Cirris felt himself start to panic, but he forced the feeling down. Riders weren’t known for being exactly punctual. If anything, they tended to be a bit headstrong and not care for schedules of any sort. Maybe Rennick had a point. Cirris sat down on a rock in the launch tunnel to think. The first riders had carved a hole directly through the Spire, a rectangular shaft with the long side parallel with the ground far below and the top corners rounded out. Dragons came in and out often. But for now, he only heard the whistling of the wind. And if someone came in with news, he’d be the first to know.
He’d checked the tunnels. All of them. She hadn’t been there, and no one had seen her. He’d checked his own quarters, thinking that maybe she’d decided to play some sort of prank on him. She hadn’t done that. He’d checked her own quarters after enduring some ribbing from the two Morningtide riders. She hadn’t even been there. And he’d taken Darkcloud up to the very top of Slantspire, where he talked with her so often. Bare and empty as the rest.
It had been three moonsets since then. She hadn’t so much as left a note. The only thing that kept Cirris from flying out to search for her was the thought that Swampmist was still missing as well. As long as the two were together, they’d both come back in one piece. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something didn’t add up. But he always felt that way when he couldn’t find Astoria. She’d turn up soon, just like she always did. And he’d be right here when she did, demanding some answers. Sometimes it was funny. Not this time. Not for this long. He looked down the tunnel, following the arrows painted on the rock with his eyes. They pointed to his right, rendered in red with smaller yellow markings around them. He could be up in the sky in less than a minute, sweeping the ground below for something, anything…
“Still waiting?”
Cirris started, blinking away the haze from his thoughts. “Huh?”
The man sat down next to Cirris on the recessed stone bench. “You’re still waiting for Astoria.” This time it wasn’t a question.
“Yes?”
Rennick ran a finger along the scar that sliced through his left eyebrow, leaning back. “It’s not a question. Don’t say it that way. If that’s what you’re doing, own it.”
“Then yes. Yes I am waiting for her.”
“Now there’s the spirit.” Rennick pulled his hand down as instinctively as it had gone up. “The real question is why.”
“Why what?”
“Why are you sitting here waiting for someone who might not be coming back?”
Cirris frowned. “She’s coming back. I know it.”
Rennick raised his eyebrows. “Do you now?”
“Yes. All her things are still here. And she wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye.”
The older man shrugged. “You know her better than I do. But maybe that’s the real reason you haven’t seen her.”
“What?”
“If you were going to leave, start a new life, forget everything you’ve ever done, would you make yourself face the people you knew best? The people you would miss the most? Or would you leave them behind and bury them deep?”
Cirris scowled. “I’d come back and say goodbye. I’m not a monster.”
Rennick chuckled. “Well, your soul is purer than mine.” He looked out the launchway. “After the same things happen a few times in a row, you start to think that’s the way it’s always going to be.”
“What are you saying?”
Rennick unscrewed his canteen and took a long draught. “I’m saying I’ve seen this same thing happen before. Several times. Riders will disappear with their dragons, leave their things, bury their peers deep in the past and try to forget all about them. Some come back after their years away. Most never return.”
“Well, Astoria is different. She wouldn’t desert us here.”
Rennick eyed him. “Wouldn’t desert us, or wouldn’t desert you?”
Cirris felt his cheeks redden a little. “Really?
“Really. For most of us here, she wouldn’t so much as bat an eye. For you, I don’t know. It tells me a lot that you’re still right here.”
“She’s my friend. She’d do the same for me.”
Rennick picked at a dirty fingernail. “Would she?”
“Yes. She would.”
“If you say so.” Rennick looked out at the sun. “Did you check over by Seaglade?”
Cirris looked at him. “No. Why would I?”
Rennick raised his eyebrows again. “You didn’t know? Swampmist was out flying solo while Astoria was in town.”
Cirris’s heart felt like it had dropped off the very top of Slantspire, plunging toward the ground with no dragon to carry it. “She was out solo? During the fire?”
“Yes. But she’s a smart dragon. I’m sure she’s fine.”
Cirris was already on his feet, the whistle around his neck in his fingers. “That’s not a chance I’m willing to take.” He bit down on the whistle and blew into it, covering his ears. Darkcloud swooped in at the left end of the tunnel and landed on the smooth rock, galloping forward with her wings tucked. Cirris snagged his arm around the saddle as she passed by. He swung his leg over her and ducked his head, mask sliding over his face with a flick of his head. The Spire dropped away beneath him, and Darkcloud’s wings unfurled. Up, up, and away, towards the charred remains of Seaglade.
“Clear skies, lover boy!” Cirris grimaced at the yelled words. Now the Morningtide riders would really tease him. But he knew Rennick meant well.
He paused his thoughts slowing while his body accelerated. What if the Morningtides were right? He’d always brushed them off with a scowl or a few choice words, but never once had he stopped and considered if they had a point. He stared down at the blue-grey treetops. He did care for Astoria, more so than any other person on the Spire. Was that what love was? He didn’t know. But whatever it was, he’d have to wait to figure out.
Already, Seaglade started to grow in his vision, the remains of the dockmaster’s office becoming more detailed to his view. The dragon towers around the edge of the town swiveled to watch him as he flew lower, heavy crossbows loaded and ready to fire. He swung wide to the right, the same path he’d taken when the raider ships had sailed in. “Alright, let’s try this again. Let me down. And slower this time, if you don’t mind.” He swung his leg over and dropped down so his hands wrapped around one of the stirrups. Darkcloud eyed the beach below before drifting down. Cirris let go only a few meters up and crouched as he landed, the sand taking the brunt of the impact. “Better.” But his thoughts had already turned to the pile of corpses on the edge of the town, right near the intersection between the woods and the beach. A man and a woman, both in sturdy trousers and leather smocks, dragged a small dragon’s corpse over to the pile and hefted it onto the top.
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Cirris stayed in the trees, watching their progress. This couldn’t be the only pile, considering only a singular alpha-size dragon lay unmoving in it. Those were the rideable ones, at least for any serious rider. This one didn’t look like Swampmist. That gave him a little hope.
He circled around the edge of the town dashing in between trees and pausing whenever a pile of dragons caught his eyes. The first was the largest so far, with only one other pile having an alpha-size dragon. Cirris turned the last corner and started back towards the seashore, abandoning all sense of stealth. He had to know. Maybe Rennick had been wrong, and Swampmist flew the skies with her rider at that very moment.
One pile on the way, this one small. No alpha-sizes. He still felt a sick sense in his stomach at all the slaughtered dragons, most of them too small to do much harm to the town even if they’d wanted to. But he could mourn them when he found the one dragon that mattered right now.
The last pile stood directly between the water and the town, directly on the other side of the dockmaster’s office. Cirris dashed up to it, not caring if someone saw him. He had to know…
The charred remains of the building had barely hidden this one from his view. Ten small dragons were spaced all around the two alpha-sizes in the center. One had a mottled brown scales, a faded metallic-blue frill on its head. And the other… Cirris dropped to his knees. Swampmist lay in the pile, a javelin as thick as his arm embedded in her chest. Her eyes remained closed even as he placed a hesitant hand on her face. She’d been gone for a while, probably days. And she’d died alone. The blood had already crusted over and dried.
If Swampmist was here, then Astoria didn’t have any way to get around short of walking. Even considering that, she’d stop at nothing to get back up to the top of Slantspire. In fact, she’d already have been back. And if she’d taken time to herself in order to mourn Swampmist, she still had to clean herself and eat. Most places wouldn’t just hand food to a dragon rider. Something else was going on here.
Maybe she hadn’t been able to return. Cirris tore his gaze away from Swampmist’s corpse and looked out at the ocean. She was alive somewhere. He refused to believe otherwise until he had proof. But wherever she was, something prevented her from returning. She couldn’t have left like this, not without at least knowing what had happened to her dragon. She wouldn’t do that.
Cirris pulled himself up, though his shoulders still slumped. He didn’t want to take anything from the pile, especially not from Swampmist, but saddles and rider gear were expensive to make. He unbuckled the saddle and hefted it off, dragging the straps out from underneath the dragon’s body. He’d take it back to Rennick as proof Astoria hadn’t run off like so many others. Cirris walked off to the woods behind him, right across the beach from where he’d jumped off, and raised his whistle. Darkcloud popped her head out from the trees in front of him before he even had a chance to blow it. He let the whistle fall back against his chest and climbed onto the saddle, patting the dragon’s hide. “Nice and easy, girl. Take the wide route around the crossbows. I don’t want you getting hurt too.”
Darkcloud trilled a slow response before lifting into the air, flying level with the beach for a few moments before turning back toward the Spire. Cirris leaned forward over the extra gear, his hands holding onto Darkcloud’s saddle in front of it. Astoria was still out there somewhere. And he didn’t have a clue what to do.
Two weeks. Two whole weeks. Two mind-bending weeks in her room. Cheer looked up at her walls, each papered with pieces of parchment and charcoal markings. That picture on the right, the one that stretched across multiple parchments, that had been the first few days. She’d laid out all her parchment across the entire floor. Well, all the clean parts. Levity certainly wasn’t going to give her any help cleaning up, and the boys weren’t coming anywhere near her. At least she’d dropped off a new box of charcoal pencils. Cheer couldn’t think of a time before that when Levity had done anything remotely nice. But she’d already gone through several pencils. Her right hand was probably going to be stained that shade of grey from all the drawing she’d done.
In her first few days, she’d somehow managed to get some of the parchment on the ceiling, but only sketches of stars and the moon. The stars even seemed to be in roughly the right spots for someone staring up at them from this side of the mountains. But the moon, off to the left just above where the mountains would be, had cracks spider-webbing all across its surface. Not the first time she’d drawn it that way, but this one looked so much more defined than the others.
That moon brought up unpleasant thoughts. Her first memories, back when she’d had an actual in an actual house with people who loved her for more than her skills. She remembered only snippets: the worn-smooth quilt, the faint aroma of cloves and allspice, and the soft flicker of the candle next to her bedside as her mother sang a lullaby. Cheer shut her eyes, simultaneously pushing the thoughts away and holding onto them. No matter how many times they came, all the more now that she’d been confined to her bed, they comforted her. But they would be the undoing of the thief in her. Surely Levity never thought about such things.
The memories always ended the same way, and each time she suffered through it just to hold onto the fleeting happiness. She remembered the night clearly, when a Surface Council member had showed up to her house and fastened a piece of paper to the door. That day, she’d stayed in the house, alone. That wasn’t so uncommon. Her parents had gone out to the harvest, leaving Cheer with her toys and drawings. Her father always had dough rising so when they got home, her mother could decorate the bread with all sorts of flavors before baking. They trusted Cheer to use the oven, even at her young age. She knew the danger, and how that danger could be turned into a tool to make something wonderful.
She’d mixed in bits of crushed hardnuts and dashes of cinnamon before placing the dough inside a metal oven and setting it in the fire, making sure the coals were evenly distributed between the top and bottom. When they were out this late, she usually took matters into her own hands. They couldn’t get mad at her for trying to help.
The man had come late in the night, knocking on the door first. She’d looked out the small window and then backed away. She recognized his face, but only from being around the town. She wasn’t to let anyone in that she didn’t know well. So she’d stayed quiet as he knocked again. He’d pasted a paper on the door with tree sap and left, sighing and pulling his cloak tighter.
Cheer had sat huddled in the corner opposite the door after closing the curtains, listening for the crunch of boots on loose gravel outside. The smell of baking bread didn’t comfort her like it normally did. The moon had long risen by the time she worked up the courage to open the door and read what the paper said.
This house is declared vacant by order of the Surface Council and the Engineers. For those wishing to inhabit it, please take your petitions to the Council House on the square.
She hadn’t understood the words fully. Vacant? But her parents lived here. She lived here. They couldn’t just take her house away, could they?
Cheer waited for two days, hoping that her parents would unlock the door and wrap her in the biggest hug. She finished the first half of the loaf of bread she’d put in the oven, the coals already too small to cook anything else. But she’d have to go outside to get more wood, and she didn’t want to leave the house. So for two days, she let the fire burn until it burnt itself out. And then the cold of autumn seeped in through the cracks and the blue-grey leaves of the white-trunked trees turned brown and dropped to the ground, while the trees with needles looked on impassively as their counterparts slowly fell apart.
On the moonset of the third day, Cheer knew they weren’t coming back. Other people would come soon. They would take her away, take away all of the things that should belong here. They would even take the oven. But she couldn’t do anything about that. It would be too heavy to take with her, and she couldn’t stay. One way or another, she had to be gone by moonrise, or she might never leave.
She pulled her father’s bag from the other room, opening it to reveal hiking supplies. She would need some of them, and the others could come along until she learned how to use them. And she would need food and water. Her father’s spare canteen, on the shelf in her parents’ room, could hold more than hers. She pulled it down and stuffed it in her pack. She’d fill it later, down by the stream. As for food, the meager stores in the back of the kitchen would have to do. A few jars of palefruit slices, a tin of hardnuts, and the rest of the bread. Better than nothing. She could get maybe a few days out of them. And then she’d have to find somewhere else to stay.
She stuffed all the items into the bag, but something stopped her from crossing the room and leaving out the back door. She inched up to it, her hand on the handle. It would be so easy now to just go and leave this behind. She would be constantly reminded of her parents if she stayed here. The ones who left her, alone in a wide world.
She stayed with her hand on the door until moonrise, when keys unexpectedly jangled in the lock on the front door. Cheer unlocked the back door and pushed it open, stepping through and closing it almost all the way behind her. She peered through the crack, watching the front door and hoping against destiny that her parents had finally come home, that her father would scold her for getting into his things before whisking her into the air and letting her fly like a dragon.
A Surface Council member opened the door and stepped into the house with his dirty boots, sliding a keyring back into his pocket. Cheer backed away from her door, the last shred of hope inside her blowing away in a stiff breeze. No one was coming back for her. She turned and ran as fast as she could, away from the house. Away from the only world she’d ever known.
Cheer stared up at the sketch of the shattering moon, eyes wet. The fact that those tears existed made her angry. She should’ve been over all of it by now. The past served no purpose except motivation. Yet this did the opposite. It made her want to curl up like she had in her old home and cry until she couldn’t cry anymore.
She pushed herself to her feet, wiping the tears away and gritting her teeth. She’d been resting too long. Her mind was slipping. Her muscles and stamina had deteriorated from lack of use, not to mention the striker poison. She needed to get out and do something. If she had to hike halfway up the mountain before she felt in control of herself again, she’d do it. Anything to make those feelings go away. She was a thief now, and proud of it.