Chapter 2

Clouds and Conversations

Her friends were working in the field. The uniform of the Ancestors Own made them difficult to see against the dull browns of the fell. They appeared to be rebuilding one of the boundary walls - fixing up the stones, and reapplying magical traps.

As she coasted down, Candle wondered what the Mester’s plans were. It hurt her not to know. Repairing the castle and grounds were all very well but while the barbarians had been momentarily vanquished they had not been destroyed. The survivors knew very well the location of Gwavas Keep, glamour and subterfuge would keep the base safe no longer.

Candle had hoped the barbarians might retreat, taking their airships back over the seas from whence they had originally come. But she had seen with her own eyes that their encampment was busier than ever. No doubt the Mester had her own spies to tell her the same.

Candle circled above, second guessing herself.

A waterfall of mist poured over the mountain and gave her some cover. Between puffs of cloud her sharp eyes noted the positions of all the Ancestors Own in the field. Her heart ached to talk to her friends, but her fear of the Mester, and the Mester’s demon ran deep. The fact that her friends continued to serve despite knowing, made her belly twist. She flexed her perfectly healed palm, where a thin scar still remained, but the ghost of the Mester’s knife lingered.

Satisfied that there were no other groups nearby, she swooped down to land, behind the ridge of the valley. No spells. She would not risk indebting herself to Belias.

Despite her best efforts she misjudged her descent, almost overturning on the landing, and burying her snout deep into the mud. Swearing under her breath she righted herself, happy there was no one to see.

Calming her mind, she pulled in magic from the surrounding area, from the rainbow of light above, from between odd shaped rocks, from under roots and trees. Cycling the magic through her body, without too much effort, she was able to transform into her human form. For some reason it was always easier to go from dragon to human than the reverse. Probably because human was her natural form? Or the form she had spent the most of her life in, as Jotham had disapprovingly informed her when they had discussed it. She looked forward to the time she could change whenever she pleased, without the aid of water.

Her human form of curly haired, slightly built teen was much better suited for stealth. Ducking low, she crept around the rocks that jutted out from the promontory. She could hear them talking. Delen and Locyrn were arguing about the proper way to infuse runes. Jory was humming under his breath. Pasco, of course, was silent.

The familiar banter made Candle homesick.

Taking a deep breath, she plastered a smile onto her face and smoothed the wrinkled cotton of her dress. She walked into view.

Something flew at her head.

Candle ducked, instinctively, and an iron arrow pinged off the rock behind her.

“Hey!” she shouted.

Locryn dropped his bow, surprise. “Meraud! I thought you were a wight!”

“Candle!” yelled Delen.

“Shhh!” said Jory. The older man flapped his hands and looked anxiously over his shoulder.

“Not so loud! Candle! Are you alright?”

“There’s no one close by,” said Candle, as they all come rushing over. “I checked.”

Delen swept her up in a hug, while Pasco and Jory patted her shoulders. Locryn hovered anxiously, clearly not sure what to do with his hands. In the end, he too, gave her a tight squeeze.

“Are you alright, young one?” signed Pasco. “The last time we saw you you did not look so good?”

The last time they had seen her she had been unconscious.

“I’m fine,” she said, smiling at the pale Teurek man.

“We’ve been worried,” said Jory, his brow creased.

“I’m fine,” she repeated.

“Your arm is healed?”

“Yes!” She showed it to him, the flesh, once pierced through by multiple projectiles now whole and smooth. There were not even any scars, but Jotham’s healing magic was powerful. Not that she wanted to bring Jotham up. Hopefully the big dragon would have the sense to keep hidden.

Candle’s heart squeezed in her chest. Seeing them, hearing them all just the same, was strangely painful.

“We miss you, child,” signed Pasco, as if he heard her thoughts. “Where have you been living? With the… with the revenant?”

“With Jotham, yes.”

There was a strained pause.

“You won’t come back?” asked Delen.

“I can’t come back,” Candle said. “You know that. Not while the Mester-”

There was another silence. Geas or awkwardness? Candle wasn’t sure.

“What about - what about your demon?” asked Delen. The older girl looked around, as if expecting to see Belias suddenly appear. Not that she would be able to see him if he did.

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Belias chose that moment to arrive.

He blossomed into being next to Candle. He had an uncanny habit of appearing at the worst possible moments. To speak his name was paramount to calling him. But no one had said it. But perhaps he had been listening. Candle had no idea where demons went when they weren’t actively tormenting their possessions, or feasting on the living.

At least the others couldn't see him, couldn’t see the ink jet ribbons of darkness pouring off his shoulders, staining the air around him watery black. They couldn’t see the hulking demon grin inches from her, lips splitting horizontally as if it might crack, or swallow her whole. But they could see her flinch away. To them it would look as if she was crazy.

They were all looking at her.

“I’m not mad yet.”

“Are you sure?” crooned Belias in her ear.

“I have a plan,” she said. “To get rid of him.”

“It won’t work,” said Belias. “Idiot child. I will devour your friends one at a time. I will use the strings of their flesh to floss my teeth, and then, once I am finished, I will pick out your spine with my fingers.”

Jory looked at her with a wrinkled brow. “A plan?” he said. “No one has ever managed to destroy a demon, not since the Desever? Not that we know of. Not that the Mester knows of. Are you sure… are you sure-”

“Am I sure I’m not mad? Yes. I’m sure. I have a plan, that’s why I’m here. I wanted to tell you all-to say-”

“It’s quite possible you wouldn’t know,” said Jory, taking another step, his palm outstretched. “That’s how it works. The demon possessed always think they are sane. Until it is too late. You know this. I taught you this. You’ve seen them, in the cells? The poor souls. Don’t you think it would be better if you came back, safely to Gwasas? We will treat you gently.”

“Before you hurt anyone,” signed Pasco. “Before you hurt yourself. Please?”

“I’m not-”

“Come with us, Candle,” said Jory.

“Come with us Candle,” mimicked Belias. He loomed up behind Jory, shadow-smudged fingers groping for his neck. “Let me have his soul. Now.”

“No,” said Candle, firmly. To them all.

Mentally she cursed herself. She had planned out what she wanted to say so carefully. She had rehearsed this reunion so many times. Now the actual people she cared about were in front of her instead of trees and shrubs, it was coming out an incoherent jumble, her brain an icy plain impossible to navigate.

Of course trees and shrubs did not interrupt so much.

“You know I can’t. I don’t want to - The Mester-”

Fat drops of water rained down on them.

Belias winked out of existence.

Startled, Candle looked up at the small cloud that had appeared directly above them. It seemed to have strayed from the rest of the clouds that were clustering over the mountains. Candle drew a sharp breath of relief.

“A gift, so you can talk freely,” called Jotham, from over by a rock. “Since you are so keen to communicate.”

Her friends’ heads whipped around.

He was lounging comfortably as if he had been there all day and it was as comfortable as one of his battered velvet chairs. He waved a hand, airily. “You are welcome.”

Not quite as imposing as his dragon form, Jotham the man could not be mistaken for anything less than the predator he was. Even picking his teeth and stifling a yawn. Instantly the Ancestors own grasped for their weapons.

“As I was saying,” she said, loudly, trying to draw their attention back to herself. “I have a plan-”

“If you want to talk,” said Locryn, “why bring the Revenant?”

“I didn’t bring him,” said Candle. “He goes where he wants.”

Jotham smiled at them, smug as a housecat, arms crossed. The muscles of his forearms bulged.

Candle rolled her eyes.

“Please just ignore him. I have a plan,” she said, rushing to speak before someone else spoke over her. “A workable plan to get rid of Belias forever. I’m nearly ready and I think it has a good chance of working. Well, a chance. I can’t tell you exactly how but when I have-”

“Is he involved in this plan?” asked Delen, nodding her head at Jotham.

“It was his idea,” Jotham said.

“Demons aren’t manageable, child,” said Jory.

“Sooner or later your demon will win,” signed Pasco, sadly. “Is your freedom worth other people’s suffering?”

“If my solution works I won’t hurt anyone except Belias,” Candle said. She paused. “And maybe myself.”

Delen sucked air in through her teeth.

“Then tell us this plan,” said Locyrn. “Maybe we can help? Maybe the Mester can help?”

“No.”

“Definitely not,” snapped Jotham.

“Why not?”

“Just, trust me,” Candle begged. “I’ll be back soon. Without Belias.”

“You say we should trust you, but you do not trust the Mester because she is demon possessed,” signed Pasco. “You both have demons. This is - difficult.”

“We don’t trust your ‘Mester’ because she is a power hungry lying trollop who made a deal with a demon, and uses people like stepping stones when they get in her way,” said Jotham, amiably. “I’m sure you all have your own reasons for following her blindly, like lambs to the slaughter.”

“Her path is rare,” signed Pasco. “The sacrifices she makes are beyond measure. I have know her for thirty years. You know not of what you speak.”

Jotham snarled, the smile dropping and they all stepped back, raising their weapons once more.

Candle glared at him.

He saw her face, snorted, turned his back on them and walked away.

“Without the Mester we have nothing,” said Jory. “She is all that stands between the destruction of Havi and the barbarian’s aggression.”

“It was not the Mester who turned the tide of that battle,” said Candle.

“What are you suggesting?”

Candle’s gut twisted. She had to get the words out or they would turn to rot inside of her. The sky pressed in on her.

“Have you considered…leaving?”

“Leaving what?” asked Delen, confused.

“Leaving the Mester, leaving the Ancestors Own?”

“What do you mean?”

Looking at them, Candle could see the thought hadn’t even occurred to them.

“That would mean…breaking our oaths?” said Locyrn, a frown like a thundercloud across his brow.

“The Ancestors Own have already broken their pact with the Kenning. You don’t have to follow the Mester to protect the land. Or its people.”

They all stared at her.

“Just- just think about it,” said Candle.

Suddenly she wanted to be away. Somewhere quiet where no one looked at her like that. The worst was the kindness in Pasco’s eyes, the concern in Jory’s. As if they knew she was losing her mind and were just humouring her.

“Think about it,” she repeated, stubbornly.

Blinking the rain from her eyes she pulled in magic, and called her scales.

One powerful thrust from her wings, and the arguments were left behind.