Chapter 3

A Fading Star

Her friends and former teammates quickly became ant-sized as she flew upwards.

Higher, higher, she needed the high ground. In the sky was where she belonged. In the sky it was easy to forget her problems. In the sky, she was a dragon, Belias was forgotten, she had no problems. For a short while at least.

She had hoped … that they might leave. Had wished it, had dreamt about it. But if they left the safety of Gwavas… well where would they go? It was pointless. She was being naive. The barbarians were all over the isthmus. The ruins were all spirit infested nightmares. Dawn Watch was firmly under the control of the Own. Jotham would not welcome humans in his domain.

An outpost was possible, but it would be a long hard slog without backup from the Own. She had been stupid to think they would defy the Mester for her. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

For once, Jotham didn’t say anything as he followed her home.

She knew the old dragon was just itching to tell her ‘I do you so’ and the knowledge that he had been right all along only fouled her mood further. At least she had tried. It would be strange to travel to the Night Nation, and to her possible death, without trying to talk to them first.

The sun was setting as they swooped down into Jotham’s cave.

A comfortable, rather cluttered affair, the entrance was located near the peak of one of the Enchantments. Tucked into a discreet valley with a view over the isthmus towards Sterlester, it was only accessible from the air. Likewise, it was impossible to find without prior knowledge. The cliffs below were sheer, and the mountains of the western fold so pockmarked and pierced through with hollows and cavities, that even if someone did see the entrance, it would warrant no extra thought.

The first thing Candle did on arrival was to dunk herself headfirst into the large rock pool located at the back of the cave. The water was soothing. Savouring the feeling of being submerged, and demon free, she turned her face to look up at the waterfall trickling off the mountain above. The drops splashed on her face, scattering away like little diamonds.

The rocky pool glowed softly with magical energy.

Carved long ago, the rounded basin was large enough to fit a few people (or a small dragon). During twilight the gentle half light magnified the sparkle of the silver runes worked into the stone, just below the waterline. The runes were the only clue that this pool was something more than a spring, or a pleasant place to bathe.

Candle sighed deeply as she eyed them. Impatience and weariness gnawed at her bones, the water doing little to soothe it away.

Jotham landed on the ledge and shook himself, stretching his wings out, then folding them away across the black scales of his body.

How about that new rune? He said.

Subtle.

Transforming into his human form, he draped himself over one of the battered velvet couches that lay scattered around the main cave.

Apparently he was going to pretend Candle’s meeting with her friends had just not happened. Well, that was fine. She didn’t want to talk about it either. And coaxing new runes out of Jotham was always exciting.

What is it?

“An offensive rune. A personal favourite, you have seen me use it. Once. Starfire. Rather whimsically named, perhaps. But I like to think it is a magic borrowed from the heavens.”

He wafted his fingers theatrically skywards.

Candle laid her scaly head on the edge of the rocks, watching.

Leaning forwards off the couch, Jotham opened his palms flat, showing it to her. Twin balls of light appeared on each. Their luminescence threw the craggy lines of his face into stark relief.

It was fire, or flame-like, but where normal fire was warm and orange, this fire was cold and unearthly, although no less hungry. Thickening shadows danced around the cavern, the frosty lights playing on the walls.

“It’s pretty, but it cuts through flesh like a blade,” Jotham said casually. “Metal too, if you feed it enough and hold your focus. A cold so intense it cannot be put out. Use it with great care, and preferably against things you intend to mortally wound or kill.”

Candle remembered then when she had seen him use it -when he had been fighting with the Mester. Although at the time she had got the impression they were both holding back. Different rules then, for fighting ancients. Or ex-lovers.

Jotham looked up at her, a lopsided smile on his face, the cold flames still dancing on his open hands. He made it look so easy.

“For now, see if you can summon it. On the rock. Outside please, grand-niece. Not near anything flammable. Then, tomorrow I’ll show you how to fight with it. After I’ve had a long nap. You humans are so exhausting. I’m beginning to get wrinkled.”

Candle snorted through her nose.

She changed back into her human form before Jotham could scold her for getting the couches wet. Then she scooted over and sat, crossed legs and dripping, on the rock before him. Jotham’s cold flame winked out, and he drew the rune on the ground with one finger. Charcoal lines appearing on the rock.

She studied it, committing the form to memory.

“You try,” he said, and threw her a charred stick.

Carefully, she drew it, first on the rock and then, once she was sure she had it correctly, in the air in front of her. The rune was a combination of ‘star’ and ‘void’, with an umlaut over the star. It took an inordinate amount of energy, and she gasped as she drew it in, and in, and in, the rune before her absorbing it like a bottomless hole. She doubted she would have been able to gather that much energy, if it had not been twilight.

Jotham watched her intently, his golden cat’s eye pupils glinting beneath half closed eyes.

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To her delight, a small ball of cold fire appeared in her palm. The size of a walnut, it was surprisingly heavy. Dense like metal, and her hand nearly dropped as she adjusted to the sudden weight.

“Careful!” said Jotham, his eyes widening in alarm.

She held on, striving to maintain the threads of magic.

Smaller than Jotham’s conjuring, the chilling power that radiated off it still made her lean back. The flames rose from the molten balls, graceful and deadly. The heart crackled with lightning, and then subsided.

“Well done,” said Jotham. “Very well done. But that’s enough for tonight.” He yawned loudly, and stretched.

“What should I do with this?”

“What do you want to do with it? Give the energy back to the world? Sit and hold it for as long as you can? Destroy something? I vote for ‘c’.”

Candle flinched.

“What? If you want to go to the Night-” Jotham’s lips pinched thin. “You need to get used to the idea of destruction. I thought we were past this?”

“You think I’m ready then? Or nearly ready?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Candle’s concentration wavered, and the weight of the cold fire vanished from her palm.

“Again,” said Jotham, getting up and stretching. “But this time, down in the fell.”

“I thought you wanted to sleep?”

“I changed my mind. There’s life within this old man yet,” he said, thumping his muscular chest, “But not much, so we had better hurry.”

They flew down to an adjacent valley.

Jotham chose a spot populated with what he called particularly offensive trees.

“Again!” he said. “Quickly! While the realms are in alignment.”

Candle cast ‘starfire’ once more, drawing in tendrils of power until her veins were humming and sweat formed on her brow. Standing in the half-light with the wind whipping her damp hair, she held the cold ball of incandescent energy in one hand and grinned at Jotham.

The grey half light of twilight slipped over the mountains, and between the branches, deepening in hollows to a darker shadow.

A few spirits flickered here and there, slipping between the low branches.

“Now what?” she said nervously.

“Lob it at that rock,” said Jotham. “Pretend it’s a ball. A very dangerous ball. Just remember when you do this… there will likely be debris. The debris will have bits of starfire in it, so you can easily injure yourself with the backsplash. Got it?” She nodded. “Go on then.”

Candle breathed out through her nose and flung the starfire globule overarm, hard. She hit the rock square in the middle. Pebbles and gravel sprayed high into the air.

“Nice shot,” said Jotham.

Candle at the hole in the stone. Ghosts of silver flame still licked the edges, then winked out.

“Now try some while you are a dragon. Everything is more fun with wings, although arguably it might take more coordination for a former human.”

It did.

The amount of concentration needed to not only fly, but to summon the cold flame while she did so was enormous. After the twilight passed it got even harder, and she had to pause on the land to concentrate once more. Jotham insisted she was capable of flying, and after some effort, she was, although the starfire flames were smaller and less intense than they had been during twilight. But that was to be expected. Now it was full night the projectiles burned like beacons, and they moved further away from Jotham’s lair, just in case they were seen by a passing barbarian airship, or some scouting Ancestors Own.

Jotham spotted some wights shambling along the banks of the Bleujen, and Candle spent another hour using them as moving target practice. Sending the undead spirits home to the Night was tremendously satisfying.

When the last one was burned away to ashes, Candle breathed out in satisfaction, and collapsed against the river bank. Every part of her felt limp.

Good, said Jotham, landing nearby. Good. Another half century of practice and you will be formidable.

Thanks, said Candle, unsure whether or not he was completely serious. Do you think I’m ready?

Jotham took to the skies, not looking at her. We can talk about it tomorrow.

***

Candle lay on her blanket looking up at the faint stars and listening to the wind hissing past the rocks outside. Jotham’s snoring made a light accompaniment. Turning her head, she could see the comforting shape of him draped across his favourite couch. For some reason he preferred to sleep half sitting up, with his limbs sprawled everywhere. He insisted he was quite comfortable, and looked confused when she asked about it.

Candle herself preferred a more traditionally human arrangement. She had made a bed from purloined blankets, and a mattress from two sewn together and stuffed with dried herbs. It was a little prickly, but it smelled nice. From her nest she could see out across the dark shapes of the mountains, but was still sheltered from the worst of the weather.

It was a particularly windy night. That alone, would not have been enough to keep her from her sleep, but Belias was hissing in her ear. It was not something she could ever get used to. If she started to nod off, somehow managing to ignore his disturbing mutters and lurid suggestions on how best to murder Jotham, or to take her own life, he would scream in her face, jolting her awake.

Sometimes she was so tired she would nod off anyway. Then he would invade her dreams, turning restless limbo into terrifying nightmares where she relived the death of her family over and over again. Sometimes she woke, unable to tell what was real. It had been weeks since she had slept a whole night through.

Only water kept him away.

Tired fingers scrambled for the beaker of liquid she kept close at hand for just this purpose. She groped, hoping for the sanity saving feel of water on her fingertips but instead felt the smooth of ceramic. Belias had moved it in the darkness, and she had knocked it over.

Swearing she sat up.

Her head smacked against a hard surface.

“Ow!”

Since when had the ceiling got so low?

Rubbing the fresh bruise on her forehead, she reached up, exploring with her fingertips. It was so dark she couldn’t see anything. The stars had vanished. The wind, gone, only her own breath in her ears. Gasping, she felt her way forward, finding only oppressive stone. Belias giggled at her shoulder, and she turned sharply.

“Jotham?” she shouted. “Jotham?”

“He’s not here,” whispered Belias. “No one is here. Only I can help you.”

“Liar,” she said. “This isn’t real.”

“Proooove it,” whispered the demon.

Grinding her teeth she crawled on. There must be an end somewhe-

Candle tipped head first off the mountain ledge with a scream, arms pinwheeling as she flailed in the air. Her stomach lurched as her eyes swept over the steep drop below. She was going to hit the rocks before she could-

She stopped falling with a jolt. Jotham had caught her by the scruff of her shirt.

“Got you,” he said, teeth gritted, hauling her back onto the rocky ledge. “Are you alright?”

She nodded, gasping, sweat standing out on her brow as she took in the drop below. Would she have been able to fly before she hit the bottom? Maybe.

Jotham looked at her stony faced. “Belias, I assume?”

“He’s getting desperate. How did you-”

“I heard you call.”

Candle shuddered again, and ran to the pool, dunking her hair in till it was sopping well. Demon vanquished for the next couple of hours she dragged her bedding well away from the ledge. She flopped down, limbs still shaking a little.

“I’m so tired,” she said.

“I know,” said Jotham, softly. He stalked backward and forward across the cave, turned on his heel and back again. Candle watched him tread the familiar path of his frustration. She was surprised he hadn’t worn a grove in the floor. “Tomorrow we’ll figure it out.”

“You think I’m ready?” she asked, too tired to hope.. “To go to the Night Nation?”

“I would rather you went my way, than the demons,” said Jotham. “Now try and get some rest.”