from the bitterness of her self-loathing.
Not safe from no less than five of the hammer-blows against her awareness which no-one else appeared to feel, but left her a nauseous, shaking wreck. That was a new reaction. No pain this time, rather this taint of wickedness, of a twisting of what was real, good and true, that left her feeling irredeemably soiled within. The soul locket felt heavier than ever, dragging at her neck.
It was an attack, but why? Why at this hour, when the Shyraiama Dragon migration was at its peak, obscuring the whole surface of Middlesun but leaving light blazing behind in the opposite direction – so she understood, but from this distance, the darkness was far greater than that light an unimaginable number of miles away. The backlighting filtered through as a faint corona of azure radiance, enough for the night sight of magical creatures to operate.
Waking a few minutes before dawn, the threesome cast about briefly but found no sign of Sabline.
“Probably run off mewling like a stroppy kitten,” the Princess grated, slipping out of her outfit from the castle without regard for her nudity. Allory had never seen so much lean muscle on a girl, knotting like corded rope whenever she moved or tensed up. Extracting a new set of clothing from her compact pack, the Elf donned an outfit of tough, dark green travel leathers. “Figures.”
She’s saying she’s furious at Sabline’s attack. Thanks, Ash.
The Princess growled something decidedly uncomplimentary as she adorned her spare figure with the additional armour and the collection of blades she liked to carry. Anyone who dared to compliment those lissom leather-clad legs would taste steel, of that a Faerie had no doubt. When she was done, the less-than-purrrfect Purrmaine – sparkly snicker – gave her appearance a begrudging nod. Seriously warlike? Check. Ashueli folded her previous clothing into a neat bundle, tied it with the ornamental belt she had been wearing, and left the package tucked into a crack between two boulders. Allory had no doubt she’d remember the exact spot until the day she died.
“We’ll carry on,” Yaarah agreed meantime. “It’s only two weeks’ walking through the canyonlands, mrrr-prrrt?”
“Dodging Giants,” Ash noted.
“Hiding every night from Fire Raptors,” he tossed back.
“Burning thirst.”
“Not a blade of grass in sight.”
“Are we all feeling cheerful this morning?” Allory sniped. “I need nectar to survive, you know. Surely there are flowers out here?”
Apparently, she should not expect to find many. Or something like that.
They walked for a whole day without seeing hide or hair of anything green, furry or even alive. The scenery was spectacularly bleak. A jungle girl felt horribly exposed in this world which had no leaves and branches to hide behind, no cenotes to bathe in, a sad lack of cool fragrant jungle airs to inhale with a sigh of pleasure and most definitely, no tasty jungle blossoms to tickle her tongue with their subtle flavours.
Alright. Hungry … starving!
Hallucinations of nectar abundance shortly afflicting the local Faerie population, numbering one.
She and her natural agoraphobia were about to become extremely well acquainted out here, of that she had no doubt. Her misfiring alleged healing powers also failed to restore the Felidragon’s wing in the slightest, which did not contribute to any kind of positive outlook. Her wings might better have been weighted down with rocks, the way she dragged herself along.
“Miserable land,” she muttered.