The Dragon finds unliving prey
But Winter's soul keeps fire at bay.
Ferrian pulled his Sword out of the stone and ran after Hawk. The Dragon circled languorously towards them, surprisingly quiet for a creature so huge. The plaza was large, but seemed suddenly much smaller in the presence of the Dragon.
Ferrian dropped into a crouch before Mekka.
“Mekka!” he said. “You need to take Li to safety!”
The Angel sat with his back to the approaching Dragon, shivering under his blankets. His patch was back in place, hiding his disfigured eye, but his good eye was distant and unfocused, staring at the icy ground in front of him. He seemed oblivious to everything that was going on.
“Forget it, Ferrian!” Hawk said, shaking his head. “I already tried!”
Li huddled close to Mekka, under his black wing, looking frightened.
The Dragon loomed close.
Hurrying to his feet, Ferrian took up a position beside Hawk, protectively in front of the two Angels.
The Dragon crouched in front of them. Its tail continued to slither, like a snake, over the steps surrounding the plaza, brushing the side of the council building with a soft hiss of scales on the stone. Its eyes glowed as brightly as the fires it had ignited around the city, like enormous lanterns in the gathering night.
It smelled overwhelmingly of charred flesh and sulphur, and radiated heat like a slow-burning stove.
Hawk leaned a little towards Ferrian without taking his eyes off the Dragon. “You learn anything else useful, while you were messing about with that Sword?” he muttered.
Ferrian shook his head bleakly. “Nothing good,” he replied.
Despair rapidly etched a huge, hollow space inside him. Only now was he beginning to understand the full, horrifying consequences of setting the trigonic dagger into his Sword. Doing so had effectively destroyed his Sword of Frost; he could no longer direct the Winter through it. If he tried to pour magic into the blade now, he would either slice open reality or end up trapped inside the Sword again.
He had created a weapon that was so powerful that he dared not use it.
Lifting his head, he made himself stare up at the Dragon. He had never seen one of the creatures before, except in paintings – and his own Dragon, of course. But the White Dragon was different; she was beautiful, almost delicate, like something created by an artist.
This Dragon was lean and angry and hungry and old. Its horns were chipped, its scales dull and flaky, in patches of red and brown and gold. Its great wings were tattered at the edges. Its bones showed through its skin. Here and there, Ferrian noticed raw, gleaming slashes and puncture marks. Blood slicked its loose hide in long streaks.
Some of the guards had had a go at it, then, and managed to damage it with their silvertine weapons. But the fact that none of the guards were here now was worrying.
I have to try and get it away from the others…
He could still summon the Winter, of course, but without a Sword to channel it through, his control was much weaker. It would simply rage through the plaza, sweeping up everything, mercilessly, in its path. He didn't think Mekka would survive being frozen solid again, and poor Li and Hawk…
Hawk looked like he was about to charge the thing. Ferrian saw him flick a quick glance in his direction.
Fighting back his terror, Ferrian stepped forward, away from Hawk. “I know you came for me!” he told the Dragon boldly. “Because of my magic!”
“Ferrian!” Hawk hissed.
Ferrian ignored him, edging slowly and carefully away from his friends, trying to hold the Dragon's attention.
It wasn't hard.
“You want revenge!” he continued. “You're… you're angry! But you don't have to destroy the whole of Fleetfleer to get to me!”
He heard Hawk curse.
The Dragon flexed its mighty wings with a thump of leather. They spanned the width of the plaza. Its jaws gaped wide.
Ferrian and Hawk braced themselves…
But the Dragon only yawned. It was a strange sound, deep and lazy, trailing off into a contented rumble. It looked back at Ferrian, its eyes narrowing. “You will make,” it said, “an interesting meal.”
Hawk almost quivered with anticipation, his muscles tense, heart racing. He knew what Ferrian was up to, and this annoyed him, because it was what he had been planning to do!
Dammit! Hawk thought, gritting his teeth. It will swallow him in one bite!
The Dragon's muscles shifted beneath its skin, bunching as it prepared to lunge. Its great neck coiled backwards, its head lowered.
Hawk tightened both hands on his sword. His left hand was covered in blood; he had removed the ruined gauntlet and bound his forearm, but it felt a little strange where Mekka had slashed it – not particularly painful, but it seemed to have gone numb. Vaguely, he hoped it wouldn't hamper his ability to fight. If he was quick enough, perhaps he could strike at the Dragon's neck… it might be enough of a distraction…
“Hawk!” Ferrian cried suddenly. “Run! Get the others away from here!”
Hawk hesitated, feeling torn, blood pounding in his ears. In a second, there would be no decision to make…
But he knew, in that instant, that Ferrian was right. The boy was already dead, but the rest of them weren't. Li was just a little kid, and Mekka was mentally broken, seemingly unable to provide any assistance…
“Dammit,” he swore again, under his breath. His gut lurched with dismay, but he started to turn…
And then something strange happened.
Ferrian went limp. His hands lowered, the point of his Sword clinking on the white flagstones. His head slumped forward onto his chest, as though he had suddenly fallen asleep, though he remained standing.
A silvery-white mist began to leak from him, streaming off his pale skin and through his clothing, gathering into a patch of fog behind him that shimmered like wintry moonlight.
Both Hawk and the Dragon froze in uncertainty, then in awe, as the patch of mist coalesced and traced a huge outline in the air. At first, Hawk thought it was a replica of the Dragon, but as the details filled out, saw that it was something much more. It was a spectral creature of ice and pearls, more beautiful than anything Hawk had ever seen before.
It was like something that only existed in fairy tales.
He was so mesmerised that he almost forgot where he was, but risked a quick glance at the real Dragon beside him.
Hawk had never seen a Dragon look astonished before: had never thought they were capable of such an expression. But its eyes had gone huge, the pupils narrowed to thin slits, its irises flickering with fiery light as though a fire raged within.
The Dragon had gone completely still, like a living statue, poised to lunge at Ferrian.
The White Dragon faced it, taking up the other half of the plaza, glowing with a ghostly light, its scales scintillating with rainbow colours, its feather-tipped wings drifting serenely on an unfelt breeze, accompanied by delicate butterfly-like appendages.
Its great eyes, Hawk was amazed to see, were the same colour as Ferrian's.
No.
The voice was commanding and yet sad at the same time. It reminded Hawk, with an unpleasant shiver, of the Presence in the Old Quarter in Sunsee. But instead of multiple voices, this one was comprised of only two: one feminine and musical, the other, Ferrian's. It appeared to be speaking through him.
This Human child is my vessel, it said. If you destroy him, you will destroy me.
The Dragon did not move, its gaze locked on the apparition before it.
You seek vengeance, but there is none to be found. Those who sought to manipulate the world with magic no longer exist. Their power and ambition has ruined them. Your retribution has come too late. You will not be satisfied.
The Dragon's eyes slowly narrowed. It bared its impressive teeth. Smoke wafted from its nostrils into the cool night air.
“You would deny us blood?” it answered, its voice deep and rumbling and tinged with anger. “After so long?”
No, the White Dragon replied. You must eat. Go and reclaim your dwelling places; there are none left to oppose you. Find sustenance, but do not destroy. Do not ravage the world in your rage, lest you slaughter every living thing in it and do not find peace.
The Dragon said nothing, but the rumbling sound continued.
“How did you come to be in such a vessel, sister?” it asked a few tense moments later.
The White Dragon's head lowered in despondency or guilt. I hid myself away, it responded. I wished a piece of myself to remain in the world. My body has long since perished. This is all that now exists. But there is a measure of hope that I may yet be restored. It is a delicate hope, one that may easily be crushed beneath your rampage and your brothers' bloodlust. I beg you take care.
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The Dragon continued to regard the White Dragon in silence. Slowly, it relaxed its stance, and moved its head forward to peer at Ferrian.
Smoke huffed from its nostrils.
Hawk felt as though he was rooted in place. His throat had gone dry. The Dragon's head was much too close to Ferrian. If it decided to take a bite, there was nothing that Hawk could do about it.
An interminably long moment later, the Dragon drew back. It considered the ghostly White Dragon again. Then it swung away, its great head passing over Hawk with a rush of hot, stinking air.
“I will heed your words,” it said, its voice resonant and deep, like a burning bell in the night.
Then it spread its wings and took off, into the moonlit, empty space beyond the edge of the city, over the floating platforms where Hawk had been kept prisoner, and diminished into the cloudy distance.
Whiteness dimmed back into cool, dark reality as Ferrian's awareness returned. He lifted his head, blinking.
The Dragon was gone.
He looked around himself, stunned, as Hawk came running up to him.
Did I use the Winter? he thought in confusion. I don't remember!
“The Dragon,” he said aloud. “What happened?”
Hawk's expression was pale and surprised. “You weren't aware of any of that?”
“Any of what?”
Hawk took a deep breath and let it out again. He scratched his head. “Uh. A white Dragon appeared right behind you,” he explained. “Like… a ghost. And it told this beastie here,” he nodded in the direction the Dragon had gone, “to shove off.”
Ferrian stared at him incredulously. “And it did?”
Hawk raised his eyebrows, rubbed his neck and shrugged. “Yeah!”
Ferrian blinked again. Just seconds ago, he was certain that he was either going to be eaten or forced to do something dramatic, and now the plaza was silent and empty, still covered in a thin blanket of frost–
“Wait. Where's Mekka?”
Hawk looked around.
Li sat where they had left her, kneeling on the cold stones, hugging herself, eyes wide and glittering in the moonlight.
There was no sign of the black-winged Angel.
They hurried over to Li. The gold-embroidered blankets lay discarded on the ground beside her.
“Li,” Hawk said. “Did you see where Mekka went?”
The little Angel shook her head.
“Are you sure?” Ferrian pressed. “He was right here!”
Li shook her head again, hugging herself more tightly.
Ferrian stood up, anxiously scanning the plaza. Shadows abounded. Mekka could be anywhere.
“He just left without saying anything?!” Ferrian said in frustration.
Hawk sighed. “This is Mekka we're talking about...”
Ferrian whirled on him. “Hawk, he's ill! That dagger messed up his mind pretty badly!”
Hawk stared grimly down at his injured arm. “You don't need to tell me,” he replied quietly.
Ferrian tried not to think of the consequences of that wound. It won't come to that, he told himself firmly. I'll find a way to help him.
But right now, Mekka needed help.
He shook his head. “He shouldn't be alone right now!”
“Gods know he shouldn't,” Hawk agreed, sighing again and rising slowly to his feet. “But if Mekka doesn't want to be found, you won't find him.”
“I can try!”
Hawk was silent, staring down at his sword.
Ferrian stared at him. “Do you know something?”
Hawk did not reply or look up.
“Hawk?”
Finally, the Freeroamer raised his head and gave Ferrian a despondent look. “Something Li said,” he answered quietly, shaking his head.
Ferrian glanced down at Li, then back at Hawk. “What did she say?”
Hawk's gaze shifted from Ferrian as he stared off across the plaza. His eyes shimmered a little. “She said that Angels only go to Caer Sync if they have reason to,” he replied. “Or if… they have done something wrong.”
Ferrian turned to see the straight white line of the Tower rising into the stars, above the burning buildings of Fleetfleer. His hand tightened on his Sword so hard he thought he might rip the dead flesh open.
“No,” he whispered. “I have to stop him!”
“Ferrian...”
He turned angrily to Hawk. “You want to let him kill himself? Let him throw himself into the Pit?!”
“Of course not!” Hawk replied, just as angry. “But if Mekka can't live with the consequences of what he's done, who are we to force him to?”
“He can't make that decision!”
“He's the only one who can!”
They glared at each other.
“The Tower is part of the Angel's culture,” Hawk went on. “If he’s gone there to die… if that means something to him...” he swallowed, looking away.
Ferrian continued glaring at Hawk, then turned away as well, devastated. He felt empty and helpless and guilt-stricken and angry. Not angry at Mekka, or at Hawk, but with himself. He had made a fatally wrong decision, giving the dagger to Mekka. He hadn't realised how terribly it would affect the Angel. He had never wanted to doom him. And now…
He stared bitterly at the Tower, merciless and cold as a sword in the distance.
Now, it was too late. Mekka had a head start.
He felt Hawk's hand on his shoulder. “We don't know for sure that's where he's gone,” he said softly. “Perhaps he just needs some time to figure himself out.”
Ferrian said nothing.
Hawk gave his shoulder a squeeze. “He'll come back,” he said determinedly. “He always comes back.”
They fell silent, staring at Caer Sync, at the white buildings, at the shadows, at the sky, hoping for a glimpse of black wings against the deep blue firmament.
But they weren't there.
Ferrian wanted to believe Hawk.
He closed his eyes. But this time, he didn't.
There was an inn bordering the plaza, on the opposite side to the council house. It was fancy and expensive-looking, with gold-gilded fittings and plush furniture. The tables, chairs and bar in the common room were made of dark, polished forest wood, and ornamental plants crowded every corner.
To their surprise, they discovered the innkeeper cowering in the kitchen. He was very young for an innkeeper – younger than Hawk – but he fled out the back door at the sight of them.
“Huh,” Hawk commented, putting his hands on his hips. “Typical. A Dragon ravages the city and a Seraph is slain in front of his door, and he runs at the sight of a couple of Humans.”
“Well,” Ferrian pointed out, “one of us is dead.”
Hawk glanced at him. “You have a point...”
Rummaging around, Hawk collected a needle, thread, alcohol and water, and sat down at the kitchen table, taking care of his arm. He showed no sign of pain as he worked, but the skin around the wound had turned an ugly dark colour, like a bruise.
Neither of them commented on it.
Afterwards, Hawk and Li helped themselves to food, then made beds for themselves on the soft, upholstered benches in the front room. There were bedrooms on the upper stories, but no stairs, just a circular opening in the ceiling. Li didn't want to venture up there on her own, so she curled up on a bench near Hawk.
They were asleep within minutes.
Ferrian sat alone, near the window, watching the fires burn themselves out.
The Dragon did not return, and neither did the black-winged Angel.
Dawn melted out of the darkness into softer shades of grey, in Ferrian's view, as the residents of Fleetfleer returned. They circled in the sky, looking lost, or picked aimlessly in the wreckage of the market stalls. Some called out for family members or friends or loved ones.
It was some time before Ferrian realised that someone was calling Li's name.
Getting to his feet, he cracked open the door and looked out.
A young couple wandered around in the middle of the plaza, searching desperately for their daughter.
Ferrian went and gently shook Li and Hawk awake.
“Li,” he said, crouching in front of the sleepy Angel. “Your parents are out there, looking for you.”
“Okay,” the girl mumbled.
Ferrian lifted her off the bench and led her to the door. She hesitated on the threshold, staring anxiously up at him.
“You won't get into trouble,” Hawk assured her. “In the circumstances. Your parents will just be glad that you're safe.”
Li still looked uncertain. Hawk crouched beside her.
“Hey, pigeon,” he told her. “When you go back to your family, you probably won't see us for awhile. But we'll always be your friends, okay? Even if your folks try to tell you that we're not.”
Li stared up at him. “Promise?”
“Promise.”
He took her hand, then stood up. Taking a deep breath, he looked at Ferrian, nodded, then led Li out into the plaza. The first rays of sunshine spilled over the towers at their backs. Ferrian watched them walk through the long shadow of the inn, approaching the distraught Angel couple.
They were so relieved at finding Li alive and well that they did not immediately realise that Hawk was Human. Li's father was the first to notice. Glancing up as though to thank Hawk, he leapt suddenly to his feet and backwards in shock.
Hawk appeared to be explaining something to them. He shook his head as he did so, his shoulders slumped, and the Angels stared at him in horror.
The father's face went from pale to dark with fury as he started yelling at Hawk.
Ferrian could hear him from where he stood inside the inn. He was calling Hawk a filthy, lying Human. His voice rang out across the plaza.
Then, all of a sudden, he put his face in his hands and started sobbing.
Hawk backed away as the three of them huddled together on the ground, hugging each other and weeping.
He closed the door quietly behind him as he rejoined Ferrian in the inn. His face was pale and sad. “I told them about Aari,” he explained, glancing at them through the window. “They deserved to know.”
Ferrian just nodded wordlessly.
They left through the back door.
They reached the forest floor without any mishaps. Ferrian had learned to manifest his wings at will, and lifted Hawk down through the clouds and canopy, into the cool, dark embrace of the huge trees. They fashioned some torches; Hawk had brought matches, food and other supplies he had scavenged from the inn in a small sack. He shoved his sword into a makeshift belt; he still wore the beautiful golden breastplate that he had stolen from the guard.
They quickly found the path they had slashed on their way to the library, and set out following it back through the forest, keeping an eye on the rambling undergrowth as they did so. Massive chunks of white masonry littered the forest around them, along with household belongings, broken branches and all manner of debris, though the fire seemed to have been contained to Fleetfleer.
Their eyes passed over it all grimly, and they travelled onwards in silence.
Two days later, Ferrian and Hawk arrived at the border of Arkana. The massive, gilded gates stood open as they had left them; the white watchtowers remained deserted. The Aegis was gone; nothing blocked their passage now, but the rift in reality that Ferrian had opened was still there. He carefully avoided looking in that direction: it made him feel strange and evoked unpleasant memories of his almost-imprisonment within his Sword.
Instead, he crunched across the field of white snow and sat down with his back against one of the gates as Hawk went in search of the horses. The Winter followed along with him again, keeping him cold, safe; his protector. He realised that he had missed it, while he was inside the library. It was a part of himself, and he wasn't sure what he would do without it. His body would disintegrate, probably.
The thought of getting rid of the Winter now seemed foolish, and pointless. All he needed was to control it, and that was enough.
He stared gloomily down at his sheathed Sword, resting in his lap, at the awful black shape nestled in the hilt, wondering what he was going to do with that. Perhaps he could find a way to prise it out again…
A black shadow leapt out of the trees, off to his right. Ferrian was on his feet at once, Sword shinging out of its sheath…
Then he sagged in relief. It was only Ardance.
The horse was skittish and irritable, but otherwise seemed in good condition. A moment later, another shape, white as the snow, trotted out of the forest behind her.
Serentyne.
Ferrian put his Sword away. He was glad that the horses hadn't roamed off too far.
Hawk came after them. They took a few minutes to brush the horses down and check them for injuries. Then they secured their meagre belongings to the saddles, mounted, and rode through the gates, starting up the mountain path.
The sky was grey around them, their path covered in snow. Nothing else moved amid the stony cliffs, not even a crow.
An hour passed, and they arrived at the lookout on the ridge, from where they had first beheld the land of the Angels. The peninsula spread out below them, dark and mysterious. Only clouds now hung above it, with the Aegis gone, and the sea and far distance were lost to mournful haze. Fleetfleer was a dim, pale gleam in the north, like a ghost, and Caer Sync was thankfully invisible.
Snowflakes drifted quietly around them as they dismounted and rested for awhile. Hawk ate a little. Ferrian stared intently at the view. The horses nibbled at the frosty grass.
They waited a long time, making no conversation. Hawk set a fire going, for a time.
I can bring him back, Ferrian found himself thinking. Several times, he glanced at his Sword, lying beside him on the cold rock. It was capable of anything. It could change reality to anything he wanted it to be. He could create a world in which he had never given Mekka the dagger. Had never taken it from the castle in the first place.
But he couldn't. Despite his crushing sadness, he couldn't do it. Not for Aari, and not for Mekka, either. They were both gone, and they weren't coming back. He held all the power of the Gods in his hands, and he couldn't bring himself to use it, not even to save his friends.
He wondered dismally if Lord Requar really had been responsible for destroying the SOMS. And if he had… was it purely malicious, or had he thought he was making something right?
Ferrian had an uneasy feeling that using magic for good was the most dangerous temptation of all…
Hawk allowed the fire to go out. Uncharacteristically quiet, the Freeroamer got to his feet, walked over to Ardance, and mounted.
Ferrian stood, gathered up his Sword, and followed in silence.
Hawk rode on ahead, not looking back, Ardance's hooves muffled on the snow. Ferrian sat for a moment atop Serentyne, staring one last time at Arkana, at the forest, at the pale, empty sky.
Then, finally, he turned forwards and followed Hawk.